When Stars Collide

I’m going to keep singing loud praises for Ringwars 26, but I want to make sure and acknowledge that this is a seriously inconsistent collection. It ranges from the sublime to the passable, and in keeping with my policy over the past several years, I’m not going to harp on the weakest links in this chain. But I feel like it ought to be mentioned that there are weak links, in my estimation at least. On the other hand, there’s that climactic final match I gushed about a couple of days ago pitting two of the hottest, smoothest, most accomplished newbie wrestlers I’ve ever seen in one BG East match. Stacked up on that sublime side of the scale is also match #2 in the compilation, featuring the dream combination of Cole Cassidy and Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!).

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That’s “Mr. Joshua” to you!

I know that I say it far too often, that some favorite wrestler has just appeared “in the best shape of his life.” It’s not that I’m trying to overstate how supremely fit and sexy these gladiators look, but I just repeatedly fall head over heels in lustful adoration again and again when I see gorgeous hunks show up again in something new. But this time, I mean it. Seriously. Mr. Joshua and Cole are in the most perfect shape I’ve ever seen them. In particular, Mr. Joshua is just flawless. His skin is without a blemish and baked perfectly to a healthy, lightly bronzed hue. There isn’t an ounce of body fat apparent, and the leopard print ultra-brief (nearly a g-string) reveals more of his mouthwatering physique than I think anything else I’ve ever seen him in. His perennially magnificent aesthetics are simply amplified. His ripped abs are a fraction more ripped. His teardrop quads are just that much more defined. His peaked biceps and muscled ass and bulging, broad shoulders appear just a tad more peaked, muscled, and broad than a long-time infatuated fan like me can remember seeing before. The repeated musclemag coverboy poses he strikes are strongly reminiscent of vintage AMG softcore.

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Always dangerous Cole Cassidy

Cole isn’t as regular an object of my blogging obsession, but he is always homoerotic gold for me. We’ve seen Cole beefier, with a hotly muscled belly, and we’ve seen him even leaner than this, practically whittled to bone and muscle. But I think his fitness in Ringwars 26 is perfection. His muscles are incredibly thick and broad, and he’s sporting the impeccable proportions and gorgeously tapered-V of a fitness model. His mid-rise square cuts suit both his dangerous MMA style of fighting as well as his no-nonsense, absolutely functional, built-to-fuck-you-over body.

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Digging deep

What makes this a match of my dreams isn’t just the lucky moment in time when both of these beauties are in perfect shape, however. This is also a fantasy match for me because I crush like hell on heel-on-heel action. Unlike the newbie-on-newbie match in this compilation, these are both known quantities, with 3-dimensional personas and long-established skills not just in wrestling, but in selling the melodrama. Even someone with passing familiarity knows that Cole is like a coiled viper, always deadly dangerous and incredibly stingy in giving away even a submission, much less a match loss. It’s not like Cole is passionless, but he’s sort of sociopathic in his cruelty. We seldom see spikes of rage or adrenaline-pumped victory celebrations. Rather, he’s like Michael Myers, taking his hits here and there, but bearing down with an air of destiny. He’s cruel, but more a force of nature than a classic sadist.

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Saddle up

Mr. Joshua is a far more complex ring heel. He’s always been a raging narcissist, of course. I defy you to find an ounce of fault in that, because Mr. J’s body is just sexy as fuck. Of course he adores his own reflection. His reflection is dazzlingly, effortlessly erotic. And at times in Mr. Joshua’s career, he’s paid the price hard for just how distracting his Magic Mike-ready body is. He’s been harshly brutalized at times, particularly in those moments when he’s lost focus on the fight because his muscles demand his attention, or because his legendary mammoth bulge requires rearranging. But over the trajectory of his career, Mr. J has emerged as a surprisingly adept pro heel. Once he really started exploiting the devastating potential his magnificent muscles have in a wrestling match, Mr. Joshua’s narrative started veering decisively away from just being all about the pretty, and increasingly centered on the mean. He doesn’t mind so much being underestimated for his beauty, because it makes it that much more satisfying to take some new, smirking punk to school. His wrestling repertoire has expanded exponentially. He mentions in his match with Cole that he’s spent some time at the Snuka Wrestling Academy (whether that’s just bullshit to warn Cole against thinking Mr. Joshua’s leopard print banana hammock is a signal that he’s a pushover, or whether he’s actually been taking lessons, I don’t know). But Mr. Joshua is about 10 times more expressive than Cole. He’s agony is far deeper, and his pleasure exponentially greater. Rather than a force of nature, Mr. J is a profoundly complex, magnificently beautiful human being already mid-swing at Erickson’s final stage of human development: self-actualization. Like the Buddha himself, I half expect that we will simply see Mr. Joshua wink out of existence at some point near the end of a match, once he has fully, entirely, completely become the truest version of himself that he has been perfecting for years.

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Cole gets a handle on the situation

 

Fuck. I haven’t actually started even talking about the match, have I?  Let me try (weakly) to keep this concise. It is exactly what I hoped for when I saddled up for a ride here. This is heel-on-heel punishment. Both warriors are entirely themselves, their most genuine expressions of the wrestling characters they have been wooing fans as for so long. Cole is fucking vicious as shit. He is impeccably suited for the task of amplifying and exploiting this particular opponent’s most glaring assets and weaknesses, such as when he pounds Mr. Joshua down into an astonishingly gorgeous over-the-knee backbreaker and starts wringing the fuck out of the monster barely stuffed down Mr. J’s pouch. I thank the homoerotic wrestling gods that Cole’s hands are big enough for the task, but even more, I sing them praises that Cole dug in deep right there where so many opponents before him have tended to shy away. Sure, a lot (A LOT) of Mr. Joshua’s opponents have delivered barrages of strikes at his pride-and-joy bulge, but when it comes to really getting handsy, to daring to test dexterity and finger strength against the most notorious anaconda in competition, Cole really kicks it up several notches.

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Stand and deliver

Those unfamiliar with Mr. Joshua’s resume (shame on you!) may find it paradoxical that actually it’s Mr. Joshua who is first to deliver a low blow.  You might imagine that a guy with as gargantuan as a target as he has would want to avoid opening up a ball bashing competition. However, those of us who have long savored his work learned long ago the genius behind his insistence on striking first. Even if they don’t intend to, sooner or later every opponent ends up striking a blow below Mr. Joshua’s belt. Honestly, they can’t avoid it even if they try. So Mr. Joshua’s signature offense is to, literally, beat them to the punch and start the testicle torture. Cole is no exception. It’s very early days in this match, and Cole is starting to ride roughshod over the jungle boy. Cole has landed a jaw-splitting knee strike to Mr. Joshua’s chin, dropping him to the mat. Like the horror film antihero he is, Cole rains down leaping stomps to Mr. Joshua’s back, making the coverboy spasm. He rides a beautiful standing surfboard like Frankie Avalon, before bearing down that much harder on Mr. J’s lower back in a camel clutch and, eventually, a bow and arrow. There’s that familiar sense that Cole could send his opponent to the hospital here pretty quickly. Until Mr. Joshua takes a roundhouse swing at Cole’s balls. Watching Cole collapse in an impotent heap is amazing, but it’s nothing compared to Mr. Joshua climbing to his feet, grabbing Cole by the ankles, spreading his tree trunk thighs wide, and literally standing on his balls. We just don’t hear Cole scream often. But Cole screams.

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Spank that ass!

I love that this match stays true to the wrestling characters we’ve grown to know and crush on. Buckle up, because the reversals of fortune could easily give you whip lash. And the fact that both of these nasty heels, each in their own way, sells riding time so magnificently really speaks to every Cole and Mr. Joshua fan out there. Mr. Joshua slaps Cole’s granite-carved muscle ass repeatedly in such a contemptuous, domineering way that I can’t remember Cole ever suffering before. There are long, juicy spells of Mr. Joshua in total control over the writhing, squirming, humiliated MMA star. This could totally be a Mr. Joshua career-defining victory.

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Spread him!

However, Cole doesn’t just dissect his beautiful opponent, he lays him out with an obvious nod to the BG East fans masterbating at that very moment to the aesthetic wonders of Mr. Joshua’s physique. Crotch ripping spladles spread Mr. Joshua wide, his mammoth bulge quivering in fear just inches overtop of his barely covered hole.  In a stroke of genius, Cole maintains the spladle even as he climbs to his knees, giving us a vertical angle on every inch of Mr. Joshua’s bulging, beautiful all over tan and completely jeopardized ass.

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Time to face the music

On the other hand, Mr. Joshua feeds fan infatuation with his mouthwatering bulge by beating Cole into barely-consciousness and then schoolboy pinning him, grinding the beef-packed pouch into Cole’s face. He drags Cole up by his head and pounds his massive bulge into Cole’s dumbstruck mug as he kneels like a supplicant before his god. Back down to the mat they go, as Joshua holds Cole’s face in place, cock pinning him, smothering him in headscissors, jerking and pumping his hips like he could be just about to shoot a load across Cole’s face.

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Raise the roof

On the other hand, Cole battles back into contention, wearing Mr. Joshua out from the base of the testicles upward, and softening the rock hard fitness model up for a perfect Mexican ceiling hold. I mean, perfect. Both boys are fully extended, stretched out. Mr. J’s joints are hyperextended, quivering, muscles looking like they could snap. And right at the apex of his rainbow arch is Mr. J’s dream maker, bulging, straining his pouch, I swear almost whimpering of its own accord.

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Pucker up, Cole!

Honestly, I was still guessing who was going to win this match with about 2 minutes left. And not just because fortunes kept being reversed, but because I believed every second of the way that either of these dangerous, nasty, legendary heels could win.

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Hung out to dry

Check out Alex’s review for another take, though it sounds like we were pretty much on the same page on this one. The term “star” is probably thrown around too often, but these are two genuine homoerotic wrestling stars, and as Alex says, “These guys show why they’re stars.” Entertaining. Thrilling. Titillating. Suspenseful. And deep down homoerotically satisfying.

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Get ready for impact

Bard’s Bests

Tis the season for year end retrospectives. I’m delighted to see Alex’s bold calls on his favorites of the year, drawing from across a wide swath of the homoerotic wrestling industry and reflecting some sensational wrestling. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that BG East will again do their Bestie Awards, so that I can obsess further about the highs and lows and gauge where I fall along the distribution of BG East fan tastes. Like the neglect of hot legs, I got to wondering what other categories of objects of my homoerotic wrestling lusts will likely also not be reflected in the mainstream polls and retrospectives. Since this blog is all about me (I keep repeating that because some people seem to keep forgetting it), I’m paying a little more attention to some of the niche categories that attract my attention, even if they don’t seem to be the subject of many/any other best of lists.

Even though this is all about me, I’m happy to have you chime in with your opinions (apart from nasty insults). So feel free to register your votes in these waning, dark days of 2016. I’ll report out the results of the polling, as well as let you know who I pick for top honors, in a few days. Today’s unsung hero category of homoerotic wrestling is Sexiest Nipples.

This category is tough to pin down the specifics, but I most definitely know what I like when I see it. The topic of attractive nipples pops up frequently in my posts, so it’s little wonder that I have opinions about who showed off the hottest nips in wrestling this year. If I have a criteria for judging sexy nipples, I’m sure size, symmetry, and placement are playing a part, but ultimately, it comes down to the nips that make my mouth water. I’ve picked my top 5 for you to vote on, but feel free to write-in a candidate in the comments below, as well as share your criteria for judging sexy nipples.

My slate of nominees for Sexiest Nipples in Homoerotic Wrestling for 2016 are as follows (in alphabetical order):

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Chase Addams
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Mason Brooks
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Cole Cassidy
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Muscle Master Kevin
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Viggo

Face the Music

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Joshua Goodman up close and personal with Troy Baker’s bulges in Mat Hunks 4

Taking a brief break from the heavy diet of reviews I’ve been dishing out, today I’m lingering a bit on that supremely homoerotic wrestling hold, face-to-crotch headscissors.

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Chip Slater has a love/hate relationship with his face in Patrick Donovan’s crotch in Undagear 5

I’m sure I’ve mused about this hold before, but I’m too lazy to look it up.  So I’ll probably repeat myself when I say that my heart pumps harder in my chest when a straight forward pro wrestling story suddenly introduces face-to-crotch scissors. If you buy that all of pro wrestling can easily be read as an extended homoerotic innuendo, face-to-crotch sort of slaps down the implied erotic subtext and steps at least one toe over the line into straight up homoerotic text.

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Mitch Colby is about to pop with Cole Cassidy trapped between his thighs in Ringwars 15

How wrestlers carry it off, of course, can significantly add to eroticism. I suppose it’s possible to snap your thighs around another man’s head with that up close look at your balls in his face and it be solely about punishment and wrestling victory. But I love watching a wrestler snap shut that bear trap and then enjoy it, openly, luxuriantly, expansively. When someone on the delivery side of this hold pumps his glutes and shoves his hips forward with a little enthusiasm, when he milks the moment with pulsing flexed muscles beating out a morse code of agony from the gasping grunts of his opponent, when he stares down his own hot body and smiles at the sight of his opponent owned and getting primed for sucking cock, when he closes his eyes and leans his head way, way back and that look of an impending orgasm washes across his face, there’s nothing coded about this. This is hot, homoerotic wrestling gold.

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Rick the Prick looks like he’s struck gold with Joshua Goodman’s legendary bulge in his face in Ringwars 12

The catcher can certainly connect the dots as well. Regardless of who ends up on top after all is said and done, I love it when a captured hunk’s eyes roam hungrily up and down his captors body above him. He doesn’t need to, but if he stretches his hands up and strokes those crushing thighs, the rippling abs, stretching so far as to palm the bulging pecs of his tormentor, it conveys what I’m silently thinking deep inside at that moment. A smothered grappler doesn’t have to, but if he’s man enough to nuzzle the balls bearing down on his face, fuck, maybe even open wide and give the trickster’s treats a hearty lick, it just puts the exclamation point on what this hold conveys from the start: wrestling persistently implies homoerotic intimacy.

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Charlie Evans makes the most of the rare standing face-to-crotch headscissors at the mercy of Steel Muscle God in Oil Hunks 8 (MDW)

When the camera angles and storytelling are just right, face-to-crotch headscissors shine a spotlight on one man’s bulging package, bringing his entire, tasty physique into the mix, making even that swelling muscle of passion a part of the corporal domination of another man.  For me, it isn’t even so much about the oral sexual implications, as much as it signals that every magnificent inch of a wrestler’s hot body is engaged in dominating his opponent. Hell, when wrestling companies choose to transition from explicit wrestling to explicit sex, I typically push rewind. Because what’s getting me off is the homoeroticism of the wrestling, not the wrestling as foreplay for sex.

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Rio Garza cannot handle Aryx Quinn in BG’s Bad Boys

I suppose it isn’t such a far distance between why I’m such a fan of face-to-crotch headscissors as I am a fanatic for my favorite pro wrestling hold, the over-the-knee backbreaker. Both draw my eye to one wrestler’s bulging package. Both center the frame on the outline of a bulging cock and the ballast of balls. Both seem ripe with the erotic potential marrying gay sensibilities and a pro wrestling kink. Both make my pulse pound in anticipation of what happens next to, or with, or on behalf of one wrestler’s swollen pipe.

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So much erotic passion led up to this moment of Mitch Colby smothered by Brook Stetson’s sweaty pouch in Sunshine Shooters 4.

I sometimes find it ironic that this blog attracts so many visitors thanks to the still frames I include, because it’s the story in and around any one captured slice of time in a wrestling match that tantalizes and titillates me. It’s not any one frozen image that becomes the perfect muse to my erotic imagination, but the drama played out in motion, the slow contraction of muscles, the arching agony in a lower back, the quivering pouch, the writhing feet futilely kicking the mat. I’ve lately talked in terms of “the moneyshot,” meaning that moment in a match at which point I’m likely to climax, but that moment is about the 1,600 seconds before that led up to that moment, the deepening jeopardy of one man, the swelling confidence of another, the bodies growing wet with sweat over time, the veins swelling and pumping harder with blood from the effort and the adrenaline of competition. I get off plenty to face-to-crotch headscissors, but I’m never just getting off to face-to-crotch headscissors.

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Kid Brock’s face swallowed whole between Blazes gargantuan thighs in Rainbow Restlers 2

If there is one valuable analog of face-to-crotch headscissors,  I think its the comfort a wrestling company has with the homoerotic eye of their gay audience. In scanning for face-to-crotch headscissors images across several platforms for this post, I found them concentrated in just a couple producers’ catalogs. And I think they play a part in direct proportion to how explicitly companies market to those of us in the audience tuning in and ponying up because we are sexually turned on by wrestling. Of course, face-to-crotch headscissors aren’t the only way of crossing the line from homoerotic subtext to homoerotic text. Hell, they probably aren’t even the best way. But from a strictly correlational perspective, I think they show up in proportion to how much I (at least) perceive of a producer as appreciative of and comfortable with me, as a gay man, watching their wrestling products as a means of sexual gratification.

So much sexual gratification when Logan Vaughn milks Trey Dixon into whimpering obedience in Florida Fights 5

So probably a close second as my favorite wrestling hold is face-to-crotch headscissors, because when they’re done wrong, they can reveal a whole host of troubled self-hatred bubbling beneath a veneer of nohomo bravado, but when they’re done right, I feel respected as a gay wrestling fan, drawn into the intimacy of homoerotic combat, and turned on hard.

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Kid Vicious puts his swelling cock where Niku Samir’s face is in Motel Madness UK 5

The Heat Is On

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

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Mitch Colby & Tyrell Tomsen in Wet & Wild 3

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

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Jersey & Frey in Water Wars 4

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

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Kid Karisma & Christian Taylor in Wet & Wild 5

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

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

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

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

 

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

Tuesday Trunk Pulls

Am I the only one around here whose blood pumps a little faster when a wrestler yanks on his opponent’s trunks?  No, of course I’m not.  I bet I’m not even the only one who’s poured over stills of trunk pulling to catch a glimpse of what’s hidden on some of the demure hunks of homoerotic wrestling who otherwise have not (yet) put their junk on display in the ring. So here are some Tuesday Trunk Pulls to give you a little leverage on your work week.

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Hottest trunk pull ever? Possibly. Hunky rookie (years later, now Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month) Brad Rochelle is firmly in the control of vicious heel Mikey Vee in BG East’s Fantasymen 17.
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Aryx Quinn generously gives us just a glimpse of the monster (and his collar) that lurks beneath the trunks of Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) in BG East’s Ring Hunks 1.
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Before I’d seen Mitch’s full monty, Cole Cassidy’s trunk pull had me apoplectic to see more and more of the gorgeous stud’s topography in BG East’s Ring Wars 15.
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Jonny Firestorm demonstrates the mastery and beauty of a trunk pull from behind, showing off Austin Raine’s naked ass in BG East’s Wrestlefest 3.
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Hunky, hairy, dangerous Dark Rogers appears awed by what he unwraps after destroying Jason Ward for stakes in BG East’s Private Bouts 117-120.
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Come full circle, Dante Rosetti treats Mikey Vee’s insanely gorgeous, muscled ass to a humiliating trunk pull in BG East’s Fantasymen 14.

What are your favorite trunk pulls?

Wednesday’s Woes

Sure, “hump day” has a nice ring to it, but I know I’m not alone in enjoying taking time out in the middle of the week to appreciate the fine art that is a Tree of Woe. The ToW portrays such vulnerability, such anticipation, capturing so much back story and foreshadowing impending doom on the horizon…. just like most Wednesdays in my life.  Here are a few choice ToW’s to put the torture of Wednesday into homoerotic wrestling perspective.

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New Pro Wrestling’s hunky Viper gets hung out to dry in a ToW in Irish Lads of the Ring 4.
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BG East’s Cole Cassidy digs that elbow deep into the throbbing, massive bulge of sweaty, suffering stud Derek Da Silva in Cole’s Wrestler Spotlight.
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Cocky goldenboy Austin Cooper strings lean fighting machine Eli Black up and uses him as a punching bag at Rock Hard Wrestling.
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Austin seems to have a taste for making an opponent suffer in a ToW, because he does it yet again to bodybuilder beauty Lucas (aptly named) Payne at Rock Hard Wrestling.
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But Austin learns that Karma’s a bitch when new hardbodied hottie Trent Novak dishes out a heaping helping of what Austin’s been serving to everyone else at Rock Hard Wrestling.
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Ken Mason learns what’s worse than being stuck between a rock (Kid Leopard) and a hard place (Kid Vicious): being stuck there in a ToW in BG East’s Tag Team Torture 1.
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BG East’s Kid Vicious has absolutely everything singlehandedly in hand when it comes to exploiting the vulnerable muscles of Jeff Jordan in a ToW in Demolition 2.
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Rio Garza forcibly puts the breaks on the vicious heel tactics of Jobe Zander with an unapologetic crotch crushing ToW in Can-Am’s Rio’s Revenge.
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Perhaps the very definition of a babyface beatdown, BG East’s Joe Mazetti kicks the crap out of an achingly young and beautiful Brad Rochelle in Hunkbash 6.
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Did a Tree of Woe ever turn out so right as when painfully pretty Troy Baker defied the law and snapped those golden thighs around the head of The Sheriff in BG East’s Ringwars 8?!

Wednesday’s Woes

I’m entirely on board with the erotic power of a tree of woe. The ToW is an example of how some homoerotic wrestling gems simply require a professional wrestling ring.  Hang a hammered hunk upside down in the corner, his knees draped over the top ropes and his feet locked in place beneath the cable connecting the turnbuckle to the post, and there’s all sorts of a hot wrestling gold that’s suddenly ripe for picking. It’s a maneuver that signals total control over a mastered man. The subject of woe is laid out so vulnerably, his body not just on display, but trussed up beautifully for easy access to innovative methods of torture.  There’s a little crossover here between bondage kink and wrestling kink, with enough of both to show due respect to all parties involved, as far as I’m concerned.  In honor of those of you who harbor a special place in your hearts and crotches for an agonizing, dominating, body manipulating tree of woe (and I hear from you often), this post is for you.  Here are 10 ideas for what to do with an opponent once you’ve trapped him in a tree of woe.

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Climb on top, knee crushing his balls, and celebrate like Brooklyn Bodywrecker.
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When finding yourself out-boxed, hang the fucker upside down and peel off his gloves to make this all about homoerotic wrestling, like Brodie Fisher.
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Grab a dumbbell and bash your opponent’s six-pack abs, like Eli Black.
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Duck outside the ring and wrench the trapped fucker’s head backward, like Cameron Matthews.
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Stop on his flowing locks and dare the muscleboy to squirm, like Ethan Andrews.
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Stand outside the ring and threaten to rip his arms out at the shoulder, like Alex Waters.
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Make sure his trunks are hooked on the turnbuckle and slipping off, then land a soaring drop kick to the helpless stud’s gut, like Jonny Firestorm.
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Sit on his face, like the Brooklyn Bodywrecker.
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Pause and appreciate the view – and feel – like Jarret Cole.
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That’s right, a Tree of Woe/Bearhug/Headscissors combination, nice and snug in the crushing embrace of Cole Cassidy!