Brendan Byers – Sidelineland

Who’s Your Daddy?

March 1, 2025 wrestlebard4 Comments

I’m always impressed with the iconic stature of the Brooklyn Bodywrecker. I’m particularly impressed with how many young homoerotic wrestling fans are dialed in to his matches, considering it’s been a couple of decades since his last release from BG East. Take my young friend Harvey, who recently told me that Jobberpaloozer 5 was the first homoerotic wrestling match he’d ever watched. Harvey reports that he continues to watch it frequently, turned on every time by the legendary pairing of Brooklyn Bodywrecker, at the apex of his career as one of the most infamous leather daddy heels in the business, and Brendan Byers, confessing at the start of the match that this was the first time he’d ever set foot in a wrestling ring. There have been hundreds, if not thousands of homoerotic wrestling matches produced since then, including the stunning evolution of lean Brendan from his 20-year-old baby jobber incarnation into the big, muscle bruiser bad ass who just won the title as BG East’s Top Heel of 2024. But for Harvey (and many others), Jobberpaloozer 5 started wiring him for what continues to turn him on still today. When we were recently discussing the match, Harvey subtly pointed out that I’ve never written a review of it. So, in honor of Harvey and all the younglings (and the rest of us) who revisit Jobberpaloozer 5 often, here you go.

First of all, Brendan is nearly unrecognizable, if one were to only know him from the hulking muscle beast he’s grown into since. When he shows up for Jobberpaloozer 5, he’s lean and lush and cute as a fucking button. BG East puts him at 6’2, and he towers over Brooklyn Bodywrecker when the veteran struts into the ring checking him out. BBW does that same mental calculation I often find myself doing, trying to tamp down an instant turn on until I can check his I.D.. “How old are you? What, are you like 15?” When Brendan says that he’s 20, BBW can’t believe his ears? “Twenty!?” The salt-and-peppered veteran heel tugs on his leather jacket. “This is older than you are! Twenty?!” BBW is literally licking his chops at this point. Brendan plucks up the audacity to make an oldie joke about whether BBW is having problems hearing him. And fuck, you didn’t have to read the title of the match to know that this is about to turn into a massacre.

Stunningly, BBW offers a legitimate handshake of welcome to the tasty kid who admits it’s his first time in the ring. “You know I’m BBW, right? The Brooklyn Bodywrecker?” Brendan’s adorable game face cracks into a grin. He doesn’t have to say a word for the answer to be clear, but he admits it anyway. “I’ve heard.” BBW peels off his vest, his sun glasses, and his cap. He’s fucking peak BBW. Hairy and raw, looking like he just walked away from a bar fight, he’s fucking hot as hell. He’s got some gray in his goatee that gives this whole interchange the feel of the big bad wolf stalking Little Red Riding Hood through the woods. “Look, I’ll try not to hurt you,” he offers, flexing his hairy pecs. “We’ll try to have a good time,” he says with a disarming smile. “Just don’t fight me, kid,” he adds coldly, making it clear who’s about to have a good time and who isn’t.

There’s a coaching vibe for a few seconds as BBW talks the rookie through a collar and elbow. It’s almost adorable, really. Brendan’s long, lanky limbs flex as he locks up with the solid as granite muscle heel. About 3 seconds in, the “coaching” session is over, and BBW starts beating the living shit out of doe-eyed Brendan. If the veteran is holding anything back, I can’t see it. Sure, he pauses every so often to look into the camera and announce almost incredulously, “Cute kid!” But I don’t see him letting up on the gas pedal even a fraction, as he catapults the 20-year-old from corner to corner. It’s a lot of brute force pummeling, with punches and stomps and knee strikes pounding the snot out of skinny little Brendan. Brendan is just white knuckling it for the next 35 minutes or so, hanging on for dear life, while BBW remains absolutely in the driver’s seat with the pedal to the metal.

In classic Brooklyn Bodywrecker fashion, he frequently breaks the fourth wall. He’s knocked his pretty prey senseless, so he pauses to stare into the camera and have a leisurely chat with you and me. I’ve heard this approach is actively discouraged by most of the wrestling producers because it can disrupt the fantasy, but there’s something even more intensely threatening about it when BBW does it in his matches. “He’s cute, huh,” he asks you and me, stretched out over top of his oblivious opponent. “A little young,” he says thoughtfully, before adding with a mischievous smile, “but he’s less naive than he was two minutes ago, huh?” A little later, he’s been pounding the shit out of Brendan’s abs, trapped in the corner, when he pauses to call the camera over again. “So, boys and girls, don’t try this at home. We’re profe -….,” his voice trails off as he rethinks what he’s about to say. “Well, I’m a professional. And him?” He looks down at the sexy, dazed newbie. “Well, you gotta start somewhere.” Then he climbs the ropes to scissor Brendan’s head between his legs and flex his huge, veiny biceps.

Brendan is a lamb to slaughter. He just doesn’t see anything coming. BBW absolutely manhandles and mauls him with the relentless certainty of the rising tide. He smothers the adorable kid in his hairy pit, in his crotch, in his ass. He delivers a swarm of ring-rattling scoop slams that look like they might have left Brendan-shaped indentations in the ring. He’s got him spreadeagled across the ropes in the corner and place-kicks the future-brutal-one’s balls relentlessly. The repeated over-the-knee backbreakers that are nothing short of erotic sculpture, with BBW’s huge, hairy muscles flared and Brendan’s long, lean, lithe body twisted to perfection at the edge of snapping.

The squash is legitimately epic, but it’s the subtle things that make my cock twitch hardest. Like, when BBW pauses the brutality to just tauntingly slap Brendan in the face. Or when the muscle heel applies a spine snapping camel clutch and then slides his hands up from a chin lock to start clawing the cute boy’s face off. Brendan sells sweetly, groaning in agony in time with his panicked, labored breaths for about 35 minutes of near-hyperventilation. But it’s BBW’s sell that turns the heat way, way up. About 2/3rds of the way through the match, he starts roaring with this feral intensity that gets my already hard cock even harder. It’s the sound of a predator having made a fresh kill. It’s hungry and bloodthirsty, with this savage edge that says his cock is itching hard for a sexy, smooth, 20-year-old ass.

A tombstone pilediver puts the exclamation point at the end of this nearly 40 minute soliloquy. That tombstone didn’t just knock Brendan out cold. It was nothing short of transformative for my friend Harvey. I don’t think anyone could describe it in more loving detail than someone as fanatical about this match as Harvey is, so I got his permission to share his account of how he came across, and to, this moment. Here’s how Harvey puts it…

“So, picture a young gay boy who is super into wrestling and gets obsessed with the tombstone piledriver. I click on Google late one night and type “gay wrestling” into my mom’s laptop (sorry mom) and stumble upon BG East. I go into the search bar, and I type in “tombstone piledriver,” and this match pops up. I then rent the video, and slowly watch the eroticism unfold. Now, me being so young, I didn’t appreciate all the nuances about this match that I do now. But back to the tombstone…. So, when BBW had just knocked out young Brendan with a bearhug, he then looks at the camera and says, “What’s the expression” Then dragging a thumb across his throat, signals the end for Brendan, but then makes the same signal across his crotch. I knew we we’re in for a wild ride! BBW then picks up Brendan and asks him, “Let’s see if you you learned anything. I am Brooklyn Bodywrecker. Who’s your daddy?” Brendan replies with, “You are sir!” Then BBW looks at the camera and says, “Music to my ears.” BBW then hoists Brendan up and gets him into position. He always makes these noises when he lifts up opponents, and it’s so hot. It just reeks of domination, really. If you listen closely, you can hear Brendan moan, which only makes my dick moan, too. Then BBW pulls him up just a bit closer for safety, and to make sure Brendan is getting a full taste of his Daddy’s crotch. He walks Brendan around the ring until they are facing the mirror, which is such a Heel move, really. I love that BBW is always posing and making us appreciate his body! And, in a sense, he does that as well with Brendan, because he knows how much he and Brendan are hot together here. I also love the contrast of their trunks, because it shows off BBW’s best assets, and Brendan looks good in his sexy trunks. Then BBW goes up for the windup, which is very methodical, making sure Brendan gets plenty of time trapped there, before BBW drives the top of his head down and then sits bad to marvels at his work. [Harvey, aka, my Tombstone-obsessed friend]

So, Brendan was done at least 20 minutes earlier, but he’s knocked out cold and flat on his back, and somehow even more at BBW’s mercy than he has been the entire match. BBW pins him with his crotch, stretches out on top of him, nuzzles Brendan’s erection straining the boy’s pouch, and looks like he’s just going to tuck in and devour the lucky kid. The rawness and authenticity of the open lust is nothing short of magnificent. And then the genleman erotic gladiator quotes Shakespeare and leaves. “Goodnight, sweet prince. Parting is such sweet sorrow. That I shall say good night till it should be morrow.”

Like I said, it’s nearly 40 minutes of daddy domination. It’s iconic all on it’s own, but it’s made that much more fascinating by the evolution of that doe-eyed 20-year-old Brendan into the massive muscle brute who absolutely earned his status as reigning Top Heel last year. I don’t know if this ring initiation in Jobberpaloozer 5 was formative for Brutal Brendan’s sense of self as the raging bull he is today, but I know for a fact that there is a whole generation of young homoerotic wrestling fans who imprinted HARD on this sensationally intense, high impact, hard and hungry squash.

Simply the Best

January 26, 2024 wrestlebard4 Comments

In the past, I’ve talked with more than one on-camera wrestler who’s described their strong ambivalence about the year-end award seasons. From a fan perspective, it’s all fun and games, speculating on our favorites and comparing our picks with the the average votes of other fans. I imagine from a company’s perspective, it’s just good marketing, drumming up attention on the catalogs they’ve logged over the previous 12 months and maybe giving a little extra sales push from the attention. And I’ve heard wrestlers sincerely excited to be nominated, enjoying the love sent their way whether they win or lose. But I’ve understood the sentiment when wrestlers have described how it can be actively invalidating at times. Like, maybe they were so proud of a particular match that they starred in, but it wasn’t even nominated. Or they worked so fucking hard for months in a caloric deficit to make those abs pop, but didn’t get a mention. Honestly, the LAST thing I want is for a hot, eager homoerotic wrestler to feel invalidated for putting themselves out there. That’s the opposite of what this blog is about. Let’s all normalize the celebration of all sexy wrestlers following their passions on camera for our enjoyment!

That said, I still find myself getting swept up in the awards season hoopla. Jakob commented here a few weeks ago that he’d like to hear my personal picks, just in case my tastes might direct his attention somewhere fun. That seems cool to me and, hopefully, in the spirit of validating the beauty and art of homoerotic wrestling. So, I’ll reflect a little on the nominees and winners of the BG East Besties, and weigh in with any additional nominees I’d like to add, in the spirit of hopefully reinforcing more of my favorite wrestling hunks to keep going at it.

The slate of Sexiest Match nominees was super competitive, so kudos to the nominating committee (yeah, yeah, I’m on the committee)! And, honestly, the fan favorite winner, X-Fights 58: Dio Characi vs. Kayden Keller, was my pick. But if you’re looking for top tier sexy fucking wrestling, all of the nominees are golden. Wrestle Worship 5 was also on my short list. Mat Scraps 4 makes me salivate like Pavlov’s dog just thinking about it. Into burly bear daddies beating the living fuck out of hardbodied twinks? Dive into X-Fights 58 match 1. Really, anything with Dio and/or Forrest in it. Or Zach. The only match from my short list that didn’t get into the nominations was Ruff ‘n’ Raunchy 7 with debuting Zach Ramos burning down the house against rising erotic muscle heel Gabe Steel.

Best Mat Battle nominees also strong, though there were so many hot and hard fought mat battles this year. My top pick was Mickey and Forrest in Undagear 37, which was nominated but didn’t get the fan vote. Fuck, the intensity in that match made me felt like I was the one taking all those vicious slaps to the face! I also had Mat Scraps 4, because… see my comments above regarding anything with Dio and/or Forrest.

Best Ring Match was a foregone conclusion for me, and apparently for the majority of voters. Anything that starts with “welcome Brad Rochelle back to the ring” was destined to make me lose several loads. The Comeback 3 might have been competitive for that reason alone, but fuck no, Brad, Jonny, and debuting Kal Connors all three made that match crazy hot, hilarious, and flinch-worthy vicious! My short list also had the Hunkbash 29 tag team of Firestorm/Steel vs. rookies Vigo/Angeles, because it was so unexpectedly off the rails spontaneous and messy. Like, so fucking fiercely messy, I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. And by “it” I mean more than just Vinny’s ass. But… yeah, Vinny’s ass. But again, I’ve got nothing but love for all of the nominees. Any other year, and any of them could’ve owned the crown. But “welcome Brad Rochelle back to the ring” is the anthem of 2023, as far as I’m concerned.

For Best Body, here’s particularly where I don’t want anyone to feel invalidated, because the quality of hot bodies on camera in 2023 was just so insanely high. Last year’s winner and my pick again was Dio, but newcomer Kal Connor stole the title from him. And fuck, Kal… yep, a fucking stunningly crafted body, particularly for the fitness and aesthetics. Like, Kal beating out Monstah Mike (runner up) sort of sums up the quandry of a contest like this. Just two completely different physiques, both jaw droppingly hot, both get me hard the instant I see them, both the product of a genetic lottery and a whole lot of hard fucking work. Tanner, Tony, Vinny… the also-rans are all deleriously sexy hot bodied hunks. I nominated Tony and Vinny, in addition to Dio. But honestly, if we accept that differently built bodies make equally legitimate claims to be best, I’d add Forrest, Jesse, Hayden, Jason/George, Paris. All you boys who’ve got the balls to stare the camera in the eye and flash those double biceps wearing nothing left to the imagination… you ALL rock me hard.

The Top Heel category brings up a little controversy for me. The title officially switched hands after Kayden owned it for the better part of the past decade. It returned to the hands of former winner and institution, Jonny, so that makes sense. At the risk of bumping into Kayden or Jonny sometime and getting my ass kicked, I have to say that I nominated and voted for Brendan. Kayden’s loss to Ace Aarons in Ruff ‘n’ Raunchy 7 honestly shook me out of Kayden’s corner. That match still sort of haunts me for the drama and the seriously weird dynamics of the heel-on-heel story. Nobody on the list is undeserving, but I’m honestly keying in lately more to the likes of Brendan and Mike.

Dio Characi, repeated for Top Babyface. When you look up babyface in the dictionary, it should have his picture. I think every match description I’ve written for him and every review I’ve done has used the word “cherubic.” Fuck… again, see my comments above about anything Dio floating my boat. Sunny DeLeon also just embodies that babyface vibe. Honestly, though, I actually nominated Lobo Gris, Damian Pike, and Kal Connor. Though Damian didn’t make it to the ballot, I stand by him deserving the nod. Runner-up Jason/George didn’t even occur to me, not because he’s not devastatingly handsome, but just because he has a “fuck you” edge to him that makes me not think of him quite as a babyface. But again, all good, particularly if we add Damian…. and Mickey.

Forrest as Jobber of the Year again just fits. Dude has a corner on the market of pissing off heels in just the right way to get his SENSATIONAL ass (more on that in a moment) kicked harder and harder. He was my pick, and my nominee Freddy also got to the ballot. My other nominee was Kal, who didn’t get to the category, probably because we’re all still trying to peg exactly what role he inhabits most naturally in the BGE universe. Runner-Up Tanner is a sensational sufferer, of course. Damian is totally worthy. Hayden was a steller muscle jobber, but he was in only one match, his debut, late in the year, so I feel like timing was just off for him.

Debut of the Year went to Kal, who wasn’t even on my shortlist, but not because he doesn’t deserve the accolade. I just felt he also showed up pretty late in the year, giving us only a couple of glimpses, which isn’t his fault, but it did make me settle my nominations and vote elsewhere. Mickey Knoxx was, hands down, my pick for this category. I cannnot get enough of him ever since I caught his debut, and he’s kept coming in his rookie year showing something new and intense and fucking SEXY every time out of the gate. Really, same for my second place pick of Zach Ramos. I nominated Tony for this category because I could only nominate three, and I literally flipped a coin between Vinny and Tony for that third spot. Didn’t matter, though, because he didn’t make the slate. But I felt like, again, he just did more and showed more than, say, Ronin or Hayden did. Every one of them, including Tony and Vinny, were a sensational bench of rookies this year, though. No complaints from me, to be honest.

Now with the body part categories, see my comments above about celebrating EVERYONE. Voters picked Kal for best abs. The stunningly pretty boy probably hasn’t had a carb in years to craft that 6-pack, so of course that makes sense. And runner up Rocky… same. I actually voted for Jason/George because his abs just scream to me for someone to pound on them, which opponents almost always do, and his gut is a wall of muscle in a way that doesn’t show up quite like the classic 6-pack. Same for Dio, really… I really want to do a body shot off of his beautiful abs. Hayden and Vinny… totally. Either of them could show up and OWN this house based on the raw material.

The Best Bulge vote is always super personal, right? I didn’t even nominate Dio, but please, do, give him any award, because that Brazilian god is fucking priceless. I’m not even really sure what I’m looking for in a nominee for Best Bulge anymore, without Mr. Joshua or Pete Sharp in the mix. I nominated Brendan and Zach because I’ve fixated on their bulges this year, but neither of them got to the slate. Happy to celebrate runner-up Forrest’s bulge (and ANYTHING else we want to celebrate about him… see my several comments above about him and Dio owning it). And totally, Ash, Ace, Tanner, Kal… nice bulges, hotties! Kal’s peekabo wardrobe malfunction (<–credit there to my buddy AR who I first heard refer to Kal’s balls popping out in Comeback that way) was another sexy moment that made 2023 quite memorable for me. Honestly, though, all bulges are perfect, in my book, when they’re attached to a fierce grappling hunk.

And then there’s the Best Butt category. Winner Monstah Mike was third on my shortlist, so no real complaints there. Him shoving Brendan’s face between those monstrously massive cheeks sort of drove home just what an awesome claim he has on that title. And before I bitch, let me just say I am such a huge fan of all of the other nominees on the list. Now I’ve gotten that out of the way… WHAT… THE… FUCK with the omission of Mickey Knoxx and Forrest Taylor’s DAZZLINGLY sexy glutes!? Honestly, in my mind, I just kept going back to Mickey and Forrest’s match in Undagear 37 to try to decide which ass I crushed on hardest. It was Mickey’s, by the way. But more to the point, neither of these guys even hit the slate!?!? This is not the first time this category has born my wrath. This is one of those moments where I turn into a raving fanatic who CANNOT see how my infatuations (Mickey and Forrest’s asses) objectively were overlooked for this category. Someone’s thumb was on this scale. I call for an official inquiry. I call shenanigans, damn it!!!!!

Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, I can be more magnanimous with the last of the categories I wanted to send up. Hottest Liplock… see my half a dozen comments above about Dio and Forrest. I actually give my vote to Forrest and Mickey’s angry hot liplock in Undagear 37, but it’s a toss up among so many scorching hot kisses. Personally, I put Zach and Lobo’s HUNGRY face sucking in second place from Florida Fights 11, but it just goes to show how hard it can be to compare different styles and tones of liplocks. All awesome nominees. All hail Dio and Kayden for a well deserved victory!

Any of you hot, hardworking wrestlers that didn’t get a nomination or were nominated, but didn’t win… I see you. You’re fucking sensational, just the way you are. This little awards exercise is all about us and our whims and peculiarities, and marketing, and not about what fucking sensationally sexy, gorgeous, courageous, fierce, and fabulous athletes you are. If you ever need a little validation, hit me up. I will tell it to you straight (well…. you know what I mean), and I can guarantee you, I think you’re a fucking star!

Sheriff

December 23, 2023 wrestlebard2 Comments

Another last minute 2023 indulgence I enjoyed was the rare all-out heel-on-heel battle between Brutal Brendan Byers and Monstah Mike, as part of BGE’s last hurrah of the year, Wrestle Worship 5: Power Struggle. To be honest, heel-on-heel matches don’t always land solidly for me. Too much heel energy (like too much jobber energy) can interrupt the momentum of a hot match, I find. Mike and Brendan are to absolutely hot heels who, if it were just the subtitle for this match, “Power Struggle,” might not have stroked me just right. But these two sensationally hot heels fuel the momentum of this match with something other than the classic innocence-spoiled angle, and that something is jet fuel: lust.

This is just Mike’s second match at BG East, after hitting the scene elsewhere, so his extremely cocky attitude could easily be a set up for even a sculpted muscle god like him to get slapped down. He’s so over the top contemptuous of absolutely any possible challenger that I honestly feel like Brendan might just be the pin to pop the bodybuilder’s balloon. “I’m going to dominate here, just like I dominate everywhere,” he boasts before Brendan arrives. Mike is joining me in eye fucking his superhuman proportions and luxuriously draped thick muscles. “I wish someone around here would give me a challenge. But nobody here’s going to mess with me!” And, yeah, it’s not hard to see where the contemptuous boasts come from. It’s like Mike Columbo and Joe Mazetti had a love child who went into competitive bodybuilding. And there’s just something about those trunks he’s wearing that somehow, impossibly really, make his super lean waist sitting on top of those gargantuan, rock hard muscle glutes, appear even more superhuman. I’m not exactly unhappy to report that those magnificent trunks get a bit translucent when Mike works up a thick sheen of sweat, as well. I’m even happier to report that, before this match is over, he’s yanking them down to shove Brendan’s face into the deep crevice between his magnificent cheeks.

But this is Brutal Brendan Byers who steps up to accept the challenge. Brendan towers nearly half a foot taller than Mike. I’m just going to say it again, Mike is fucking pretty, and he’s prettier than Brendan. Brendan’s got the thick, powerful, functional physique of headliner pro wrestler. He’s got this sexy layer of fur down his torso and inner thighs that contrasts sensationally against the baby-oiled smooth surfaces of Mike’s sculpted muscles. We saw what Mike’s bulldozing persona can do to an opponent when he thrashed the living fuck out of adorable Freddy Campbell in Wrestle Shack 31. But big Brendan is NOT adorable Freddy, and the seasoned erotic heel just does not whither under the scorching hot lens of Mike’s extreme self-confidence. Possibly the best line in wrestling this year is when Mike demands, rhetorically, “When was the last time you saw a chest like this,” and Brendan does not skip a beat before answering, “Whenever I look in the mirror.” Fuck, two hot bodies with massive, massive egos.

That jet fuel I mentioned earlier is spraying all over the place from start to finish in this match, as Brendan and Mike are both fucking INTO each other big time. Holy shit, it’s such a breath of fresh air when a homoerotic wrestler is saying what I’m thinking in admiring his opponent. “I’m impressed,” Brendan says, hungrily groping Mike’s Monstah pecs and shoulders, adding, “but you’re still going down.” Down the road, when Brendan is using his height to perfect advantage by wringing Mike out in a full nelson and grinding his crotch into those meaty glutes, he half-moans the confession “I love those tight muscles,” which, I swear to the homoerotic wrestling gods, I was thinking the exact same thing at that very moment.

Mike isn’t as verbally demonstrative, but the swelling bulge in his trunks and the way his breathing gets fast and ragged when he’s being “forced” to worship big Brendan is confession enough for me. When Brendan has Mike’s massive arms trapped in the ropes and he’s straddling the bodybuilder’s face, leaning forward and sucking on Mike’s nipples and licking his abs, the trapped muscle man is a study in extreme ambivalence. The way he really throws himself into his work when he’s kissing Brendan’s biceps and licking the brutal one’s sweaty pits sells the pleasure Monstah Mike is taking from having Brendan grant his wish to have someone around here give him a serious challenge.

Mike’s magnificent muscles take about 66% of the punishment in this match, and it’s thrilling to watch a body like that get worked on so hard. Watching a 230 pound muscle god cracked across an opponent’s thigh in an OTK backbreaker is just epic! And when Brendan’s got him there laid out and vulnerable, the brutal one swoops down and licks the sweat off of Mike’s heaving abs. Holy fuck, be careful what you wish for, Monstah Mike!

I say Brendan is in the driver’s sweat about 66% of the time, but it’s only the final 4 minutes that really matter in the end, when it comes to settling whether BG East has a new “sheriff,” as Mike so boldly announces, or if the old guard is still laying down the law of the land. I think one thing that keeps this heel-on-heel action in the sweet spot for me is that, while there’s a decisive “winner,” no one is hating it when the final round of forced muscle worship plays out. There’s no defense of fragile masculinity, as if being forced to worship a sensationally sexy body you are obviously hot for is somehow emasculating. They’re both fucking into the heat of the battle, into lusting over each other’s hot bodies, and neither of them is an ounce less of a total badass for it. It’s not like I think either of these sexy-as-fuck muscle heels has any tarnish at all on his sheriff’s badge, even though one of them is knocked out cold and pinned helplessly for the final 3-count victory. If anything, I’m hoping it just makes him hungrier. And hornier. And good luck to whoever is next to square off against either of these sensationally sexy bad ass muscle men!

“You talked a big game online…”

January 2, 2023 wrestlebard5 Comments

Forrest Taylor says he isn’t impressed when Brendan Byers climbs into the ring in Babyface Bash 2. But he should be. And between you and me, I’m pretty sure Forrest is lying. “You looked taller and stronger online,” he says dismissively. “I was expecting some great big giant.” There’s a pull of gravity to the massive muscles towering over sexy little Forrest though, that I just don’t quite believe he isn’t feeling. When Forrest flexes his own hot, lean biceps proudly, Brendan steps up and flexes one of his own huge, mountainous peaks, and I swear to the homoerotic wrestling gods, the little guy’s entire head disappears behind it.

I’ve mentioned before the remarkably persistent, nay relentless commentary that Forrest pulls out at EVERY occasion. I’m a HUGE fan of trash talk, and pillow talk, and villainous monologing, and, well, wrestling text of all sorts. So it’s saying something when even I have to say, “Will someone shut Forrest up!?” On this day, in that ring, that someone is big, bad, brutal Brendan Byers!

I don’t want to be misunderstood, mind you. Fuck, Forrest is a tasty fucking treat! He was on my nomination form for multiple categories for the BG East Besties, and hands down, he was my top pick for Best Butt this year. In a homoerotic wrestling universe dominated by huge muscle monsters and physique stars, there’s just something about his gorgeous quads and that insanely round, mouthwatering bubble butt, that would make me pick him out of a crowd of hotties every fucking time. Hell, I’m even a huge fan of his beard, despite the inordinate amount of attention he constantly draws to his, admittedly, impressive facial hair. Lest I be painted as a hater, let me declare unequivocally that I am a Forrest Taylor fan.

But holy fuck, is it satisfying watching him get the living SHIT kicked out of him by Brendan Byers! Forrest also demonstrates why I voted for him to retain his title as Jobber of the Year for another year, by egging on his own corporal punishment with unbelievably cocky trash talk, even while he’s getting buried under the mountain of muscle crushing down on him. Literally, Brendan his choking him with his own suspender and riding him HARD in a camel clutch, and Forrest is snarling and spitting, “You ain’t shit.” Fuck, talk about asking for it. Fuck, talk about DEMANDING it!? It’s sort of the definition of “heel bait,” as his plucky defiance makes the muscle bear ripping him apart limb by limb that much hotter and fiercer. Brendan drags his nose across the side of Forrest’s face, breathing in deeply, absolutely intoxicated by the aroma of defiantly hopeless jobber wafting up at him. He throws him to his stomach and mounts that ass that got my vote, grinding his hips, holding him by the hair, and announcing convincingly “You’re mine, boy!”

My fellow Scotsman gets a little riding time, thanks to a savage punch to Brendan’s balls. But when Forrest mounts his own “revenge” camel clutch, giving it everything he’s got, Brendan literally smirks, “That tickles.” When Forrest snaps on face-to-crotch headscissors, it makes me wonder if I ought to have nominated him for best bulge. But it also has this pretense of twink dominance, all the while, I’m pretty convinced, it’s doing NOTHING but making big Brendan build up a whole new, bigger, harder head of steam.

A few highlights that grab me by the balls include the absolutely devastating series of pounding over-the-knee backbreakers that make me think for a moment there that Forrest was actually broken. Forrest pummeled while trapped in the ropes is exquisite. Somewhere in the melange of the sound of the red headed hunk’s panicked whimpers paired with the sight of his alabaster, fucking impressively built quads hanging there uselessly, I am seriously turned on!

A little over 17 minutes in, and Forrest loses the red and white stripped briefs he’d had on under his tartan, and, damn it all, that’s a fucking hot, bearded, booted naked man getting his sensational ass handed to him again and again and again! He fights it at every turn. He refuses to accept the inevitable, and that’s SO fucking adorable. “I told you all that shit talk would come back to bite you in the ass, didn’t I,” Brendan points out, mounted on Forrest’s naked ass and yanking his head back with a handful of fiery red hair. “Yes, yes,” Forrest gasps, with pleading in his breathless voice.

The reverse inverted bearhug with Forrest’s entire head shoved inside of Brendan’s pouch is epic, but fuck, I’m going to feast for days on the naked bearhug and wears that buttle butt out so gorgeously. So, sure, I’m going to keep bitching about Forrest’s relentless trash talk, because he’s asking for it, right? He wants to irritate, doesn’t he? There’s a devious, clever angle there, where every heel, and at least this reviewer, fucking sees RED under the constant onslaught of Forrest’s bluster, pretty much guaranteeing his total destruction again and again.

Fucking brilliant!

Two-On-One Tuesday

August 25, 2020August 25, 2020 wrestlebard8 Comments

To keep things shiny, I’m trying out a new hashtag: #TwoOnOneTuesday. No one loves a little alliteration as much as I do. Well, I know of one particular homoerotic wrestling producer who does, but other than that, I suspect alliteration tickles me more than you (which reminds me, I think there ought to be more tickling in homoerotic wrestling!). In any case, Two-On-One-Tuesdays may, or may not, end up being a thing. You can let me know what you think in the comments. But so far I like it. There’s something particularly sexy about seeing a couple of mates manhandling and mastering a muscleman, making him moan and milking his misery.

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Possibly the first 2-on-1 match that I got off on was the Tag Team Torture 2 match where Jeff Phoenix’ partner was a no show. There was no mention of who the son of a bitch was who abandoned this bulging, blue eyed, blond beefcake to face notorious heels Jose and Cruz alone. Wouldn’t that have been a sensational grudge match sequel, when Jeff beat the living fuck out of the traitor!? Jeff held his own for a while against this 2-on-1, just long enough to make the coverboy cocky, which turns Jose and Cruz’ double team demolition that much sweeter.

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The bitter divorce of Jonny Firestorm and Calvin Haynes’ tag team led instantly to the sensationally sexy double-team of Calvinby Jonny and his rebound partner, pretty-pretty Royce Perry. I’ve nursed this fantasy pretty much every time I’ve had a rough break-up. Seriously, I always have this exact fantasy of meeting my ex in a wrestling ring, revealing the mouth-wateringly hot new model I traded up for, and the two of us beating him down, turning him on, and leaving him with blue balls. Just me?

christian ronnie teddy

Over at W4H, sexy go-go boy Christian Thorn apparently took so many brutally one-sided beatings that Cameron arranged for him to take some wrestling lessons from pro hunks Ronny Pearl and Teddy Trouble. What could go wrong? The classy pros put the pretty boy through his paces, but perhaps it’s too much of a good thing. Double-teamers take notes: 2-on-1 babyface jobber crushing can go wildly off the rails if you can’t get on the same page with your partner.

steel joey scrappy

It’s another pro vs. Instahunk story when Joey King takes advantage of his extensive experience to humble bodybuilder Steel in Rough & Ready 103. But Joey’s simmering feud with that other Instahunk, Scrappy, comes back to bite him in his lovely, round ass, when Scrapster joins the fray. So, sure, I can totally tune in to pretty muscleboy posers working up a head of steam on a bad ass pro.

Regular readers will recognize this tendency I have to get totally infatuated with a particular wrestler who may, or may not, be objectively more notable than anyone else. And there we have Weekend Wrestling’s Pretty Boy Assassin. I don’t know exactly what it is that turns my crank quite as hard as he does, but I’m screaming to tag in with him when he’s getting double teamedby his official opponent, Brendan Byers, and WW’s boss man Cole Cassidy. Fuck, now I’ve got a fierce rescue fantasy churning away. Just one more way a two-on-one can turn me on!

Let me know what you think about #TwoOnOneTuesdays, and if they should stay on the menu.

The Victory Lap

August 12, 2015 wrestlebard2 Comments

Is there anyone else who gets off on that moment when a wrestler just totally fucks around with his beaten opponent just because he can? Of course there is.

h10_lg — Bulldog Barzini makes Denny Cartier witness his own humiliation staring back at him.

Personally, I prefer that little bit of juicy drama to cap off a suspenseful back and forth battle of brawn and brains. I like to be kept guessing, tempted back and forth to jump to the conclusion of which hot hunk is going to reign victorious, only to have my assumptions and predictions called into doubt over and over. Then, once one roaring stud is driving that bus all over his opponent’s bested body, it’s incredibly provocative for me to watch him just mess with the defanged loser. You know, flex in his face. Rip off his trunks. Or, and here’s the topic I’m working a head of steam up about today, toss his broken, once dangerous body across your shoulders and take a victory lap around the ring.

h0108_lg — Brad Rochelle looked nothing short of orgasmic pinning beautiful Patrick Donovan in front of a roaring crowd of their peers.

I’m certain that the most satisfying victory lap I’ve ever witnessed is from the opening match of Wrestlefest 2. Moments before being awarded rookie of the year, Brad Rochelle is in a surprisingly tough tussle with then notorious jobber, sexy Patrick Donovan. The stakes are higher than normal because there’s a packed audience of fellow wrestlers watching, critiquing, urging on the boys from ringside. Brad is the it-boy. He’s tanned and phenomenally toned. Fans have been popping their corks uncontrollably for the past year since Brad debuted at BG East. Patrick has been racking up loss after loss, each one seeming to inspire yet a longer line of prospective opponents who want to dig their fingertips into his luscious pecs and make the pretty boy scream. There’s some sweet back and forth to start the match. Patrick is no pushover. But Brad folds baby cakes up like a peanut butter sandwich, pinning Patrick’s shoulders with his noggin nestled nice and tight between Brad’s muscled thighs. Someone eagerly urges Brad to make him squeal. Brad takes the first fall to the applause of his peers, giving the jobber a light slap in the face somewhere between playful and insulting. The fan favorite babyface rising looks like he’s got the jobber’s sweet ass tied up in a bow.

0103_lg — Dazzling babyface totally humiliated by a “jobber.”

And then suddenly Patrick pounces. The lean, handsome stud with mouthwatering pecs flips over his opponent, folding Brad up in the very same, humiliating hold he was just submitted to. Patrick is raging, punching Brad’s ass, calling the jock stud a pussy. There’s laughter from the audience, as it starts to sink in that it-boy Brad Rochelle is currently getting his fantastic ass beat bad. Patrick refuses to relent until Brad is tapping, yelling out his humiliated submission. The boys ringside can hardly believe it, as Patrick pumps his fist in the air and then strolls over to take a seat on the top turnbuckle, soaking in the sight of Brad flat on is back in a pool of sweat, nursing his abused shoulder.

What happens next? Fuck, I love that suspense. As it turns out, Brad opens up a can of testosterone fueled, face-saving whoop ass to what climaxes to a standing ovation from the hooting audience. He’s working out a little rage at being publicly humiliated. He’s gratuitously brutal, egged on by his bruised ego and the cheers of the audience. Patrick is laid waste, and Brad hoists pec boy across he shoulders and jogs around the ring as the boys at ringside go wild. Brad’s face beams, feeling the victory deep down. He laughs at his total mastery, his complete ownership of the hot punk who a few minutes ago was calling him a pussy and punching him in the ass. Shimmering in sweat, flexed, magnificently victorious, he takes another lap just because the moment is so fucking sweet he needs to savor it.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more titillating victory lap. But I typically love one when I see it. It’s less compelling for me in a squash. When a boy’s been owned from start to finish, there’s less plot, less resolution of homoerotic wrestling tension wrapped up in a victory lap. But yeah, when all is said and done, it’s definitely value added for me to see a winner just fuck with his battered prey. Just because he can. Just because it feels good to demonstrate that he can do whatever the fuck he wants with all that potential, all that bluster and posing and prospective danger wrapped up in the muscled beauty beaten and now at his mercy.

26_lg — Brad relished the victory lap again against muscle hunk Billyboy.

20_lg — …and yet again in his legendary heel turn all over gorgeous Alexi Adamov.

18_lg — However, The Enforcer demonstrated this truism to Brad: karma is a bitch.

24_lg — Blue Rage dishes out the punishment and the victory lap humiliation all over Bad Dog.

08_lg — Cole Cassidy takes a leisurely stroll with Rob Berlin completely done.

11_lg — Dom the Dominator enjoys the feel of smart ass Rolando hanging helpless as he takes a lap.

h05_lg — Pausing from a victory lap, Shane Styles lets Brendan Byers see what complete humiliation looks like up close.

jake — Jake Jenkins gets a kick out of parading Eli Black around the ring with Eli’s partner impotently watching on from his corner.

h10_lg-1 — Nik Knox and Shane Layne can’t stop congratulating each other as they take tandem victory laps in their tag team beat down of Cameron Matthews and Paul Hudson.

0221_lg — Austin Cooper drove home the point that he’s the king of the ring by taking a victory lap with newbie Adam Atom.

Independence Day

July 4, 2015July 4, 2015 wrestlebard1 Comment

I typically take the time around the 4th of July to point out my lack of patriotism. But this year feels different. I know that I’m not the only one who feels a little more like a proud American this 4th of July. Such a major, seismic shift on marriage equality certainly doesn’t protect everyone’s rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, of course. LGBT Americans can legally be fired, denied housing, harrassed by both public and private authorities in a whole lot of places in this country still. But access to marriage is pretty cool.

Adam Battle from Can-Am’s Power Match 6-Pack

I’ve been fascinated to watch the strong and conflicting opinions the SCOTUS decision has sparked among my friends and colleagues, who, generally speaking, tend to pitch their tents in the same political camp. Straight people shamed for flying the rainbow flag. White gays shamed for celebrating marriage while people of color and trans folks are continuing to get fucked up and gunned down. Marriage advocates shamed for distracting us all from other problems like poverty and racism and gun violence and sexism.

0109_lg — Brad Rochelle from BG East’s Fantasymen 20.

I’ve got my own opinions, of course, but I have to say that I can’t help but be pleased that we’re talking a little more openly about a lot of things that ought to be complicated and unsettled. I confess a little thrill that bigots are feeling compelled to have to state their bigotry and try to rationalize it as something else, rather than just silently assuming that they’re the moral majority. And I really like that a lot of people I know who have long assumed that we all think alike are realizing that one particular decision or policy or issue that we all may endorse to some extent doesn’t erase the rich diversity of who we are, what we value, where our priorities lie, and how we think.

byers — Brendan Byers from BG East’s Florida Fights 1

It’s not uncommon in homoerotic wrestling to see American flag wrestling trunks. This gear typically signals that the wearer is a babyface hero, handsome, virile, and virtuous. And in the homoerotic wrestling matches I watch, those guys get their stars and stripes clad asses handed to them 9 times out of 10. Not always, I know, but most of the time.

BG East's Military Muscle 2 — BG East’s Military Muscle 2

The hunks in American flag trunks most often embody a naivete, a simple minded faith in things like hard work, strength, and sincerity to tip the scales of wrestling competition and justice their way. Their virginal earnestness is saccharine sweet, a glossy glaze over the realities of the homoerotic wrestling ring where things aren’t always (or even often) fair. Their wide-eyed, muscle bulging innocence seems to make them blind to a world where cheating, unsportsmanlike behavior, and ferocious mercilessness more often than not spank the ass of righteous, rule-abiding reverence for an honest battle of strength and skill.

I don’t know if this trope still plays the same way in mainstream pro wrestling (because I haven’t watched mainstream pro wrestling in forever), but I think it’s a particularly engaging narrative for homoerotic wrestling audiences. We know that survival often goes not to the fittest, but the most cunning. We know that when the rules are stacked against you, sometimes the most appropriate response is to fuck the rules. We know that often our most important assets in the battle against those who revile and oppress us behind a veneer or virtue and righteous indignation is to turn the repulsion right back around on them, to throw what they despise most in their faces, to metaphorically grab them by the balls until their self-righteous, “hard earned” privilege and power melts into weeping, impotent, contemptible helplessness.

Because more often than not, it isn’t their righteousness that has propelled them forward in good fortune. It isn’t their hard work. They haven’t just wanted success more, as if their will power is superior to those who haven’t prospered and been rewarded as much. It’s just those fucking rules that have made the difference, that have been slowly (sometimes quickly) tipping the scales their way from the moment they were born, that have advantaged them not because they earned it or deserved it, but just because they were born into families with a particular hue and history, because they effortlessly found their affections drawn in the socially acceptable direction, because they had that silver spoon in their mouths all along. So, many of us with an eye for homoerotic wrestling have learned that it’s those fucking rules that are the problem, and watching a homoerotic wrestling heel fuck the rules and humiliate a stars and stripes clad goldenboy is deep down satisfying.

I’m sure there’s much more to the American flag jobber narrative than that, but what I’m left wondering this year is whether my new found investment in my citizenship, riding this wave of judicial victory and the turning tide of public opinion, may make me, and perhaps you, a little less cynical about the American flag. I’m sure it won’t happen anytime soon, but is there a place in homoerotic wrestling iconography somewhere down the road for a sneering, contemptuous, irrepressible heel decked out in stars and stripes? Might finding myself embracing a little patriotric pride for being welcomed a little more into the fold of mainstream America shift my tastes for enjoying the sight of the American flag, strapped to the ass of an classically hot pretty boy, trampled and trashed for the poor excuse for institutional oppression it has so long seemed to me to represent? May I want to see an American patriot savvy and sly, queer and cunning, as vicious and vile as necessary to pound… who?… into tantalizingly sexy mincemeat?

1129_lg — BG East’s Austin Cooper Wrestler Spotlight 2

In some ways I hope so.

In many ways, I hope not.

h0116_lg — BG East’s Lon Dumont Wrestler Spotlight

Victory is Mine!

June 19, 2012July 1, 2013 wrestlebard3 Comments

Regular readers have heard me bitching and whining about my work life for years now. I’ve been wrestling with a bear of a job that leaves me underpaid and my labor generally exploited by others. However, I’m ecstatic to report that the mammoth project that has been weighing me down and distracting me from the great fun of posting more here and writing more homoerotic wrestling fiction has come to a thrilling conclusion. I took some vicious attacks along the way, but as of today, I have wrestled the mother fucker to his back, pinned his chin beneath my crotch, and slapped down a crowing, lingering, humiliating 3-count pin in the middle of the ring.

Shoulders pinned, leg hooked, crotch hovering at chin-level…

The size and scope of this exhausting victory cannot be overstated. I’m poised to start a new job in a few weeks, which will include an epic promotion and huge jump in compensation. I will be moving across the country in the mean time, so my availability to post around here will likely continue to be spotty. But life is good, gentlemen!