Wrestler4Hire has ventured into the year-end fan poll territory. They have 10 categories for you to choose from. You can register your vote here. I’m less familiar with the full catalog at W4H, so my recommendations are likely less informed than many other W4H fans. But you know me. I always have opinions. Here are your W4H Best of 2017 choices.
I’ve seen all of these contenders in action, and of course I have my favorites. But it will likely come as no surprise to regular readers that I’m voting for Lon Dumont.
I have seen all of these guys, though not in 2017 W4H matches. Just going with my gut, though, I’m always a big fan of Alex Oliver. His gorgeous ass gets my vote.
First of all… 15 nominations!? There’s some executive leadership needed in order to get this behemoth under control. I have not seen all of these guys (there are fucking 15 of them, after all), but I have seen most. It’s a close all for me between Marco and Elite Eliot. I’ll probably vote for Marco, though.
Favorite Ring Match
Ace Owens vs. Elite Eliot
Dashing Dustin vs. Dr. X
Cameron vs. Ace Owens vs. Nick Justice
Tyler Royce vs. Hugh Hunter
Cameron vs. Ty Alexander
Cal Bennett vs. Elite Eliot
Marco Thunder vs. Rendell Zebu
Tyler Royce vs. Cam Zagucci
Cal Bennett vs. Brad Barnes
Elite Eliot vs. Garrett Thomas
Nathan FX vs. Garrett Thomas
Cameron vs. Jonny Jobber
I saw only a couple of these matches, so my opinion is based on incomplete data and a lot of just who I like, rather than a studied comparison of the specific matches. With that in mind, I’ll vote for Ty and Cameron.
Favorite Mat Match
Nathan VX vs. Cal Bennett
Cameron vs. Jaxton Wheeler
Chase LaChance vs. Black Starr
Jobe Zander vs. Marco Thunder
Cam Zagucci vs. Austin Tyler
Cal Bennett vs. Zacky Darlin
Cameron vs. Jax Brewer
Tyler Royce vs. Jobe Zander
Holy shit, I saw none of these matches. I’ve got nothing worthwhile to contribute to your deliberation. Just based on who I like, I’ll vote for Cameron and Jax Brewer.
I’m supposed to say company CEO Cameron, but I’m going to say Marco.
Okay, so finally I have a ton of reasonably well-informed opinions. Chace has won this title over at BG East two years ago. I’m seriously hot for Marco, Scrappy, and Eliot. But I’m voting for Marco.
I like this category a lot. Hands down, most crotch-warming smile belongs to Blake Starr in this bunch.
Another great category. Considering forearms as well as upper arms, I’m casting my vote for Jax Brewer. Fuck, I love his arms.
I’m not really sure how to interpret this category. Future champion of what? Does W4H have a championship in contention? Future indy pro champion material? So many questions. The validity of the question is weak, but I’ll still vote for a burning favorite wrestler here, Elite Eliot.
Tonight. Midnight. Submit your votes for the Best of BG East in 2016. I realize that I’m atypical when it comes to how many BG East matches I watch over the year, so this little voter’s guide is intended to help fill in any blanks some of you may have for lack of exposure to some of the nominees. If 2016 teaches us nothing else, it proves that nothing requires us to be educated and informed voters. However, if you prefer to vote based on something other than your cock’s reaction to one still photo, but you don’t have time to see the whole ballot of matches, feel free to consider my opinions for what they’re worth (which is relatively little, but a little more than voting with no basis whatsoever).
Let’s power through the remaining categories to finish off your ballot.
Best Mat Battle
It’s a little surprising to consider this match “from the vaults” for a 2016 award. Both Jonah and especially Cameron were so young in this match. It’s hard not to superimpose what we know about how Cameron grew up, muscled up, and launched his own production company since this match was taped. I loved this match immensely. It’s rough and raw. The boys clearly hate the fuck out of each other. Lovely, lickable twinks who may look like babies but wrestle like nasty back alley brawlers.
It’s a close call for me, but my vote goes to Kid K and Mason. Both of these beautiful boys are perennial favorites of mine, so I had very high hopes for this match going in. They didn’t disappoint, and in fact the intensity is even hotter, the bodies even more beautiful, and the mat wrestling drama even more compelling than I’d expected. It also helps that these hunks so enjoy each other’s bodies. It’s cocky and playful and reads like the hottest foreplay in history.
Similarly, I’ve never seen a match that includes JJ or Attila that fails to get me off. It’s a match up of an amateur mat champ and a ripped, acrobatic brawler. These are both thoroughbred athletes with massive egos, so the action is brutal and vicious. Not nearly as much erotic heat as Gazebo 18, but magnificent mat wrestling nonetheless.
The narrative behind Coop and Ryder’s mat tussle is great. Coop’s competitive amateur wrestling days seem so far behind him, since he’s been showing up as Dr. Cooper and dissecting opponents like a heart surgeon (aka, mercilessly) in the ring. So Jake seems to be unaware that Coop kicks ass on the mats as well. Ryder lies and cheats his way into putting the doctor into serious jeopardy, but in a lush mash up of babyface Austin and his Dr. Cooper heel alter ego, this mat battle turns nasty pro.
I’ve written a small novel about what this match does for me, so I’ll try not to repeat myself. What grabs me by the balls most is how both of these dazzlingly pretty boys show us something completely new. They’re gorgeous. The wrestling is completely ego driven. They’re gorgeous. The dialogue is sensationally sexy. They’re gorgeous. And the all in, vicous submissions are way more intense and work than I expect to see from supremely pretty boys like this. Oh, yeah, and they’re gorgeous.
Speaking intensity born of dislike, Drake and Ethan rip into each other with a passion that can’t quite be described with words. They’re mean to each other. They’re vicious and brutal. It turns sensationally sexy as the gear gets stripped, but not so much because they turn each other on, but because you get the impression that the final victory lap (after the pony ride) could very well be a domineering, taunting, sneering, contemptuous fuck. Buckets of sweat. A couple pints of tears. Lush bodies. This is a very close second choice for me.
We almost certainly all know what we like about liplocks. I like sweat, palpable passion, a tablespoon of aggression, and authentic lust. Here are your options.
I’m in an ethical dilemma when it comes to giving you a look at the first nominee for Hottest Liplock. BG East has an embargo on me sharing any of their pics that contain full frontal, and yet the only shots of this liplock include both wrestlers with their full-mast cocks in hand. So I’m hoping that I’ll be forgiven for cropping out the bottom of this shot, to stay within the strictly PG requirements I’ve agreed to, despite having to drop the BG East copyright at the bottom of the photo. If this photo suddenly disappears and is replaced by a puppy, you’ll know that I have been asked, and as always I’ve agreed, to a request from the copyright holder to remove the image. All that fine print aside, this is a hot liplock, right?
Sensationally sexy liplock between Christian and Calvin. The authenticity is well-established long ahead of time, as they both telegraph all along that they are turning each other on. If you still doubt it, their rock hard cocks straining the pouches of their trunks should prove the point.
My vote goes to Drake’s kiss-‘n’-pin of gorgeous newbie Nino “Babyboy” Leone. It ticks off all of my boxes, including sweat, passion, simmering aggression, and what is quite obviously open lust. This is one of the most brutal matches this year, which makes the incredibly tender ending that much more dizzying. Squarely in the homoerotic sweet spot.
When it comes to quantity, Charlie and Blaine very well may have locked lips the most in their ginger-off in the backyard. I believe Blaine gets the award for popping Charlie’s (kissing) cherry first in his homoerotic wrestling career, but Charlie is quite clearly abundantly skilled in sucking face and using it as a defensive maneuver on the mats. For kissing as chess match move, I give this liplock a close second place on my ballot.
I get the impression that I am as big a fan of Chris Xaos as most of the rest of you are of Mike Martin. So between the two of us (you, me), we should be crazy for their scorching hot mat match this year. The liplock is more teasing than passionate, for my tastes. That said, I’d change my vote for a chance to stick my tongue down Chris Xaos’ throat (well, if he’s naked).
There’s nothing teasing about Christian and Jeremy’s passion at the end of their hot and rough mat match. This is a full on make out session, and it’s lathered in sweat, and it’s got a half a cup of aggression still playing out, and I fully believe these boys are into each other. Christian is the reigning kissing master at BG East, which may work against him this time around for the potential vote splitting with his liplock on Calvin.
Best Wrestler Spotlight
It seems like a testimony to a wrestler’s marketability to get an entire DVD release devoted to one person. So the three nominees this year for Best Wrestler Spotlight represent some major fan favorites.
Biff follows up with his victory as Debut of the Year last year with multiple nominations across the ballot, including for his Wrestler Spotlight. He’s compelling and gorgeous. I actually think the strength of this collection is in the quality of his opponents, though. You get the impression everyone wants a shot at this ridiculously hot beefcake. This is a very close second place for me.
Has anyone ever starred in 3 Wrestler Spotlight DVDs before? Although this collection tends toward showing off Coop’s work as a gorgeously bashable babyface, his mat match with Jake Ryder gives some awesome flashes of Dr. Cooper hanging out his shingle. The quality of his opponents is less consistent than the other two Wrestling Spotlights, but Coop has emerged as such a fantastic, complex, competitive, multifaceted character, that I’m persuaded (just) to cast my vote for him.
Chace’s spotlight is sort of a retrospective of his career, featuring him as the go-go boy, the beefsteak, and the fitness model that he has been at different phases of his wrestling. His end of the bargain is less consistent than the other two Wrestling Spotlight stars, which is to be expected considering these matches come from such drastically different parts of his career. Still, although there’s nothing to complain about, I enjoyed Coop’s cubed spotlight the best.
Best 2016 Overall Match
Now the free for all starts. I know well that fans are fierce about their favorites, and when comparing apples to oranges, there’s no pretense of objectivity or even a measurable standard to point to. Seven times out of 10, I’m biased toward ring matches. I tend to favor big personalities and hot bodies in equal measure. I like to be surprised. I like to be made to laugh. And it is essential that I get hard. With all those biases in mind, I’ll tell you how I see the field for Best of 2016.
First on the ballot is my pick for the Best Overall Match at BG East in 2016. It’s an instant classic. It’s sexy as hell. Two incredible debuts. Drama, drama, drama. Very high quality pro wrestling. Intramural rivalries. And dick pic selfies. It’s everything I could want in a match (except for a copy of those dick pics).
A very close second place for me is this masterpiece on the mats between Drake and Skrapper. If I’d had the option, I very well might have picked this over Mason and Kid Karisma for the Best Mat Battle, but alas, the nominating committee didn’t see fit to give me the chance. The wrestling is outstanding. The erotic tension is thick and juicy. And the boys are real and beautiful. The only edge TTT19 has on this for me is the full throttle pro ring vibe.
So put Drake in the ring with Kayden Keller, and you might think I’d be unable to resist. I resist, though. It swings hard for a slasher vibe, but doesn’t quite connect. TTT19 and Drake’s work in Matmen 26 hit the bullseye better. And then there’s Drake’s gear to consider (smh).
Watching cocky indy pro Kirk Donahue get trampled by a “mere” underground phenom like Dr. Cooper is guaranteed to tickle my funny bone and get me hard. This is a magnificent beatdown and totally worthy of a shot at the title, but it just didn’t get my vote.
That’s right, haters, Drake Marcos anchors a full half of the Best Match nominees this year! I recently referred to 2016 as the year of the rookie, but it may have to be rebranded as the year of Drake. The heat is scorching in his match with Ethan. And I do love seeing bully-Ethan face off against someone who gives it right back to him. But the raw rage and bitterness don’t quite put this match over Drake’s match with Skrapper for me, and neither quite persuade me to tip them over Tag Team Torture 19.
See all my comments above about why I voted for this as Best Mat Battle, and then remind yourself that this does not take place in a wrestling ring. It’s immensely satisfying, funny, fierce and brutal, and it gets extra points in my book for Mason’s perfect (perfect) choice in undergarments. But I’m still throwing my one, lone vote to the fierce foursome in TTT19.
The real winner is you and me, of course. Such a rich, entertaining, arousing body of work from BG East in 2016 is why BG East is the first place I go for that particular mix of homoerotic wrestling that keeps me satisfied. Congratulations to all of the nominees (except for Kirk). You are, every last one of you, gorgeous to watch mix it up in the ring, on the mats, and everywhere else that the Boss’ imagination takes us. Thanks for all of the distractions in 2016 that kept me from the abyss of absolute despair over current events
Joe and Alex have both put the 3-some match of Damien Rush, Ty Alexander, and “don’t-call-me-jobber” Drake Marcos at the head of the line in their reviews of BG East’s recent catalog. Now, you know I’ve got stuff to say about Damien, Ty, and that pretty, petulant, foot-stamping battleboy Drake, but I’ll let Alex and Joe’s reviews point the way a while before I jump in and start stirring that pot. For today, I want to sit back and marvel just a bit at a match in this recent batch that took me by surprise. I was not expecting to get quite so turned on by a blast from the past, pitting a barely legal Cameron Matthews from back in the day going toe-to-toe with delicious little morsel Jonah Richards in Babyface Brawl 4.
I think Cameron and Jonah snuck up on me because if I’m shopping in the Cameron Matthews aisle, I will go for the seasoned, vine ripened, mature muscle stud version of Cameron from the past 2 or 3 years ahead of his earlier incarnations. If push came to shove, and let’s face it, we’re talking pro wrestling so of course it does, I’d own up to putting my finger on the scale for an older wrestler over a raw, loud, late adolescent twink puppy 9 times out of 10. So seeing Cameron back in his bowl cut incarnation, lickable for days but just not as filled out and angular (particularly compared to his brawny beefcake edition of the most recent past), made me delegate this match to the “let’s watch this first” pile, because I was expecting other matches in Babyface Brawl 4 to provide the most natural money shots. Holy fuck, was I wrong.
I have reviewed Jonah Richards in the past. I like the look of him a lot. I think the only thing I’ve really sunk my teeth into in his resume left me a little flat, though, with a little too raw of an edge, a slight clumsiness to the wrestling that gave me too much of a hit of backyard trampoline wrestling. I’ve long thought it would be a pleasure to bend him over and fuck that hot, taut, lean meat ass of his, but, again, I wasn’t expecting him in BB4 to grab me by the balls. Again, I say, holy fuck, was I wrong.
This is a mat match, which keeps this in the realm of believability, because even a barely legal version of Cameron would own an inexperienced, shoot from the hip twink punk like Jonah for days if this was in a pro ring. Fuck. Especially a barely legal version of Cameron would have wiped the floor with the mop haired Tiger Beat babyface if this was a ring match. Fuck, again, I say, I fully expected him to crack the kid like a nut even on the mat, if for no other reason than a height and weight advantage, without even bothering to factor in on camera wrestling experience. But after they trash talk and curl their upper lips at each other, Cameron turns his back to lean against the wall and stretch out his long legs, and BAM! Jonah rushes him from behind and locks on a full nelson. It’s assertive and confident. It’s a little vile and vicious. In other words, I like it. A lot. But then he suddenly lunges forward and slams Cameron face first into the wall. Right then and there I absolutely forgot about the also-rans on this DVD.
The story is authentic and compelling. Jonah is a pit-bull mix, throwing himself with claws bared and a gross lack of concern for counters or reversals. He hates Cameron’s cockiness. He hates his polish and prettiness. He hates his size and pedigree as a rising pro phenom. And he throws every fucking thing including the kitchen sink at getting underneath Cameron’s skin.
My heart beats faster in those moments when Jonah is racking up riding time. He gloats and sneers. I would swear to the wrestling gods that he is, right at this very moment, wherever the fuck he is these days, cuing up and jacking off to these scenes of his younger self ripping Cameron apart and working the twink punk revenge scenario that so many skinny gay guys have dreamt of back in the day when the high school jocks were lording over them. When he snaps on face-to-crotch headscissors and reaches down, grabbing the back of Cameron’s head and pulling hard, cramming his balls into the pro’s face, I am a big, big Jonah Richards fan.
But the drama is between this sensational back alley twink punk against an icy calm, exceptionally experienced, sensationally dominant, polished pro. So time and time again, Cameron takes his licks, but then muscles back into contention. He counters like a motherfucker, yanking victory out of the jaws of defeat over and over again. And he knows exactly how to control an opponent. He takes the heat Jonah is throwing his way, and he burns him with it again and again. Jonah is the first to try to unbutton Cameron’s jeans, but it’s the bowl-cut pro who flips the script and strips the twink punk first.
And Cameron’s ass was then, as it is now, astonishingly hot. So when he slides into figure-4 headscissors and bends his knees, slowly pulling Jonah’s puckered face deeper and deeper up Cameron’s crack, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a world class bubble butt used as wrestling offense better. You know there’s an army of Cameron Matthews fans who would give their left nut to trade places with Jonah right then and there. But it does nothing but piss off the pit bull that much more.
Two other elements are pleasant surprises for me here. One, I fucking LOVE watching hot, angry wrestling in jeans. I know, I know, this is totally inconsistent with my perpetual complaint about anytime there’s not enough skin. Fuck consistency. Sue me. I’ve got a special kink button for hot, shirtless boys in jeans beating the fuck out of each other. And 99 times out of 100, when homoerotic wrestling starts in jeans, they’re out of denim within about 3 minutes. Not so with Jonah and Cameron. They go about 5 falls into the match before Jonah gets his hot hors d’oeuvre ass stripped to briefs. The pacing is such that this makes total sense. They’re bitter. They don’t take breaks. When Cameron tried to pull of his t-shirt, Jonah took advantage of the moment by attacking him and using the shirt against him. So it’s little wonder that, when they’re both swinging for the fences, the time and effort it takes to rip off two pairs of skin tight jeans is not their top priority. And I for one love it. I mean, I’d be bitter if we didn’t get to see these two bodies stripped to their gorgeous trunks underneath, but we do see that, and I get my denim kink stroked hard in the mean time.
The final delightful surprise of this match is the finish. I mean, it’s not a surprise that sooner or later Cameron Matthews kicks Jonah’s munchable ass. He’s just too dominant. He’s too skilled. Even at this point in his pro career, he’s seen every dirty trick in the book, so one way or another, he’s going wrap this lean cut of veal up nice and tight and sleeper Jonah out cold. Watching the bitterness and resentment fading from Jonah’s face as he drifts off to dreamland is super sweet. But it isn’t surprising. What is surprising is how much time it takes Cameron to pull his shit together, get to his feet, catch his breath, stroll across the mat to pick up his clothes, monologuing to his unconscious opponent about fate and “maybe next time son,” and don’t-mess-with-the-bull trash talk. Because a groggy, blinking, dizzy twink punk has just enough time to rouse, crawl on his hands and knees up behind the hot jock who just put him down and jab a solid, breathtaking punch to Cameron’s balls from behind.
Cameron “wins,” mind you. He can out wrestle Jonah morning, noon and night. If Jonah just kept wrestling at this point, I have zero doubt that Cameron would yet again be putting the bitter punk down again and flexing and preening all over again. So Jonah grabs his leather belt off of his jeans and just hog ties the wailing, ball-bruised pro in the middle of the mat. I literally stand up and cheer, this is so fucking satisfying. The reversal of fortune is dripping with juicy, jock-comeuppance humiliation. The back alley punk then picks up his own clothes and starts for the door. But then he turns back and grabs Cameron’s clothes, too. “Fuck you!” Jonah spits down at the trussed up babyface pro. “Walk home naked, loser!”
File this one under that longstanding theme I’ve talked about, where genuine suspense and surprise turns me on extra hard. This makes me want to go back and savor every Cameron Matthews match I own all over again, with this hot-tied humiliation of his past shedding new light on the career trajectory of the hardest working hunk in homoerotic wrestling. And this makes me want to go back and purchase every Jonah Richards match I can get my hands on.
And this makes me, for at least a moment, ask “Biff? Chet? Who the fuck are they?!”
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.
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).
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.
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.
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!?
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.
“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!”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thanks for those checking in on me after not posting for a couple of weeks. Exciting times in the Bard household these days, including an imminent relocation of chez Bard. I’m certain there will be more disruptions in my posting schedule over the next few months as I happily move to greener pastures, but in the mean time, let me make up for lost time and applaud the winners of the 2015 BG East Besties.
In the individual wrestler categories featured winners who were certainly odds on favorites, as well as what I consider a couple of upset surprises. First, as for surprises, I think Jake Jenkins’ successful defense of his title as Top Babyface is a surprise mostly because JJ simply wasn’t prominently featured in 2015. Not that I haven’t fucking adored JJ from day 1, but honestly I figured more prolific wrestlers would have been more on the mind of voters. But JJ proves once again not to underestimate his petite, acrobatic, sensationally hot body or beautiful face. And Kip Sorell stole Best Abs from Z-Man!? Holy fuck, that blows my mind. I’d dip all 5 nominees in chocolate sauce and lick them clean, mind you, but Kip’s relatively low 2015 profile paired with Z-Man’s ferocious fan base has to make this a major upset.
Not so surprising are tried and true chart toppers like Best Butt award winner once again, Kid Karisma. It’s hard to argue with perfection, although Ty Alexander pulled out a runner up for the category, and he’s sworn on FB to claim the title in 2016. Also not surprising me at all is Pete Sharp slapping down the competition for Best Bulge with his his monster package. I think that anaconda could be a gimme anytime Pete’s in the mix. Best Body went to Chace LaChance, which I think is entirely understandable, though I’m glad to see Kid K pulled into 2nd place.
Top Heel for 2015 was Guido Genatto, which is hard to argue with, despite my selecting Joe Mazetti for my vote. Guido’s multiple, overwhelming heel performances in 2015 would be tough to beat by anyone at any time. Top Jobber went to fan favorite Ty Alexander, who was my pick and, I think, a shoe-in for his multiple matches jobbing like the cream of the crop. Debut of the year was a tough call, but I’m pleased that my pick, Biff Farrell, slapped Drake’s pick, Chet Chastain, down like a bitch to claim the title. I still say with a debut year like his, Biff could own this industry in a couple of years if he wanted it.
For the collaborative titles (at least, those requiring more than one wrestler to qualify), there were again a few surprises, at least to me. The Submissions 10 match featuring Cameron Matthews and Zach Reno came out of nowhere to take the trophy, as far as I’m concerned. I’m seriously shocked Jonny & Stone didn’t get the nod from submission fans. I’m also surprised and a little perplexed that the winner of Best Match Overall for 2015 was Guido and Chet’s Fan Fantasy 3 bout, despite that same match only coming in second place for Best Ring Match. If one were to assume that voters were consistent in their voting, I think that would have to mean that a good portion of those who voted for Blaine and Cameron’s Barefoot Babyface match as Top Ring match felt that whatever their top mat match pick was was better overall. Still, I find it intriguing that Best Overall Match was not the best match in its category.
Drake made a big push in our discussion about the nominees for Blaine and Cameron’s Barefoot Babyface match, and I’m not surprised it snagged the Best Ring Match title. Hot, shocking, sensationally sexy stuff. Similarly, I’m unsurprised that Ring Releases 2 pulled out the victory for Sexiest Match, even though my vote went for X-Fights 39 (which still pulled a respectable second place). I’m a little thrilled to see Kid Karisma and Marco Carlow’s Undagear 23 match do so well, winning Best Squash and coming in 2nd for Best Mat Battle. My vote still went for Lane Hartley and Richie Douglas brutally once sided babyface mauling for Best Squash, but Kid K and Marco definitely deserved some lauds and praises for that match. The Hottest Liplock of 2015 appeared in Ring Releases 2, meaning it was Kayden Keller’s face sucking on Ty Alexander that turns fans on most last year. That Skrapper and Christian Taylor came in second place surprises me a little, but Christian certainly deserves the reigning title as resident Kisser at BG East these days, so a second place finish for him makes sense
Congratulations to all the nominees and especially the winners. It was a rich, deep bench to call up in 2015. The extramural, cross production competition seems to me to be heating up these days (note Cameron throwing shade on FB about the Besties on his way to promoting his own productions these days). But when it comes to full on, unapologetically gay-oriented wrestling with sensationally sexy action and beautiful bodies abounding, BG East remained the most prolific, diverse, and entertaining, by my estimation. I keep waiting for Can-Am to really reinvest in buying back their stake of the explicitly gay wrestling scene (though they definitely maintain a major claim on the wrestling-foreplay porn narrative), and/or some new production to seriously compete with BG East for the unapologetic eye to gay pro wrestling fans. But as of the close of 2015, I think that market is unquestionably dominated by BG East. It was definitely a great year for a great company and a fantastic battalion of beautiful wrestlers.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?