Twitch for Me

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Have Damien’s muscles outgrown the boss’ ability to control?!

In what way has Muscle Master Kevin NOT humiliated Damien Rush over the years? The archives of MDW are littered with daddy’s little rich boy getting thrashed and trashed again and again by the boss. It’s been done so often that I didn’t actually expect to see anything new in Season 27’s “Zzz 14.” In one sense, I was right, in that the age old story of Damien squashed and trampled by Kevin plays out pretty much like we’ve come to expect. On the other hand, I was wrong, because there are some provocative new elements in the classic formula, and the chemistry gets me off like a space shuttle launch.

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The first thing that’s new is Damien. Oh, sure, we’ve seen Damien countless times. But we’ve never seen this Damien before. Fuck, he’s huge. I mean, fuck, he’s HUGE! He says he’s getting ready for a bodybuilding competition, and I believe him. A physique like that has little other purpose, really, than to be strutted nearly naked on stage and judged for it’s aesthetic beauty. One might make an argument that a body like that could also be well employed dominating opponents in a homoerotic wrestling context, but this is Damien Rush we’re talking about. Other than a few dazzlingly inspiring moments of clarity and purpose in which daddy’s little rich boy ran rough shod over an opponent in the past, for the most part, he’s mincemeat.

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The boss’ muscles

The more pertinent issue as Kevin walks in is what value Damien’s huge, fuckable body is to the entrepreneur-in-chief. “You need more size, because size sells,” Kevin explains patiently over the course of his muscle domination. “We’re going to get you in competition shape, and we’re going to get me some cash.” I’ve always wished that Kevin enjoyed heeling for its intrinsic value. I’ve wished there was more of an insider’s appreciation for the eroticism of wrestling at MDW. But short of that, I have to admit there’s something erotically compelling about a relatively straightforward story about cultivating gorgeous muscles for mauling as an acknowledgement that you and I get off on it. Eroticism is in the room, even if it’s a pretty straight-edged nod to your and my erotic interests.

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All in a day’s work

While I typically tune into MDW for the flashes of hot wrestling, I have to admit there’s something profoundly moving about the domination aspect of this match. It’s not a match, really. Damien puts up nothing but his whimpering, wheezing, will-bended, forced-to-flex obedience to his muscle master. But Damien’s jeopardy tweaks my kink for the delight of watching his self-appraisal go up in flames at the hands of his constant tormentor and employer. The gear itself is deeply arousing to me. Watching one hunk’s vulnerability represented by the briefest of posing trunks, contrasted by his opponent in street clothes (well, if you happen to walk shirtless down the street in sensationally sexy, skin tight leather pants), is an angle I’ve struggled to put into words before. Personally, I’d have enjoyed it even more to see Kev stroll in in a business suit and slowly pull off his tie and unbutton a couple of buttons on his shirt as he dices this meat just like he does. One guy clothed, casual, getting down to business as if he wasn’t planning to have to grapple, digging into another guy who’s nearly naked, prepped and fluffed for obvious erotic examination, is a seldom satisfied erotic taste I have.

 

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Muscle Master Kevin’s use of his legs also gets me off hard in this match. The theme is variations on the sleeper, which isn’t always at the top of my list. But Kevin uses his legs so seductively to accomplish his tasks. And of course, legwork which is typically near the top of my list. His crotch pillow leg choke is that much sexier for the fact that he’s in pants.  His leg nelson is gorgeous as fuck both for the sexy way it highlights Kevin’s legs and for the sensational way it shows off Damien’s hot, bodybuilder body.

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The camera work also strikes me as different, in a great way, than a lot of MDW matches. The camera lingers long and hard on Damien’s suffering muscles. There are several up-crotch close ups as Damien sits on the precipice of unconsciousness with his legs spread wide and his tiny posing strap wedged up his ass crack, leaving plenty of mouthwatering gluteus muscles bare. Whoever is behind the camera this time gets my applause for unflinchingly following our gaze.

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Every single magnificent muscle here belongs to the boss.

“You may not be the top wrestler, but I’m going to make sure you’re one of the top grossing wrestlers,” Kevin explains as he shoves Damien back and forth over the line of unconsciousness. He hits that seductive domination element that is corporal ownership skillfully. Kevin possesses Damien’s magnificent muscles. He claims them and owns them. “So you’re going to keep training like you have been,” Kevin explains why he’s willing to dish out some compliments to the big stud. “You’re going to get bigger and better by the day. You’re going to watch that diet. You’re going to hit those weights. You’re going to stay at peak shape, so that I can film all of the quality matches that I want with you.” While I consider the master/slave/dom/sub scene in the neighborhood but down the street from my kink home, I absolutely get off to this element of physical possession between Kev and Damien.

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The last element that catches me by surprise in this product is when Kevin force feeds Damien a banana. There’s something kitsch about the idea of this, but in its execution, fuck it’s hot to watch. It helps matters that Damien deepthroats the banana.  Twice. If I can’t be there to face fuck him myself, it turns out watching Kev shove a banana down his throat is a reasonable stand in, at least from a voyeur angle. Honestly, I’ve never gotten off on watching food play before.  I won’t be able to say that now.

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Damien’s whimpering, beaten, completely dominated hotness is forced to flex on command. At one point he literally attempts to flee the scene, which earns him some leg torture as Kevin works to make sure the beast won’t be able to walk temporarily (and happily for me, more close up focusing on those monster quads). “I want you and your muscles to understand who your fucking Boss is,” Kevin explains patiently. “Every time I walk into the room, your muscles are going to twitch.”

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I’m twitching, too, Muscle Master Kevin.  Short of me stuffing my ripe banana deep down Damien’s throat, this muscle mastering confrontation hits all the notes that crank on that part of my kink that wants to see some hot bodybuilder beaten and erotically owned. It’s not as if I haven’t seen Damien plowed under by Kevin in the past. But I’ve never seen Damien this stacked. I’ve never seen Kevin so explicitly committed to possessing Damien’s muscles for our delight. And I’ve never enjoyed it quite this much before.

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Ripped for your pleasure

 

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

It’s been a crazy busy summer on all counts.  My day job kicked my ass. I’m still kept up late at night reliving the magnificent thrill of my day cavorting behind the scenes at BG East. Two weeks of a relaxing, if smokey vacation, and I’m back to real life, and it’s settling down.  As I look at the dregs at the bottom of the summer 2017 cup, I notice a few housekeeping tasks I need to catch up on.  For example, Kid Karisma has had his world class, gorgeous ass sitting on the Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month throne well past his expiration date. For today, I’m turning the time machine back to July to survey the new releases that turned my crank that month, in order to retroactively anoint my July HWOTM.  With apologies for my tardiness, let me announce now that the muscled ass cheeks to replace Kid K’s as the newest addition to the HWOTM ranks is…

 

 

 

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Mark Muscle.

My detailed review of Mark’s work in Fantasy Heels 10 explains what I enjoyed so much. I’ve wanted to see Mark take the title for a while, and he’s even been the opponent to put others over and into the HWOTM circle. But in FH10, Mark broke through with a little more power, more charisma, and more overt fan-love than I’ve seen from him before. And just like he pounded daddy’s little rich boy Damien Rush, he handily beat off any other serious competitors for the HWOTM title for July.

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I’m the first to admit that I can be (often) pretty dense. Across companies, I’m often a little confused about the essential ingredients to major series and sub-genres. So I may be off base, but my read of MDW’s Fantasy Heel series is that it pushes wrestlers who are otherwise not, at heart, heels into that role. So there’s a nod to not expecting to see again anytime soon, perhaps, big Mark Muscle this nasty, this dominating, this overwhelmingly in control. Which makes me savor Fantasy Heels 10 that much more, because I fucking love watching Mark mobilize all 6’4″ and 250 pounds of potently concentrated muscle to slap down a whiny man-child like Damien Rush.

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There’s a fresh sexiness to what Mark puts on the table in FH10. He frequently pauses after solidly buttoning Damien up, locking him down and then seductively turning and looking straight into the camera. It isn’t a self-conscious look. It isn’t awkward or uncertain. The timing of Mark’s cool, steady gaze gives me the impression that he knows just when I’m grabbing my cock with excitement. He knows that what he’s doing to Damien is driving me right to the edge, and right there, when I’m at that edge, Mark turns to the camera and looks right at me.

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I’m more than happy to see Mark Muscle finally realize his erotic wrestling potential. Despite the possible “one-off” aspect of this Fantasy Heel match, I’m hoping that we see much, much more of him crushing mere mortals and watching us watching him. A hunk this massive, this gorgeous, and this game who can convince us that he’s pleased and proud to get us off could corner the muscle heel market in the homoerotic wrestling universe. And he most definitely wins my enthusiastic endorsement as the July 2017 Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month.

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Mark Muscle – July 2017 Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

The Eyes Have It

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Mark Muscle

I’m a fan of Mark Muscle mostly for the aesthetics. He’s fucking huge and gorgeous, and what he has lacked in wrestling acumen, he has made up for in being game for the rough and tumble, ego bruising scramble of homoerotic wrestling. Seriously, a beast this huge with about half a day of pro wrestling training would fucking own this industry. But Mark has been mostly heel bait in the matches I’ve seen him.  He’s a little wooden. He’s lacked in charisma, putting out a pretty shallow wrestling character almost entirely defined by whether overwhelming muscle mass and fitness do, or don’t, trump a savvy underground opponent (I’m hard pressed to ever buy that it does, but I get the appeal for both directions). So Fantasy Heels 10 at Muscle Domination Wrestling tweaks my interest because clearly, Mark Muscle is the Fantasy Heel.  I’ll tuck in to see him turn on some heel heat any day.

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Mark is amused.

Mark’s opponent (fantasy jobber?) is Damien Rush, who strolls into the middle of Mark’s mouthwatering posting routine and demands that the muscle beast beat a hasty retreat because the lighting is perfect for Damien to pose for the camera. “You’ve got to get out of here and wait till I’m done,” Damien snarls, stepping in front of Mark and flexing for the camera. Perspective would argue that Damien’s position closer to the camera at this point should make him seem relatively bigger and Mark relatively smaller than their actual proportions. In testimony to how fucking huge Mark is, he just looks like a mountain of muscle staring way, way down at daddy’s little rich boy. I instantly want to see Damien trounced. One reason is that he interrupts my adoration of Mark’s generous tour of his phenomenal physique. Fuck you, Damien. Get the fuck out of the way. A second reason is the auburn highlights in Damien’s hair. Sun bleached? Horrifying accident with a time machine to the eighties? Whatever accounts for it, the mop top of two-toned locks is atrocious. Fuck, I want to see him suffer for making me look past that hideous ‘do in order to keep trying to study Mark’s superhuman physique. Fuck you, Damien.

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Mark is enthused.

The match unfolds in relatively formulaic fashion. Bumping egos lead to a pose down. Mark stifles a laugh when Damien announces himself the obvious winner. “That all you got?” Damien deludes himself pathologically. “My muscles were that big when I was 12!” he snarls. I still think Damien needs to play up the daddy’s little rich boy angle, because his irrational self-love and deluded belief in his superiority in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary would be so much juicier if he kept having to pull the silver spoon out of his mouth. In this day of historically inept plutocracy, I’d love to hate on big D that much more, if he’d just be that overprivileged daddy’s little rich boy. Mark smirks when Damien can’t admit that he’s humiliatingly dwarfed by the giant bodybuilder’s huge, flexed muscles.

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Mark points.

Following a well worn path, they move on to arm wrestle to demonstrate who is stronger. Mark doesn’t just own this hairy little bitch; he looks at the camera and smirks. He showboats. He leisurely leans back and points at the huge bowling ball of a bicep with which he is easily thwarting his huffing and puffing and whining bitch opponent. Damien can’t even cheat his way to a victory.

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Mark goes over the top.

Mark indulges Damien’s insistence that the real test of strength is “mercy.” About 15 seconds later, big Mark has ground Damien to his knees, sniveling and whimpering and bitching about Mark cheating. They move on to straightforward wrestling, with Damien attempting to use chloroform to shortcut his way to the board room. Awkwardly, Mark turns to the camera and explains, “Luckily, I’ve built up a tolerance to chloroform.” And then he muscle dominates daddy’s little rich boy every which way for the next 15 minutes.

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Mark watches you, watching Damien’s package.

It’s a squash, which for regular readers will be an unnecessary point to make, because I already told you this is MDW. But a few things stand out to make this match provocatively arousing and powerfully pleasing to me. First of all, Damien. Damn. Although I’d prefer to have someone gag him so we don’t have to hear him over-narrate the product, I do enjoy watching him suffer. His golden trunks (see, come on, play up that daddy’s little rich boy angle!) are perfection. Watching his bulge quiver and swing side to side as Mark Muscle hangs him out to dry for a day and a half in a rear bearhug is downright hypnotic. When Mark applies a standard bearhug, he not only gives us a long, lingering look at Damien’s magnificently fuckable ass, he wedgies those golden trunks severely high up Damien’s crack for us. Damien screams and writhes; he twitches and chokes on the pain like the poor man’s Drake Marcos. For so many reasons beyond what I’ve already mentioned, Damien’s been a naughty boy, and watching him punished mercilessly is profoundly satisfying.

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Mark kisses.

Another reason that Fantasy Heels 10 floats my boat is Mark’s eyes. I know, I know, you’re instantly dubious that I genuinely noticed his eyes, but you can’t miss them. Because Mark repeatedly looks directly into the camera. It’s a device that could easily backfire on a wrestler, but Mark is so consistent and insistent about making eye contact with the camera, that he manages to break down the virtual barrier between the action and the audience.

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Mark bounces his pecs.

Now, sometimes it irks me when guys look toward the camera. Often, it’s quite clear that they are actually looking at whoever is holding the camera and taking cues from them. For all I know, Mark may have been doing just that. But his smirks, his cocky nods and winks are nothing short of magical. There’s a powerful intimacy he conveys, like he knows that we’re on this side of the screen jacking off in blinding lust for him. And he likes it. He tolerates Damien’s bluff and bluster with an eye wag at the camera, letting us in on the little joke that he can trash this smart mouth little bitch at will. He licks his lips and snarls and growls, not at Damien, but at us. Damien is just a fucking prop that Mark is using to grab us by the balls, to turn us on, to stoke us harder and harder. Like I said, looking into the camera can backfire on a wrestler. I’ve bitched before about wrestlers seeming distracted from the action because of where their gaze wanders, stretching the believability that this is an actual contest of strength and athleticism and wits. Mark works it sensationally, though.

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Mark presents his destroyed prey.

My last comment I have to make is just a curios self-reflection that the more Mark Muscle dominates and destroys Damien Rush, the more I’m lusting like crazy to fuck Mark. This catches me by surprise, because often the heels that work me hardest star in my personal fantasies as tops. I want to see them whip out their dicks and powerfuck the losers at their feet. Whereas, with Mark, I’m crushing harder and harder on the fantasy of me, being there, whipping out my dick and fucking his magnificently muscled ass… with Damien at our feet. It’s something in all that mindfuck eye contact, I’m sure, that transports my lustful gaze to a point at which Mark drags Damien’s quivering, beaten carcass across the mat and drops him at my feet like a cat. And then he drops those skin tight black bikini briefs and insists I show him how proud I am of him by fucking him for days.

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Mark wins.

But maybe that’s just me. As always, I give my “buyer beware” notice that if you need some competitive heat to turn your crank, be warned that this is a squash. But if you want to see daddy’s little rich boy, who thinks he can get away with anything up to and including treason, get thrashed mercilessly and ripped apart until he’s crying and begging like the little bitch we all knew he was all along, this could be a timely match to saddle up with. If you get off on HUGE bodybuilders with superhero physiques crush the fuck out of hot little wannabes, this will definitely scratch your itch. And if you want to feel like you’re right in the room, on the mats, inches from the action, and your presence is inspiring one hunk to absolutely own another hunk… for your pleasure… this is a bullseye.

Our Man Inside

I know of wrestlers who nearly lost their balls getting caught smuggling behind-the-scenes pics out of BG East shoots, so I continue to applaud Our Man Inside (OMI) who once again has dropped a manilla envelope full of random, unpublished BGE candids on my doorstep. This envelope was huge, so I’ll try to refrain from taking up too much space with my comments or speculations. Though, who am I kidding?  I can’t restrain myself from speculating. In any case, OMI, you are my hero!

First up, we’ve got a whole bevy of poolside hotness. I have not appreciated Mad Mykel’s magnificent ass nearly enough until now. On the other hand, Ty Alexander and Richie Douglas’ asses have been on my radar for years. Honestly, who do I need to fuck to get to see more of Richie Douglas incredibly tasty body!? And ever a safety nut, I hope Mykel, Ty and Richie know that I’ve got to hands and a bottle of sunscreen at the ready. Anytime.

Next up, we get a sensationally rare treat of unpublished photos from the BG East ring. I’m instantly titillated by the site of an as-yet-unreleased match pitting papa Shane McCall ripping my long-time infatuation, Drake Marcos, limb from limb. The double team by Kayden Keller and Jonny Firestorm Camel-Crabbing flyweight phenom Charlie Evans is instantly huge drama making my mouth water. But holy fuck, I need to send OMI a gift basket as gratuity for a couple of extremely rare action pics of Kayden working over the stunningly handsome, hot as fuck classic hunk and declared man-of-my-dreams, a contemporary Scott Williams. Please, homoerotic wrestling gods, hear my prayer that this foreshadows new releases starring the Man of My Dreams!!!

So it appears OMI may be a creeper with sensationally good taste, because this next batch has a ton of BGE stars in various states of sleeping, waking, or possibly just cuddling in bed. Such intimate vulnerability. So many slack, supine, defenseless hunks on display. I have an incredibly strong urge to slide under the covers with Kayden and spoon him awake.

This next batch I’ve filed under “letting their hair down.” As I’ve said often, there’s something potently sexy about seeing the ring warriors of my homoerotic fantasies with their guards down, relaxed, happy, and as is evident in these stolen shots, abundantly goofy. And the goof-in-chief most definitely appears to be The Boss himself, who I hope to the homoerotic wrestling gods never finds out who dished me these cutting room floor shots of him hamming it up. This also reminds me, why haven’t we seen more of sensationally hot boybander, Baby Boy Nino Leone?

Finally, this last batch of relatively random shots I’ve compiled under the heading of BGE boys doing what they do best, namely, looking gorgeous. Reigning HWOTM Chase Addams eats shirtless, Drake rehydrates after that match with Papa Shane, and KL, Kayden and Charlie prove how devastatingly handsome they look all cleaned up. And then there’s Ty, Kayden and Jonny looking like they’re acting a Shakespearean scene. Shirtless, of course.

Again, OMI, my deepest gratitude and promise of pseudo-journalistic integrity when it comes to never, ever, under any circumstances up to and including corporal torture, will I disclose anything I know about your true identity. Keep the good times and behind the scenes goodies coming. And all of you BGE boys outed for your handsome smiles and adorability in stolen moments of candid life, keep looking gorgeous. Don’t change a thing.

Winning Overall

I’ve seen a lot in eight years of blogging about wrestling. I used to wonder if reflecting on my infatuation with wrestling might make me jaded, if reviewing as much homoerotic wrestling as I do might habituate me to such an extent that it doesn’t get me off anymore. Happily for me, there’s no sign of that happening anytime soon. However, it does take quite a bit to seriously surprise me anymore. I won’t say I’ve seen it all, but I’ve seen countless variations on most of it. I love a surprise, but they are fewer and farther between having seen hundreds of sensationally gorgeous wrestlers applying several dozen different holds in more than a couple of handfuls of different contexts. So to say there’s something novel, even shocking, about Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Oil Hunks 10 is a major compliment coming from me.

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Brad Barnes and Damien Rush are ready for a bodybuilding competition

The most obvious shocker is the moment Damien Rush steps on the mat, snarling at Brad Barnes about bogarting the weights back stage at a bodybuilding competition. The backstage bodybuilding story is sweetly novel. It’s the same garage in which most MDW is taped, but the MDW boys continue to put the fantasy in fantasy pro wrestling, and they’ve put their finger on a scenario rich with homoerotic potential. I’ve been turned on by the idea of marginally naked muscle freaks with carb-deprived short fuses strutting and flexing in front of each other with tensions high awaiting their turn to be physique worshipped by screaming fans at a bodybuilding competition. That’s the set-up for Oil Hunks 10. Brad is in minuscule red posing briefs, marginally more than a thong, but not much more. I’ve never seen him in better condition, and I’ve seen him a lot over the past few years. He’s tanned, smooth as butter, and absolutely whittled to massive muscles, bone, and prominent veins. Check out the vascularity on his inner thighs (which sounds like a double entendre, but it isn’t). Fuck, he’s sensationally gorgeous.

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A whole new Damien Rush!!!

But no, the real shocker isn’t any of that. It’s Damien. Holy fucking homoerotic wrestling gods! He’s GARGANTUAN! I’ve been a studied fan of Damien’s hot, hairy body from the beginning, but… fuck, his size leaves me speechless. There are gains, and then there’s THIS! Damien is hugely muscled, and his luxurious coat of dark hair typically covering his torso and legs has been entirely shaved (which is a shame, but then again, of course he’s smooth for competition). He’s tanned, but still looks pale compared to the dark bronze of Brad. His weight class is apparently not due to hit the stage for a little while, because Damien is in relatively modest blue cotton briefs. He flexes a double bicep and POW! Those upper arms are just about the biggest I’ve ever seen. He’s lats are magnificently broad. His quads are monstrously huge. Damien has always had a mouthwateringly sexy body, in my estimation. But he has seemingly abruptly gone from sexy pin up boy to, no shit, legitimate bodybuilder in the blink of an eye!

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get a load of this character!

“I’m going win this competition,” Damien growls, waving Brad away from the weights he was using to get that last minute pump before hitting the stage. “You got that small fry?” Damien growls. “Okay, big fry,” Brad smirks, looking directly into the camera as if to say get a load of this character!

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Even Brad has to admire this!

I’ve found Brad stingy in the past with digging deeply into the homoeroticism of homoerotic wrestling. But he takes a slow lap around Damien, pumping up his huge upper body, and openly admires the heavyweight’s hot muscles. He even goes so far as to agree with Damien that he almost certainly will win his superheavy weight class. Brad is impressed, slowly appraising this newly minted muscle god. “So you’ll take the super heavies,” Brad concludes decisively. “I”ll take the light heavies,” Brad announces without any false modesty. “And, obviously, I’ll take overall.”

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Muscle vs. Muscle

Yep, that’s the backstage bodybuilding competition melodrama that I’ve fantasized about plenty long before now. Both boys seem to concede the facts that Damien’s size is superior, but Brad’s conditioning is out of this world over the top. Quantity versus quality. Mass versus aesthetics. Self-infatuated bodybuilder versus self-infatuated bodybuilder, moments before they vie for screaming worshippers. Fuck, the homoerotic potential is tastable.

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On your knees!

There are obligatory arm wrestling and tests of strength. They all end up pretty  much even, though a highlight for me is watching relatively petite Brad muscle the mountain to his knees. I can no longer find a Wrestler Profile page on the new MDW site, which is a loss, but elsewhere in the homoerotic wrestling universe, I find it suggested that Damien is about 3 inches taller than Brad. I don’t know if it’s the titanic muscle mass Damien is now sporting, but he looks gigantic in comparison to Brad now. So getting powered to his muscled ass in that test of strength is absolutely lovely drama to watch.

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Real men hug

Damien fans will be unsurprised to hear that he’s now pissed. If there’s one thing that is entirely static here, it’s Damien’s dialogue/monologues. “Real men wrestle,” Damien growls in that way he has of bitching and whining about getting shown up. “That’s the true test of strength of a real man,” he announces, insisting on a wrestling match mere minutes before they’re both supposed to go on stage. I have to say that MDW has made me sort of hate phrases like “real men,” and “alpha dog.” Damien is one of the chiefest offenders of selling us the packaging that the eroticism of wrestling is rooted in discovering the flawed masculinity of one man when pitted against another. I don’t subscribe to this gender theory. At all. It strikes me as a lazy way of framing homoerotic wrestling motivation for wrestlers who, my hunch is, don’t get it. Damien’s bluster and comic book villain snarling could sour me, frankly, but then I flash back to his sexy ass, erotic-forward humbling by little guys like Charlie Evans and Lorenzo Lowe and I can forgive the bad gender politics and fragile hold on masculinity implied by Damien’s classic “real men” banter.

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Brad is a wrestler!

Another surprise in this match is Brad’s wrestling. I’ve always thought he’s ridiculously pretty, and I’ve been satisfied that he’s game for the genre enough to put his superhero jaw and massive pecs at our disposal in a wrestling match. But no shit, Brad sells pro wrestling in Oil Hunks 10! He’s quick and decisive. He fucking dances around Damien’s lumbering muscle bod, smoothly transitioning from a rear bearhug to side headlock to hammerlock with authority. Seriously, he fucking owns all of that hot new beef on big Damien, sucking on the feel of D’s head stuck in the vice in standing headscissors, standing tall and flexing proudly with the big man doubled over and humiliated.

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Hottest counter of the year!

One of the best moves I’ve seen in a long time happens when Damien muscles free and starts exploiting his size advantage, bullying Brad around. He squeezes and stretches him. He monologues like the Penguin with Batman suspended by a thread over a pit of alligators. Then he bends Brad backward into a sensationally sexy dragon sleeper. I haven’t mentioned just how tasty Brad’s tightly contained package is in those red posers, but fuck, what a teasing treat seeing him arching backward, totally at Damien’s mercy, his rippled, diamond cut muscles stretched and laid out like a feast. But shockingly, Brad jackknifes, pulling his legs off the mat and snapping them with total authority around Damien’s head. Damien is appropriately stunned, losing his grip on the sleeper and staring wide-eyed at the business end of Brad’s muscled ass now planted across his face. With an expert shift of his center of gravity, Brad yanks Damien off balance, flipping to his back, and landing still locked up sexy-tight in headscissors. Fucking magnificent counter!

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That’ll leave a bruise

They don’t talk about it explicitly, but there’s a hot drama to the moment that they start landing strikes. Mind you, Brad is due to be on stage any second. Damien will be up minutes later. So when Brad drives a sharp elbow into Damien’s ribs, I’m thinking, fuck, that’s going to leave a bruise!  Moments later when Damien has slammed Brad to the mat and starts stomping the shit out of his gut and upper legs, I keep thinking, damn, you are NOT going to look so pretty after all out there on stage, are you!?

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What all that muscle is for

The turning point in the match is when Brad locks Damien’s left arm nice and snug between Brad’s huge upper legs and starts prying Damien’s head off his neck with a sick chin lock. Again, there’s a decisiveness about it that I just don’t expect from Brad. It’s commanding and vicious, and Damien looks like he’s fucked good. Right up until the point that he ducks free from the chinlock, muscles his way up to his knees, and basically arm curls Brad’s entire bodyweight off the mat before slamming the SHIT out of his back pounded across Damien’s knee. It’s over, right there. The power move blows my mind! Damien owns this gorgeous slice of competitive beef then and there, as Brad arches his lower back in agony and genuinely looks like he’s sucking on air.

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Time to panic

There’s more muscle domination. This is MDW, after all. Damien starts up the comic book monologuing again. Eventually, he picks Brad up in a fireman’s carry and threatens to throw him across the room. By Brad’s genuine look and sound of panic, I think it’s occurred to him that he’s going to look like shit in a couple of minutes with shiny, oiled up bruises from head to toe when he strolls out on stage. Damien gives him the option of conceding that Damien is destined to win it all. “You’ll win! You’ll win!” Brad pleads.

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Slow. The Fuck. Down, Brad.

The “oil” in this Oil Hunks match disappoints me. Brad cannot get this done fast enough. He manages to lather D’s huge body up in under a minute. Muscle worship fans everywhere are going to call a red card on this party foul. This is one of Brad’s perpetual weaknesses, I find. I’m guessing he’s straight, and I’m assuming he doesn’t quite get why I’ve got my dick in hand as I’m watching this match climax, because he doesn’t take his job as “towel boy” (applier of the oil) seriously. If Damien were to actually walk out on stage with an uneven oil application like this, he’d get laughed right back off the stage. More importantly, the sensationally ripe moment of one muscle hunk putting the palms of his hands all over another muscle hunk’s body is woefully undersold by suddenly-bro Brad. I’ve seen him pull away from the spoils of defeat like this before. It gives an unmistakable hit of a dude choking down the “ick” factor and clocking in his most superficial attention in order to just get this discomfort over with. I wish he ‘d just fucking suck it up and sell his appreciation for another man’s body about half as well as he sells his own suffering (as of late). He can be bitter about it all he wants. Mores the fun, really. But the self-consciousness ruins the denouement of this otherwise shockingly hot, hard, huge hit.

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He said ENJOY IT, Brad!

Damien looks a little pissed about it as well, which makes me rescind some of my earlier comments about his not getting it. “Get on your knees,” he commands Brad after getting the sloppiest oiling up in bodybuilding competition history. I shit you not, Brad rolls his eyes a little, because he’s so fucking self-conscious in this moment. “Get on our knees and enjoy staring up at the true champion!” Damien barks, flashing his huge, shiny (in patches), shockingly developed physique for his vanquished opponent to garnish and you and I to feast our eyes on.

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In moments, Brad looks like he fucking loves this

Oil Hunks 10 has a sweet balance of story and wrestling. The physiques are s-t-u-n-n-i-n-g! The scenario is sensationally novel with a hit of authenticity (like, I feel pretty convinced that these guys are actually, genuinely, both bodybuilding competition-ready). Brad sells himself as a legitimately skilled pro wrestler better than I’ve ever seen him before, and Damien is… MASSIVE. I’ll knock them both for perennial character weaknesses, but honestly, this is super satisfying bodybuilder on bodybuilder pro wrestling gut checks.

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I’ve got my oil in hand, boys!

And if either of these beasts needs a more willing “towel boy” than Brad was, to meticulously apply baby oil to every last inch of their gorgeous muscles with perfect precision and enthusiasm, give me a call boys.

 

 

And the Winner Is…

The Best of BG East in 2016 has already been announced! Damn, that was fast. Clearly, I get into awards season heavily, so of course I need to debrief.

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Top Babyface of 2016 – Biff Farrell

Biff’s ascendancy to the throne as Top Babyface is a remarkable rise for last year’s Debut of the Year winner. Seriously, we’ve been lusting after this gorgeous muscle man for less than two years! And just like that, he steps in, yanks the title from longtime title holder Jake Jenkins, and slaps JJ to the curb. There’s a reason that I let alliteration go fucking nuts when I’m talking about big, blond, blue-eyed, buff, bulging, beautiful babyfaced Biff.

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Best Abs of 2016 – Chace LaChance

With no defending title holders in the pool, Chace LaChance muscled his washboard right onto the throne as having the best abs. I had guessed that Chace might leverage his army of body worshipping fans to fill this vacuum.

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Best Body of 2016 – Kid Karisma

Fuck, yeah! I have been arguing for years that Kid Karisma had the best body from top to bottom, and I’m thrilled that the court of public opinion has finally agreed with me. Last year’s winner, Chace, wasn’t even nominated, which certainly begs the question of who would fans want to worship more today. And there’s absolutely no other possible way to resolve this question than a jock strap wrestling match in the ring. And I STILL say Kid K’s body would rock the competition out cold.

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Best Bulge of 2016 – Kirk Donahue

Honestly, I’m unaccustomed to being so much in the majority when it comes to the Besties. But like me, a whole lot of the rest of you also noticed Kirk Donahue’s gargantuan bulge this year. I can think of no hotter scenario than Pete Sharp and Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) coming back in 2017 for a 3 way bulge off.

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Top Heel of 2016 – Jonny Firestorm

I’m shocked and aroused to learn that Guido Genatto just got beaten by Jonny Firestorm for the title to Top Heel. I said that if anyone could do it, it would be Jonny. Guido is loud, and huge, and nasty, but Jonny just shut the Dirty Daddy up but good by taking the title.

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Best Butt of 2016 – Kid Karisma

Again, I say, fuck, yeah! At what point do we just name this the Kid Karisma award? I’m thrilled to be with the herd in getting behind (and I mean, close behind) Kid K’s glorious glutes for yet another year as Best Butt. I know of at least 2 former contenders who didn’t get nominated who are bitter as shit, but not me. I’m just leaning back, a little light headed, and soaking in the sight of the Eighth Wonder of the World, Kid K’s unsurpassed ass.

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Tob Jobber in 2016 – Ty Alexander

Again, I was consistent with the popular vote in calling Ty Alexander Top Jobber yet again. On the one hand, it’s a dubious distinction to be a Top Jobber repeat. No one exactly likes to lose, do they? On the other hand, a jobber of Ty’s quality can make even a train wreck of a match compelling. And I predict that if he keeps that bleach blond ‘do, he’ll get his ass spanked relentlessly yet again in 2017.

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Debut of the Year 2016 – Beauxregard

I hedged my bets big time in the Debut of the Year category, but true enough, my vote didn’t swing things Chase Addams’ way. Instead, it was one of the other hot newcomers I thought was in contention taking the title this year, rock hard Beauxregard. I love what he brings to the table, and I think all of BG East is better for it. I’m looking forward to seeing what big Beaux accomplishes in 2017.

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Best Submission of 2016 – Jonny Firestorm & Calvin Haynes in Hunkbash 18

Congratulations to Jonny and Calvin for taking the enigmatic title of Best Submission of 2016. I had my eye on another contender, but it’s not so surprising that the bad ass who just took the title as Top Heel would lock down the Best Submission follow up. And there’s no arguing that he fucking brutalizes doe eyed babyface Calvin.

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Sexiest Match of 2016 – Dark Knights 13

A hearty congratulations to Kayden Keller and Debut of the Year winner Beauxregard on taking home the title for Sexiest Match of the year. It was a scorching hot field of contenders, and though I didn’t side with the majority on this one, there’s no denying they slapped down what was almost certainly the most explicit, sweaty, sexy assed heel on heel beatdown of the year. Well earned praise for KayK and a super hot haul for Beaux’s first year in the business.

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Best Ring Match of 2016 – Tag Team Torture 19 – Addams & Alexander vs. Evans & Taylor

I wasn’t playing coy with just how infatuated I was with this match, so I’m thrilled no end to see it take the Best Ring Match title. If even one of the four of these young studs was a weak link in the chain, a complex tag team melodrama like this could have easily been a dud. But every one of the wrestlers in this match earned every praise and every award it got. Now when do we get to see Team All-Americans tear into the tag team ranks again?

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Best Squash of 2016 – Demolition 21 – LaCash vs. Sorell

Kip Sorell got squashed like a bug by Flash LaCash, and fans picked it as the best of 2016. I’m generally lukewarm on this genre in general, but I get it. This is a hot match. My vote went elsewhere, but I’m so not in the mainstream when it comes to squashes in general, I’m not too surprised.

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Best Mat Match of 2016 – Undagear 25 – Andrews vs. Marcos

This was a close second choice for me, but I was irked not to get a chance to vote for what I thought was an even sexier Drake Marcos match. In any case, kudos to Drake and Ethan for nailing down this victory with gallons of sweat and tears and some damn fine mat wrestling. This was super competitive, brutal, and sexy as fuck.

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Hottest Liplock of 2016 – Wet & Wild 8 – Taylor & Haynes

I didn’t vote with the majority in this category, either, but there’s no denying the remarkable passion in that pumping, grinding, grunting make out session between Christian Taylor and Calvin Haynes. I’m thrilled to see both Christian and Calvin starring in multiple award winners this year. And when it comes to liplocks, really… is anyone a loser?

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Best Wrestler Spotlight of 2016 – Chace LaChance

Chace continued to show off his blazing fan power with a win in the category of Best Spotlight. I had this as a third place on my score card, so I clearly broke with the herd. But the definition of a wrestler spotlight is fan power, so congratulations to Chace and all of the opponents who made this DVD a winner.

Best Overall Match of 2016 – Tag Team Torture 19 – Addams & Alexander vs. Evans & Taylor

You don’t know how thrilled I am to see fans select the opening match of Tag Team Torture 19 as the Best Overall Match of 2016. It got universally rave reviews from all of us who take the time to blog about this stuff. I’m pleased as punch that fans were of like mind with us bloggers, and I hope it does nothing but push for more tag team matches, more selfies, and much, much more of Christian Taylor, Charlie Evans, Ty Alexander, and Chase Addams.

Congratulations to everyone who won, and to all the nominees. It was an outstanding year at BG East, precisely because everyone in front of the camera and everyone behind the camera did such an excellent job producing high quality homoerotic wrestling of that flavor that only BG East can quite manage. I would argue there are no losers here.

Terrified

 

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Trey Dixon’s eyes pried open to witness the spectral visage of Thrash ripping him apart in Masked Destroyers

I hope everyone had a shocking Halloween. I’m also hoping to get another photo report from our favorite homoerotic wrestlers who delight in dressing up and showing us their costumes. In the mean time, I was mulling over a topic I’ve touched upon tangentially in the past, that seems particularly relevant this time of year: terror.

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Kirk Donahue may not get out of Demolition 18 alive

I should confess I’m a terror movie junkie. I tend toward the mind-fuck variety of horror flicks, particularly the sacrilegious, but the raw, mass body count movies are also on my list. I like the extra heavy heart pump they inspire. Even when I know the outcome, I can feel the blood pulse harder through my veins when I’m watching good, terror inducing entertainment

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Kip Sorell pleads with the audience to call the police, because he’s getting mugged in Demolition 20

So it’s a short hop to thinking about the element of terror in homoerotic wrestling entertainment. Just like in a good horror flick, terror is a delicate ingredient. You can’t throw in too much, too soon, or the escalating adrenaline drops from habituation. On the other hand, too infrequent, too improbable (hello, Paranormal franchise, I’m looking at you) and the heat doesn’t have time to reach a boil. And under or over sold, and the whole suspension of disbelief comes crashing down in a heap.

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Muscle Match goes dark with open, vicious, bare handed strangulation

But in homoerotic wrestling, when done right, it’s incredible value added for my tastes. When a brave, cocky, impenetrable stud throws himself into the fray, gets outmatched, gets convinced that he could very well get broken, broken into, or crippled for life, the unfolding drama is sensationally arousing to me. He’s got to believe he’s going to make a respectable showing to start with. And then, incrementally, he’s got to be dragged to the despairing, horrifying truth that he’s getting owned, and his opponent is just nasty enough to seriously jeopardize life and limb. And then, that juicy, potent psychodrama has to play out on his face, in his eyes, in the rising octaves of his screams and choking sobs.

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Austin Cooper is terrified by what’s Bobby Horton is about to do to him from behind in his Wrestler Spotlight 3

When done right, I get that same adrenaline pump I do when I’m watching fine horror. That, paired with hot, hard bodies and the inherent eroticism of grinding, crushing, dominating wrestling, and I’ll swing for the fences every time.

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Riddle Man (aka, Charlie Evans) monologues like a supervillain about what he wants to do with SuperStud (aka, Damien Rush) and his marvelous ass in Super Men 4.4.

Interestingly (for me, at least), I occasionally stumble across this ethical dilemma in seeking out terror-rich homoerotic wrestling fare, when I come across the implicit threat of rape. On the one hand, rape is not sexy. In real life, it’s vile and destroys lives. I don’t enjoy it, and don’t get aroused by it in gay porn. Frankly, it creeps me out. On the other hand, in addition to being terrorized by threats to life and limb, homoerotic wrestling terror at least occasionally drifts into the psychodrama of sexual violence. Threats that revolve around “what I’m going to do to you when I’ve beaten you to a pulp,” start down that path. Hell, every so often there’s the pretty explicit dialogue about how a victor will fuck his cowed conquest like the spoils of war. And, all that I just said on the first hand notwithstanding, I fucking get off on that.

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Trent Diesel sizes up the ass he just bought and paid for in his Naked Kombat bout with Gavin Waters

Of course Naked Kombat pretty much is all about sexual domination as the spoils of erotic wrestling. But there’s an implicit contract in the fighter’s opening introductions. They’re signing up for this. They know the stakes are win or be fucked, so it’s more like high stakes gambling than actual rape. The loser my not enjoy it, but the bitterness and brutality are mostly about the humiliation of the loss, not about being involuntarily fucked. And the more recent post-match testimonials almost always make explicit that the everyone involved had a grand old time.

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Rusty Stevens and David Taylor made me forget they were being held at gunpoint in Wrestle Bait.

Can-Am has come pretty close to explicitly centering a narrative on wrestling as pretense for sexual assault. Their Wrestle Bait release made me check my political correctness credentials a few times, for example. The plot, as I remember, is that a sadistic jail guard (Jobe Zander) gets his psychojollies off on forcing inmates to wrestle for fuckstakes and freedom. Jobe literally holds a gun to their heads and coerces them to strip, beat the shit out of each other, and then have the winner force fuck the loser. If they don’t fight hard enough, he threatens to shoot them. So, guns turn me off. The threat of watching someone get shot turns me way off. The implication that the losers in each Wrestle Bait match are getting fucked against their will tugs at my conscience. But despite myself, even as I question my moral compass, I’ve pounded out dozens of times to that shit. In my defense, it was the first time I ever saw Rusty Stevens or David Taylor.

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Logan Vaughn’s terror is evident once Lane Hartley plants him spread eagled in the ropes and gets into position to place kick his balls for a field goal in Hunkbash 15

But I don’t have to have boundaries crossed for the terror ingredient to spice up my favorite homoerotic wrestling fare. It’s the terror itself, rather than any questionable-consensual sex act, that’s the common thread. So when it dawns on one gasping hunk that he’s got no shot of winning, and in fact has a very good shot at spending a few nights in the hospital, and that recognition visibly washes across his face… fuck.  When a sniveling pretty boy literally tries to flee the scene, crawling on his hands and knees in a primal effort to distance himself from his natural predator, I’m so sold. When he chokes and quivers on the fear, when he weeps and begs, abandoning all pretense to dignity, when he out and out screams because he’s certain he’s about to break for real, that will top me off every time.

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Carter Alexander sells terror like a motherfucker in Great Outdoors 2, though I think he’s mostly just terrified Kid Karisma will stop pulling his hair (he likes that).

So today, I salute the homoerotic wrestling scream queens who toy with my moral compass and somehow shove their hands right down my pants by selling out and out terror as a device for propelling a wrestling match to a screaming, pleading, magnificent conclusion.

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Reigning scream queen, bar none, Drake “don’t call me jobber” Marcos realizes the Trophy Boy may very well castrate him in Three-Way Thrash 4.

Keep me cumming, boys.