Tag: Cole Cassidy

A Fan Favorite

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Yesterday I celebrated Brook Stetson, co-owner of my homoerotic wrestler of the month title. Today, at the risk of repeating myself, I turn to Brook’s partner in crime, the other co-owner of my homoerotic wrestler of the month title, Mitch Colby.

Mitch was a running feature obsession in this blog almost from the beginning. When he debuted for BG East in Alexi Adamov’s Wrestler Spotlight tape, I was instantly a fanatic. Drop dead gorgeous, strong as an ox, and glistening with sweat, there’s nothing that I don’t like about Mitch’s physique. But it was always something more, something unexpected that Mitch brought to the table that has made me never be able to take my eyes off of him when he wrestles.

It’s his maturity, by which I do not mean some asinine euphemism for his age. True, he showed up on the scene a decade or two later than some of the youngest bucks that vie for our attention in the homoerotic wrestling world, but frankly that’s neither here nor there for me. Mitch possesses a chilled calmness, an unflappability, a stone cold centeredness that reflects a mature soul. I mean, let’s face it, it’s hard to out-pretty Alexi Adamov. But Mitch is every ounce as gorgeous, as far as I’m concerned, and he’s a good bit sexier because he seems to understand exactly who he is at every moment, no matter what the trash talk and mind games his opponents toss his way. The way Mitch puts Alexi in his place and leaves him flat on his back in the gazebo is all sorts of pleasing.

I won’t try to give a comprehensive blow by blow of Mitch’s career because, let’s face it, that’s been an ongoing labor of love throughout the nearly two years of this blog. Rather, let me note the highlights that taught me something new about the big, beautiful Mitch. For example, after a hard, sweaty gazebo battle with pretty boy Alexi, things turned down right nasty for him when he climbed into the wrestling ring against one of BG East’s resident bad boys, ripped stud Cole Cassidy, in Ringwars 15. Sadly, this is Mitch’s only appearance to-date in the ring. Perhaps the seriously vicious beating he took at Cole’s expert hands (and particularly the torture Mitch’s pecs took in Cole’s claws) left Mitch with PTSD for ring action. Mitch works some nice offense in on the little powerhouse, but when it comes to decimating and displaying a big, hard hunk, there’s arguably no one better than Cole. Happily, Mitch proves that he can suffer and take a beating like that hard, ripped body of his would imply.

Mitch’s first motel match was notable for me, particularly, because he squared off with Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) in Motel Madness 7. Yes, the reigning top contender for my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy went toe-to-toe with the reigning top contender for my favorite homoerotic wrestler – nonpornboy division. Mitch’s physique is simply perfect in this match, and I don’t blame him a bit for allowing Mr. J to maneuver him into position to shove that massively packed crotch of his into Mitch’s face.

My next stop on Mitch’s memory lane is another motel match, in which Mitch showed what he would do if BG East dangled a little bit of fluff in his face, by which I mean twink delight, Jeremy Burk, in Motel Madness 8. This is classic big v little wrestling, and I’m on the record repeatedly as partial to that scenario. What makes this match hit my list of must mentions about Mitch are two things, really. 1) This is a fantastically erotic match that’s expertly paced. Some squashes are downright boring, but there’s nothing at all boring about Mitch’s systematic pummeling of Jeremy. It gets hotter, more painful, more humiliating, and sexier with every passing moment. And 2) this was my first peek at Mitch naked. After crushing Jeremy, Mitch takes his little piece of fluff to the bathroom where they peel out of their gear and explore one another’s bodies in and out of the shower. My fetishistic lust to scrub Mitch down from head to toe with a thick, slick coat of lathered soap probably belongs on a different fetish blog, but suffice it to say, I’m bitterly envious of Jeremy.

Back to the Florida sunroom, and my next notable highlight of Mitch in action is his sweat-fest with Skrapper in Catchweight 3. Seems that Mitch has a taste for the lightweights, and despite putting up some serious offense, Skrapper was always destined to be schoolboy pinned with Mitch’s sweaty crotch shoved in his face. What stands out from this match, however, is the post-match pool play. Mitch fireman-carries his twink out of the sunroom (with Skrapper slyly copping a feel of Mitch’s glutes along the way… I tell you, that Skrapper impresses me!), and then tosses the spent punk into the pool. One last bearhug in the middle of the pool turns from a device for inflicting pain into a passionate embrace, as they make out enthusiastically. Many, many more homoerotic wrestling matches should end this way.

The same Florida sunroom is the setting for a true epiphany in Mitch’s resume. He takes matters firmly in hand against Derek da Silva in Crotch Crushers 1, tapping into his sadist side to beat, pound, claw and, indeed, crush Derek’s testicles. In addition to being the first time I saw Mitch really grab hold of his opponent’s manhood, it’s also memorable because it was right around this release that Derek stole the title as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy from Mitch for a brief time. The contrast of short, pale and hairy muscleboy v tall, tanned, and smooth muscleboy is aesthetically stunning.

It was the release of Mitch’s Wrestler Spotlight tape that helped Mitch rip his inaugural title belt away from Derek and slap the hairy Italian into second place. Most specifically, it was Mitch’s matroom sweat fest with Patrick Donovan that turned my affections decisively back to Mitch. This match is profoundly arousing from start to finish, but it’s the bearhug competition right in the middle that makes my heart pump hardest. Patrick and Mitch are in the same league when it comes to almost everything… height, weight, good looks, fit physiques, wrestling skill, and maturity. So it’s that much more climactic when Mitch once and for all puts the veteran down, climbs on top, and locks lips with the loser.

A few months after Mitch regained his title as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, he lost it in stunningly fast fashion against the wickedly nasty stylings of Rusty Stevens. From the realm of Naked Kombat and Can-Am, Rusty managed to grab my attention and hold on with both hands. Mitch slid into the top contender spot behind Rusty’s razor sharp trash talking and primal determination to dominate his opponents. So when BG East, just a few months later, released the Breaking Point: Sexiest, in which Rusty and Mitch have it out in the Florida sunroom, I was in awe. This was my fantasy come to life. I mean, most homoerotic wrestling is in one way or another my fantasies played out for me, but this was quite specifically and particularly my fantasy of pornboy v pornboy wrestling. While Mitch came out on top (at the same moment Rusty was cumming from the underneath), I had to say decisively that it was Rusty who aroused me most in this match, primarily on what is undeniably his #1 strength: his witty trash talk and delight in dishing out humiliation. It was a battle for the ages, but Mitch was relegated to stick it out in second place in my rankings.

And then last month, BG East released Mitch’s most recent match for Sunshine Shooters 4, which earned him the homoerotic wrestler of the month co-title. Mitch is also currently in possession of the top contender spot for my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy yet again, chomping at Trent Diesel’s gorgeous ass to take the title for the third time. Regardless, however, Mitch will always be a favorite, and wherever he is at any particular moment in the rankings of my favorites, I will always be a Mitch fanatic.

The Sweet Spot

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Wade Cutler v Phil Latini  – BG East’s X-Fights 15
In my interview with my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler – nonpornboy division, Lon Dumont, Lon mentioned that he typically doesn’t have to put a lot of strategic brainpower into destroying his “dim-witted” competition. If pressed, however, Lon says that he sometimes will choose to isolate a body part. Personally, I’m a big, big fan of a ringmaster chaining together move after move, all concentrating systematic, brutal, and incapacitating punishment on a singular body part. In particular, there’s something awfully hot about the unleashing of back torture that makes all the physical development of a muscle hunk completely useless. Sure, you can bench press a horse, but if you’re lower back is so compromised that you can’t endure the agony of standing up straight, those gorgeous, strong pecs and arms are just beautiful, yet pointless, accessories.
Cole Cassidy v Tarzan Tyler Reese – BG East’s Ringwars 11
Like Wade Cutler, simply gleeful (I always loved it when he laughed unselfconsciously when he had his opponent in a bad way) as he wraps up Phil Latini’s lower back like a twist tie, the lower back proves itself to be an awesome, vulnerable point of exploitation for seriously hot demolition. True, some muscle freaks can actually pack on shredded slabs of beef across their lower backs, but for most of us mortals, even in top physical condition, the lower back is a site of vulnerability. When your opponent has maneuvered you into position to crank your lower back folding in the wrong direction, you’re pretty much screwed. When he also delights in grinding his fist into quivering cords of traumatized muscle struggling to protect your lower spine, such as Cole Cassidy’s astonishing boston crab variation on loin cloth clad rookie jobber, Tarzan Tyler Reese, you’re seriously screwed.
Kid Leopard v Ken Decker – BG East’s Demolition 4
In thinking about this theme, I came across pics of Kid Leopard’s Demolition 4 decimation of muscle hunk Ken Decker.  KL is nothing if not the ringmaster of all ringmasters, and he illustrates to perfection the point of my post today. Let’s count the ways that KL, outweighed and outmuscled by hunky Ken, more than evens the playing field by isolating and absolutely pulverizing his opponent’s lower back. In the pic above, he KL looks like he’s nearly about to rip Ken’s head off of his neck, as his lower back is creased and pried at nearly a 90 degree angle in the opposite direction it’s built to bend.

I don’t know the actual sequence of this story, but let’s start with the direct approach. KL tosses the hardbody chest-first into the corner and pounds his knee into his back.

There’s the tried and true over the knee backbreaker to isolate the hunk’s lower back in a particularly delightful and humiliating fashion (always one of my favorites). Ken looks impressively bendable, but that’s no inoculation against incapacitating, prolonged back torture, now is it?
A camel clutch especially for the viewing audience cranks further on the square-jawed hunk, prying his upper back and shoulders as well as torturing the lower back, and just for good measure, a humiliating hair pull and knuckles to the temple. I love the look of fierce concentration on KL’s face here, right next to his exhausted, defenseless, nearly unconscious opponent’s face.

A fourth approach has KL grabbing hold of Ken’s right boot and left wrist and prying them upward in a nasty standing bow-and-arrow. If Ken had been doing his yoga, this might not have been quite as devastating as it looks like it was for him.

KL drops some more knees into Ken’s back to continue to weaken up the sweet spot, as Ken flails in agony on his stomach in the middle of the ring.

Here must be where Cole Cassidy learned it. KL locks up Ken’s legs underneath his armpits and folds the hunk backward. This was not the direction that the human torso was meant to bend. But a fist grinding deep into the muscle surrounding Ken’s spine breaks down the hunk’s core strength that much more. Again, look at the pain on the sweaty face of the catcher here.

Typically, from the last maneuver, an outmatched chump frantically reaches behind him to try to use his hands to protect his assaulted back. Always three moves ahead, KL happily snaps up captain america’s wrists and then leans back. This is nothing if it’s not art. The precision balance, KL’s face flushed with the effort, Ken’s face twisted in agony, and his lower back and shoulders pried starkly in the wrong direction… stunning athleticism, true, but aesthetically, this is art.

One helpless suspension hold is not enough, however. KL maneuvers the handsome one into still another variation, now facing backward, with Ken’s right knee stretched painfully around his own trapped left ankle, and his right ankle hooked between KL’s upper thighs. 
Back to the corner, KL traps Ken’s head between his thighs (look at how beet red Ken’s face is here!), and somehow manages to pry the hunk backward, locking his ankles underneath KL’s armpits. I’m going to have to buy this DVD to see how two bodies can manage to get into this position, because I simply can’t imagine it. However, the end result is still another fantastic example of isolating poor Ken’s lower back, creased and folded over on itself, with the hunk literally having absolutely no place to go.

Since we’re in the corner, and since KL is never shy of capitalizing on anything and everything at his disposal to torture his opponents, KL wracks Ken over the turnbuckle and ropes and pries the muscled hunk backward with a vicious tug on the hunk’s chin with KL’s right hand and on the hunk’s balls with KL’s left hand. Ken’s ass squeezed out the top of his trunks doesn’t hurt the aesthetics here, either. So many points of agony, but the relentless assault on Ken’s back is clearly the purpose of this, like every other, hold.

I believe that adds up to (at least) 11 ways that KL beats the living shit out of Ken Decker’s lower back. Damn, that’s hot. And once you’ve conquered a muscle boy and left him helpless and wasted on the mat, his back in too much agony to even try to roll over, then it’s time to reward yourself for a job very well done.

From start to finish, this is an awesome homoerotic wrestling plot told by a master. Relentlessness, small guy conquering the big guy with cunning and wits, more relentlessness mixed with a healthy pinch of merciless viciousness, and topped off with some ass humping, hair pulling, ear nibbling pleasure. Sweet.

Contending with Joe

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Joe at Ringside at Skull Island is very, very keen on BG East’s new release, Ringwars 19. Since I possess a preferential regard for both ring wrestling and Joe’s opinions, Ringwars 19 is instantly on my to-own list. Joe’s description of an early-career Alexi Adamov hanging from a rafter with his long, gorgeous thighs clamped around the head of Naughty Nick Naughton is sufficient to convince me that Ringwars is my kind of wrestling kink.
But now that the new releases are available for the masses to order, I’m feeling the need to contradict Joe. Perhaps less a contradiction than a contention, I’m feeling that if you own no other new release to emerge in 2011, you’ll want it to be Sunshine Shooters 4. Joe argues that all-time need-to-own would be Ringwars 19. It’s not that I doubt Joe’s tastes in the least. But I jumped on the Sunshine Shooters 4 wagon at the earliest possible moment, and was blown away. This release includes three matches that hold my attention and turn me on, non-stop. Most newsworthy for most, though, will be the fact that cover boy, Playboy model, and internet softcore it-boy, Z-Man Zack Vasquez, has dipped his foot in the deep end of the pool that is BG East wrestling.
I’ve had a love/hate (or at least a lust/antipathy) relationship with Z-Man for some time. Ever since I first saw him ham it up against Alexander years ago for Thunder’s Arena, I was both captivated by the Z-Man’s incredible physique and aggravated by his salesmanship. Following his progress with Thunder’s and in the early crop of matches with Rock Hard Wrestling, I’ve been adamantly proscribing a stern, merciless lesson in being introduced to actual pain in order wipe that irrepressible, smarmy, “this-is-all-play-acting” smirk off his truly beautiful face. I’ll marvel more about the details in a future post, but for now, let me just bow down to the perfectly tuned stylings of veteran Patrick Donovan who delivers exactly what the doctor ordered. 
Frankly, I suspected that bringing along the Z-Man could be a bit of a gamble for BG East. In my estimation, BG East’s strength is in their high quality, all-in wrestling, so a half-assed, smirking performance by even a Playboy model could be an embarrassing ding on BG East’s fine reputation. But the Boss rolled the dice and damn, did it pay off! The pacing and action here make me gasp. The wrestling is completely engaging and astonishingly hot. Patrick seriously beats on Z-Man with his fists in a way that totally satisfies me. The audible thumps followed quickly by Z-Man’s reflexive grunts are just about as stellar as the sight of the Z-Man’s gorgeous pecs and eight-pack abs turning bright red from the relentless assault. Z-Man (and Patrick, for that matter) has never looked more tasty, more toned, or in skimpier wrestling gear. Z-Man-addicts, and I know there are many of you, will find this bout simply fantastic. 
Next up, there’s Cole Cassidy and Tony Vencini working up a sheen of sweat that continually makes me press “pause.” Cole never disappoints me. This is my first Tony match, and he’s one big, solid brute of a battler. Their grappling is astonishingly high quality, with incredibly intense and relentless pacing that tires me out just watching it (for many reasons). But again, just like my assessment of Patrick and the Z-Man, I have to say that having adored Cole’s body many, many times before, he’s simply never looked more stunning, shiny, hard, and ripped to shreds, working incredibly hard against an accomplished and bigger boy. Another truly entertaining match.
Seriously, I’d pay money (but probably couldn’t afford) for Cole to slide my head between his devastating thighs and squeeze, and I’d tip him a whole lot extra to let me me reach up and squeeze those meaty pecs of his at the same time.
But as I mentioned a couple of days ago, I’m totally smitten with the amazing match-up of beefy bruiser Brook Stetson going muscle to muscle against my inaugural favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy and regular fixture in my fondest wrestling fantasies, Mitch Colby. Like all the shoots in this collection, these boys (okay, I like the term boys, but in this case, I simply have to call these studs men), these men are working their asses off. Just as importantly, they work their singlets off and are both quickly coated in each other’s sweat. Something happens inside me though, when Brook hog ties Mitch’s wrists behind his back using Mitch’s own jock strap as bindings. Mitch’s beautiful ass is wedgied high and hard, and for the first time in this entire match, Mitch’s endless tenacity simply can’t keep him fighting against the overpowering behemoth. Brook is understated, but unmistakably pleased with his handiwork as he slides Mitch face-first high between his oak-tree thighs for an astonishing face-to-crotch, hands literally tied behind Mitch’s back, head scissor submission. Holy fuck.
That “something” that happens to me, by the way, is the completely out-of-the-blue return of Mitch to the top rankings of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboys. It was a brief tenure that DJ enjoyed as the top contender for the title, and I wouldn’t count DJ out of the running for long with the way he’s been tearing through the competition at Naked Kombat as of late, but Sunshine Shooters 4 unquestionably bears witness to a shocking assault from behind, in which Mitch manages to gorilla press DJ’s lightweight, ripped to shreds body over head, leave him hanging and gasping in shock and terror for an eternity, before tossing DJ right out of the ring, leaving Mitch the undisputed top contender staring down my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Trent Diesel.
Perhaps I might think differently once I get a chance to enjoy Ringwars 19. Perhaps you might think differently with both products in hand and well-scrutinized. But I’ve just got to say, I suspect for many of us, if there’s no other new release we buy in 2011, we’d simply have to own Sunshine Shooters 4.

Between Takes

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I love it that you’re reading a homoerotic wrestling kink blog on Christmas! You are such the hardcore, ironman wrestling kinkster! Or, you’re reading a back edition… or this isn’t even your holiday… but in any case, I’m taking it easy today. I’m trying not to sweat the obligatory family drama. I’m trying not to resent the cacophony of carols that have nearly bored a hold straight through my head by now. I’m trying to relax and let it all wash over me.

This time last year, I posted some of the behind-the-scenes shots from BG East, capturing the boys between slams and submissions, relaxed, smiling, and clearly just savoring a happy moment. I thought I’d reprise the theme again for another Christmas day, because these unguarded smiles on these hardworking hunks just lighten my mood.


We all take ourselves too seriously. I do it. You do it (don’t contradict me!). Hell knows, the politicians and pundits and preachers do it, particularly this time of year. So a glimpse of an almost shy smile on a granite-chiseled, merciless ring heel is a sweet reminder, I think, to just cool my jets. Whatever it is that gets me hot and bothered (in a bad way), if I just  just take a step back and remove my ego from the situation, 9 times out of ten it’s all just silliness not to be taken seriously.



There’s seriously messed up shit going on in the world right at this very moment, of course. That’s no laughing matter, but that said, in light of the serious shit, my shit honestly is laughable. So I had to wait in an insanely long line to get that last Christmas present that I put off until way, way too late. So the roads are filled with crazies. So another season of Dexter came and went and I still haven’t seen Michael C. Hall’s world class ass. None of it should be such a burden that I can’t set it down today, let the tension that I’m carrying in my body slip away, and just smile.


Okay, so I’m having trouble letting go of my bitterness about Michael C. Hall’s ass. I’ll keep working on it in between Scrabble games and slices of turkey and endless accounts of the inanity of my sibling’s miserable children (tension rising again… breathe……. okay, I’m back).


Whatever rituals you do or don’t engage in today, whatever your religious or familial proclivities, whatever the burdens you carry, my hope for you is a deep breath, a sly smile, a moment of innocent humor, and all the hot, sweaty, muscle thumping, crotch bumping, ass humping sexual pleasure your heart desires.

Value Added

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Facial hair is all about taste. Some have the taste for it. Others don’t. In the abstract, it doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with wrestling, per se. It’s like gear. It’s usually secondary to what draws us to watch the action.
Still, I’m a fan of some facial hair. I’m not talking about the exquisitely trimmed pencil drawings on some faces. Joshua Goodman’s “soul patch,” for example, just looks like he needs to wipe his lower lip. It’s not that that the tiny little triangle of hair under his lip somehow makes him anything less than a stunningly muscled hunk worthy of abject worship. I just don’t think it adds anything to the masterpiece that is Mr. Joshua’s gorgeous form.

Same goes for Cole Cassidy. The patch underneath his chin just looks a little odd to me. I’d lick every inch of him until I passed out, mind you, particularly after he locked me up tight in a crippling figure-four leg lock. But his facial hair isn’t so much of an asset to the treasure that is Cole’s body, skill, or charisma.

Still, it’s not as if I think facial hair is categorically negligible. It can significantly enhance the story in a match. Young whipcord, Brigham Bell, was deceptively babyfaced when clean shaven. Blond and pretty, Brigham could frequently tell the story of the underestimated skinny kid who then opens a major can of whoop-ass on his unsuspecting opponents.
I actually liked his goatee later in his BGE appearances. He looked more vicious and needing to be reckoned with. After being the underestimated babyface over and over, a darker, more threatening persona is nice character development.
BGE icon, Brooklyn Bodywrecker, early on sported a fantastic 80’s stash. It’s fantastic not because I think it was particularly attractive, but it was so entirely apropos of a burly, bearish Brooklyn thug bent on erotic domination.
I’m an even bigger fan, though, of BBW’s goatee. It does just as much to tell me the story of his sadistic, kinktastic persona as does his leather harness and chaps.

And frankly, between you and me, his greying goatee stokes me even more. A huge, muscled, savage, egomaniacal sadistic heel daddy decimating and claiming his baby-bottom-smooth opponent (yes, Mr. Joshua, we’re looking at your ass) is hot stuff.

Overly coiffed adds nothing for me. A heel with a goatee is definite value added.

How Does That Feel!?

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It’s cliche’, I know. But I can’t help myself but be sucked in when one wrestler snarls at his opponent, “How does that feel!?“

It’s not as if it’s a real question. It’s typically asked when one man is clearly suffering. The obvious answer is, “It hurts!” The question is rhetorical. It’s not asked in an effort to gather information, but to domineer. It’s a question intended to humiliate, to drive home the point that the suffering man is paid for and owned outright by his opponent. Asking the question, “how does that feel,” is about pointing out all that’s obvious here: I control you. Where your pain starts and stops is completely in my hands. I own your body, and once you acknowledge the foregone conclusion that you have no choice but submit to me, you’re entirely mine.
Let me just put it out there. When I’m watching a favorite homoerotic beat down and I hear the rhetorical question, “How does that feel,” I frequently answer. Out loud. Emphatically. As usual, even as I type this I wonder, “Am I just disclosing way too much?” Ah, what the hell. When I hear Cole or Mitch or Rusty or Derek snarl down at some muscled boy that they’ve just broken in body and spirit, asking him how it feels, I often answer, saying something like, “That feels fucking awesome!” I realize that they aren’t actually asking me, but that question can collapse the distance between entertainer and entertained for me, transporting me ringside where my muscle champion inflicts pain explicitly for my pleasure. Sure, he’s looking down into his opponent’s face as he crushes the suffering man’s balls beneath his feet, but his question is for me, “How does that feel, Bard?”
He’s digging his claws into the fantastically meaty pecs of his jobber boy, whose face is contorted with pain and near-sobs are wracking his body. And when he asks, “How does that feel?” he’s asking me, “Is this what you want to see? If I claw my fingers in deeper, how does that make you feel, Bard?”
It’s a contemptuous, domineering, humiliating throw away line that’s just meant to tell the story of one man’s complete domination. But when the fighter on top asks, “How does that feel,” the words frequently transport me ringside, where this muscle on muscle battle is being waged for my pleasure. The ars erotica of the beautiful body beatdown becomes more than just implicitly for my pleasure. The dispenser of punishment is considerately checking in with his patron. “How about if I twist his rippled body a few inches farther? What if I crank his neck until he cries. How does that feel, Bard?”
Feels fucking awesome, Mitch. Keep it up.

Perfecting Imperfections

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I’m hot for deviations. Distinguished deviations from the norm, even the norm of male beauty, actually exponentiate attractiveness in my book. I know I’m not the only one. I remember hearing reports of kids intentionally scarring themselves across their eyebrows in order to look more like heartthrob Luke Perry in the early 90’s. The “imperfection” itself can be what makes someone who is technically beautiful into irresistibly attractive.
I’ve mentioned it before that trenchman newsboy Carter Evan’s dramatically deviated septum makes me weak in the knees. Carter’s dreamy, long-lashed bedroom eyes are enough to make me melt, but that crooked nose drives me nuts and propels him into a very fondly recurring role in my celebrity wrestling fiction.
Milo Ventimiglia’s crooked smile is similarly hot. Apparently, he’s had dead nerve endings around one side of his mouth since birth. All grown up, the sideways smile isn’t just his trademark, it’s fantastically sexy.
True, the rest of Milo’s body doesn’t hurt, either, unless you count what his body does to his opponent’s in a couple of my fantasy wrestling matches. Do you see the theme emerging here? Delightfully deviated turns one into a star in my erotic fantasies.
Reconstructed cleft palates frequently, instantly attract me. It’s not quite a fetish, but it doesn’t hurt at all. Joaquin Phoenix insists that his distinctive upper lip isn’t the result of a cleft palate, but that rather it’s a “birthmark.” Hottie Joaquin has also been loony as a junebug lately, so take it for what it’s worth. Regardless, it’s the same effect. It’s distinctive and a deviation from the tyranny of symmetrical standards of beauty, and it turns me on.
In thinking about it, I came up with a couple of wrestlers who prove the rule that something imperfect makes a hunk perfectly hot. Cole Cassidy looks like he may have a prosthetic right eye (at least, it doesn’t track with his left). There’s so much to adore about Cole, perhaps it isn’t worth mentioning for most of his admirers. But for this admirer, it simply makes him that much more gorgeous. And yes, of course, he’s shown up in my own wrestling fantasies in a stand-alone, fictional story.
Finally, from the BGE vaults I want to mention young, incredibly hot grappler Animal Abban. He doesn’t have his own listing in the BGE roster, and I can’t find his matches on the home page, but he wrestled in the early days of BGE in such backroom classics as Bratpack 7. The intense scarring across his right pec and upper abdomen are really stunning. There’s a serious story there to explain the disappearance of his right nipple and angry red scar tissue (I just don’t know what it is). It’s not like anyone in their right mind would dare suggest that he was anything other than a six-packed, massively armed, gorgeous hunk of boy-next-door meat, but the scars absolutely perfected him.

Beauty is, of course, in the eye of the beholder. I think a diversity of tastes is a wonderful testimony to the wonders of the human imagination and delightful idiosyncrasies that make community happen. The “norm” isn’t inherently bad, I don’t think. Symmetry and mainstreamers can tickle my fancy, too. But by all means, nor is the “norm” inherently good, as most readers of this blog can attest. Vive la différence!

Bodies Over Time

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I’m seeing another Chris Bruce match in the newest pre-release teasers from BG East Arena. Chris appears to be facing off next with sweat soaked stunner Alexi Adamov. Before someone asks, it’s only up in the Arena at this time, so if you don’t subscribe, you’ll have to wait a little longer to see what I’m talking about. Chris is a classic study in bodies over time, I think. His face remains square-jawed and handsome, and his body has grown into multiple new delights with maturity.

The first match I saw of Chris’ was his Hard Pros bout with Flyboy. It’s not the most entertaining match, and Chris doesn’t quite pull of the prerequisite for the genre (at least not convincingly). He does, however, get an unlikely and unusual victory over Flyboy, stripping his hard opponent and posing overtop of him.
There’s something a little demure about hugely muscled Chris, throughout his career. Unlike his bout with Flyboy, Chris is by far most frequently a solid jobber. He’s a punching bag and object of humiliation for a roster of eager punks who best the by-the-book boytoy.
He made a “comeback” of sorts against Cole Cassidy in Demolition 10. Cole’s atomic wedgie on Chris is worth the price of this entire DVD for my money. A classic heel like Cole opening up an arsenal of humiliation on the bigger, bulkier, more mature muscles of Chris is a classic contest.
My recent purchase of Backyard Brawls 6 illustrates the storyline that bodies over time seem to track if they last long enough. Young stud, Denny Cartier, shows up and essentially pokes Chris with a stick while the elder statesman of the mats is trying to mediate. Words are exchanged. The phrase, “old man” is batted about. And an eager, outdoor battle of youth and muscle vs. experience and muscle is had.
Chris isn’t always the most creative or skilled in his wrestling prowess. He doesn’t always quite hold his own in the battle of banter. But with age, he’s learned to leverage his massive muscles and sheer bulk, squeezing and overpowering many of the young bucks who think he’s easy pickings. As for me, I’ll take experience and muscle or youth and muscle and be equally satisfied at the end of the day. Given a shot a young Denny or mature Chris, I’d be hard pressed to say which one I’d prefer to pound on. Chris scores for that astonishingly round ass, but Denny’s ink is a major turn on for this kinkster. I say it’s a win-win, regardless.

Between Takes

wrestlebard2 Comments


If you’re browsing a homoerotic wrestling kink blog on Christmas morning, you’re my kind of twisted bastard! If this isn’t your holiday, or if you can’t think of any better way to celebrate than feeding your gay wrestling fetish, welcome!

It does seem like a gentler, kinder sort of day to me, regardless. So I’m celebrating by appreciating the “Behind the Scenes” treats that BG East offers every so often (not often enough!). Occasionally, Kid Leopard and his team snap some pics of the boys between takes. When they aren’t growling and snarling, squeezing and pounding, dominating and humiliating one another, it looks like they’re genuinely enjoying themselves. Mugging for the camera, grinning with good humor, these shots make me smile. I love them pounding on one another, but it’s also fun to seem them without their faces on from time to time.
I hope your day is filled with gentle smiles and affectionate embraces. I hope this is a day of sweaty, passionate, sexy good humor for you. Whatever the religiously charged content that comes along every December 25, my prayer is that none of us take ourselves too seriously.

Another Sideline

wrestlebard2 Comments
I get a kick out of the Fantasy BGE Wrestling group. I possess a predilection for gay wrestling fiction, and I like seeing BG East style wrestling fiction through the eyes of different authors. It’s fascinating to see what each of us focuses on in writing homoerotic wrestling fiction. Some of us clearly find our kink in the strut and swagger, the cocky attitudes and dominating trash talk as two studs ante up before laying their cards on the table. Some of us are into the wrestling holds, with simply naming a series of moves and holds as the beginning and end of a hot grappling session. Some of us are mostly about the bodies, with detailed descriptions of the muscles, the cocks, the stretch and the flex. Personally, it all gets me hot and bothered, and there’s an added kink-kick of reading a match through the eyes of someone else as they get hot and bothered. I feel like the voyeur’s voyeur. Sharing the author’s lens seems just as intimate as the sweaty, cum-soaked action in the ring.
I’ve submitted three contributions to that group. The first match pitted one of my classic favorites, Brad Rochelle, against the instant classic, Mitch Colby. Since we can never get enough of Brad, a second match puts him back in the ring against ring rookie Tyrell Tomsen. I submitted a third match last weekend, dangling man meat Rio Garza in front of the Dismantler, Cole Cassidy. Capitalizing on the “fantasy” side of things, that match offered me a chance to resurrect a BG East veteran we haven’t seen in quite a while for a special appearance.
The Garza vs. Cassidy match hasn’t been uploaded yet. But after I mentioned it a few days ago, I’ve had a few requests. So I’ve uploaded it to another site. I’ll add some stories over time (outside the Producer’s Ring storyline), and I hope others will contribute some of their works as well (any genre). Here’s a little teaser from early in Cole’s match with Rio:
In a flash, Cole wrapped his thickly muscled arms around Rio’s narrow waist. With a grunt, Cole lifted his opponent off his feet and drove Rio’s back hard to the mat, still maintaining his bearhug. Rio’s head bounced off the canvas, and his eyes blinked rapidly as his head swam. Cole disentangled his arms from his opponent and sat back on his heels, perched between Rio’s knees. “Intimidated yet?” he asked without a smile, glaring down at Rio, who clutched his hands to the back of his head.

Cole clenched his right fist, bit his lower lip in concentration, then jabbed his fist into Rio’s abdomen. Rio’s stunning six-pack flexed, and Cole’s fist bounced off. Again, Cole cocked his fist and pounded it hard into the rookie’s abs, but once again, Rio flexed and the blow bounced off with no effect. Again and again, Cole drilled his fists, back and forth into the rookie’s midsection, but the blows seemed to do nothing but clear Rio’s head. Rio looked up at the veteran and smiled. “Is that all you’ve got, old man?”