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shoots, so I continue to applaud Our Man Inside (OMI) who once again has dropped a manilla envelope full of random, unpublished BGE candids on my doorstep.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Next up, we get a sensationally rare treat of unpublished photos from the BG East ring.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 HWOTMChase 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.
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.
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.
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!
“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!
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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!?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
So I’ve been biting my tongue about the 2nd three-way match in BG East’s recent Three-Way Thrash 4 release (there sure are a lot of numbers in this sentence). On the one hand, I think I’d like Alex and Joe’s reviews to percolate a while. There can be a pile-on effect when we’re all reviewing the same match at the same time, and sometimes the uniqueness of three different sets of eyes gets blurred in the sum total all at once. On the other hand, this match stars three wrestlers who I’m never at a loss for words about.
So fuck it. I’m on the case. First of all, can someone start a GoFundMe page for Ty and Drake to get a room? Because they are back at it again, tearing the fuck into each other in that way that only the best of friends and/or jilted lovers can. I’m a little bitter that Three-Way Thrash 4 starts with the toy boys already mid-match. While I understand that we’ve already seen them rip each other apart on the mat, and then battle to a double cum explosion in a bed, I’m still irritated at catching the boys in the ring already in progress. It irritates me on one level because I can tend toward the OCD side of things, and half-started or unfinished business festers under my skin. It also irritates me because I want to know the story of how two of my favorite jobbers yet again got geared up and on a terror brutalizing each other once again. Didn’t they settle that shit in Babyface Brawl X? You know, Drake won on the mat, which had to be such in intense relief and shock for the Cheshire Cat. On the other hand, I’ve seen Ty talking shit about claiming victory in the final tally, because Drake came first. So, yeah, I could see how this whole jobber rivalry could easily have erupted once again. And between you and me, I think they’re probably secretly gagging to fuck each other senseless.
Consult the match description for the official backstory. Whatever the case, I’m already turned on with just the 2 minutes or so we get to see of their back and forth punishment. Drake rides some momentum, that shit eating grin stretched across his handsome face as he crushes hard on face-to-crotch headscissors on the Trophy Boy. He’s all triumph and gloating, with that unfamiliar feeling of being in control settling in. Watching him pitching, it makes me want to just reach out and pat him on the head, it’s so adorable. But then, of course, Ty claws the fuck out of his balls and starts to beat his way back into a revenge bruising.
Now, I love me some Damien Rush. I especially love him massively muscled and hairy, like he is when he strolls in and interrupts my boybanders beating the shit out of each other. I love Damien’s thick, meaty thighs as the muscle bounces and quivers, and that sweet, round ass packed so deliciously into leopard print trunks. I’ll typically stand up and cheer when daddy’s favorite little richboy strips down and stomps onto the scene. But fuck, what about the boybander grudge match!?
We will likely never know, damn it, because Damien climbs on board and takes total control of the scene. I’m totally on board with both Alex and Joe when both of them (all three of us independently of one another) bemoaned the lost opportunities of this instantly turning into a 1 on 2 squash. I’d go so far as to argue it defies the Three-Way Thrash genre a bit, because other than seeing those fleeting seconds of Drake and Ty barreling into one another before Damien arrived, the drama is entirely about daddy’s little rich boy running rough shod over the tasty jobbers. In my homoerotic geography classes, we always learned that was something other than a “3-way” battle.
But like Alex, I enjoy the Damien Rush show for what it is. He’s fucking impressive, and I would not always have counted on Damien being able to control pace and be entirely in the driver’s seat telling a story like this. He’s come a long way, and that includes his massive muscular development as well as his growing capacity to work offense, transition from hold to hold, and ride a wave of momentum all the way to me pounding one out right around the time that he’s simulating face fucking both Drake and Ty simultaneously, because he’s just that fucking big and bad.
Ty takes the coitus interruptus the hardest, because he was the one on top when Damien barged in. So there’s something particularly poignant about Ty’s debasing destruction. Maybe, just maybe, he could have settled the score and made Drake his bitch once and for all (of course, he’d have to time share him with me and the dozen or so other guys who’ve owned him in the ring). But the boy band intramural battle is swatted away with one massive, blue blood back hand from Damien. So when Ty is draped over the top rope and spanked way, way hard, those aren’t just tears dripping off Ty’s face. Those are dreams of revenge getting washed away.
Alex and Joe both point out that Drake seems like little more than a deer in the headlights in this thrashing. I can see it, of course. He’s flat on his back (again!?) and trying to recover from Ty’s schoolboy cock pin before he even realizes Damien has climbed into the ring and opened up a can of whoop ass on them both. The scene is dripping with pathos when the Cheshire Cat repeatedly tries to slink away, crawling on all fours, dragging his hot carcass across the mat and trying to beat a hasty retreat from the ring room entirely on those occasions when Damien is paying full attention to Ty. The sheer terror as Drake tries to run away like a coward might make someone crasser than I am call him a pussy then and there, but then again, he happily embraces the moniker of the Cheshire Cat of Homoerotic Wrestling.
But as much as I enjoy my boy banders, this is, indeed, Damien’s story. And he tells it well. His two-fer bearhug, pulling both jobber studs off their feet in one huge, massively muscled, bulging bicep bearhug is, no shit, fucking impressive. At times in Damien’s past I’ve sensed he’s trying to run away from the legacy of being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, mixing it up in pro wrestling as a way of balancing out the emasculating side-effect of living without consequences or accountability and turning into a whining bitch daddy’s boy. So I sit up and take notice when suddenly Damien starts crowing, calling himself “the best muscle money can buy.” Rumors have been around all along that he’s got a personal trainer and a private pro wrestling coach to propel his career to the heights that all of daddy’s riches can manage, and I for one sort of love Damien a little more for finally owning it and throwing it in his victims’ faces. And whatever the fuck his personal trainer is doing, I say keep fucking doing it, because Damien is gorgeous! He refers to himself as “the new and improved Damien Rush. Better, bigger, stronger, more animal than man.” I say if you’ve grown up a bored little rich boy with a sadomasochistic fascination with pro wrestling, there is no better evidence than Damien Rush that you should NOT run for president. You should write that highrise-size check and get yourself the best hairy, hunky, bulging, beefy, proportional, balanced, beautiful brawn that your daddy’s checkbook can buy.
Ty and Drake do not enjoy this match nearly enough for my taste, mind you. Getting pec smothered in Damien’s hairy chest absolutely deserves some Trophy Boy and Chesire Cat erections, as far as I’m concerned. I know, I know, they were terrified, which I’m sure is a buzz kill for some. But the more sweaty sheen Damien works up underneath his furry coat, and the more humiliation he heaps onto the doomed duo, the more I just wish for my boys to be unable to restrain themselves from pulling out their cocks and truly paying homage to the best muscle money can buy.
And, sure, like both Alex and Joe, I’m a little bitter that my boy banders were completely and utterly impotent in the wrestling drama. They do not lay a hand on Damien. They suffer like only two of the top jobbers on the scene can suffer. They make me laugh. They tug at my heart strings. They make me enormously hard. But this would all have been a Mars shot of a match if only they’d been able to pull together, say, 4 minutes of richboy beatdown here and there. Knowing how seriously dangerous both of them are, it actually stretches plausibility for me to the extreme to believe that they didn’t pull off some tandem muscle hunting take downs, even if only to be upended.
But then Damien stacks the boys like cordwood, on top of each other, unconscious, involuntarily 69-ing each other, and he sits down on Drake’s back and slaps the Cheshire Cat’s already beet red ass. “I know how much you both like this position,” Damien smirks, flexing for the mirror, bordering on a homophobic bully tact that would piss me off if he kept it up. But, no, we all know that Drake and Ty play for our team. And we know that, based on the raging feud they’ve been nursing for a couple of years now, neither one of them would have been satisfied when they climbed into the ring together unless someone wasn’t sucking someone else’s cock before all was said and done. Instead, Damien slapped them both down into Loserville and, simultaneously, made them both winners with their rival’s face shoved helplessly into their crotches. And Damien flexes those HUGE arms one more time and smirks. And despite myself, kicking myself for crushing on another squash match, all is forgiven.
I will adamantly insist, however, that this was a waste of Ty and Drake, even if it was a sensational push for daddy’s little rich boy. Sexy as fuck? Undeniably. Left me covered in sweat and cum? Absolutely. But even 50% of the hotness it could have been? Not even.
Wrester4Hire has made a new batch of matches available for members to view, so I sat down to take a look at Alex Oliver (aka Gus Rowe via BGE) and Damien Rush (MDW, BGE) in Knocked Out. The two hunks also square off in a publicly available match for sale on W4H, but Knocked Out is an erotic horror fantasy all its own.
If I’d known the plot of this clip ahead of time, honestly, I probably wouldn’t have watched it. It’s a torture flick, nearly a snuff film, really, as “psychopath” Damien kidnaps gorgeous Alex from his very own car and deposits him in the middle of a wrestling ring for 20 minutes of total terror. That’s the story arc, really. As a fan of competitive matches and relatively few “gimmicks,” this match seems like it isn’t in my wheelhouse. And yet, holy fuck, I was turned on and breathless nearly from start to finish. Who knew!?
One element that cranks my engine from the get go is something I’ve talked about a couple of times recently. Even in the car, Alex is in street clothes while his kidnapper is geared up in a black wrestling singlet. The focus on clothing at the start somehow massages me right below the balls just right. Alex looks like every frat boy on the planet, out cold on his back in the middle of the ring in jeans and an Abercrombie t-shirt. When Damien sets up his office (a brief case full of chloroform, chains, sparring gloves, and duct tape), the contrast between homoerotic fantasy heel Damien and vulnerable, ripped from the Real World Alex is lush.
Equally titillating is the moment that Damien gets down to business unbuckling the unconscious stud’s belt. He violently rips apart Alex’ jeans, quite literally ripping them off his sweet body. “Oooooo,” Damien coos with unmistakable lust, “looks like you’re nice and prepped.” Alex’ long, thick, smooth legs and ultra low rise designer briefs are apparently all the prep that Damien could hope for in a victim.
“Where the fuck am I?!” Alex mutters in a panic as he starts to come to. “You’re in my house,” Damien answers coldly. “Time to wake up. Nap time is over. Fun time is just beginning.” He pries the nearly naked hunk backward into a dragon sleeper, even as Alex gasps in horror, “Oh, GOD!”
“What did I do to you!?” the captured stud cries with a note of pleading in his voice. And here’s where the genre of the match comes into clearest focus. Damien replies, “You didn’t do anything to me. But I’m going to do a lot to you.” Think Saw. Think Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs. This is a random act of horror. “You fucking psychopath!!!” Alex screams, again with just a note of horror, as if appealing to a shred of humanity left in the monstrous heart of his attacker. There is no shred. When Alex frantically slaps the mat while Damien gags him with his own belt, wrenching his neck backward, Damien chuckles. “What are you doing? Tapping!?” He rolls his eyes with contempt. “This isn’t a fight. This is just me destroying you.”
Although Knocked Out is considerably more a domination fantasy than a wrestling match, Damien’s use of wrestling holds and the ring ropes to torture his prey are just enough to stroke my kink. Full nelsons, sleepers, abdominal claws and grapevines bury deep into Alex panicked psyche. For no good reason other than terror, Damien grinds the toe of his boot into his nearly defenseless victim. When Alex tries to fight his attacker away with a flailing fist, Damien grabs the arm and pounds the wrist across his knee, threatening to break it in order to force the fratboy not to interfere with Damien’s “work.”
By far the climax of this match (well, I climaxed. Twice. And that’s just on the first viewing), is when Damien duct tapes Alex’ wrists to the ring ropes as the fratboy sits dazed in the corner. When the captured stud tries to use his only free appendages to defend himself, Damien then duct tapes his right ankle to the ropes, and then cranks open spread eagled Alex’ fabulous legs and uses the kid’s own belt to truss up his left ankle to the rope. Damien takes a step back to admire his handiwork. “Look at that!” Damien says almost breathlessly, brimming with admiration. “That is just… SO… beautiful!,” the psychopath gushes, reading my mind. Again, I say, I am shocked at how completely turned on these guys make me without an ounce of competitive narrative. I just keep gasping in awe at how sensationally hot Alex’ gorgeous body is carved up and served raw. I haven’t had this much empathy for a psychopath since Dexter went off the air.
There’s one glaring missed opportunity in Knocked Out that has me shouting at the screen by the end. While I find the repeated use of chloroform redundant (I lose count around 6 times it’s put to use on the fratboy), the real misstep here is how precious little we see of Alex’ magnificent ass. I mentioned how much that ass grabbed my attention when he debuted with BG East, and the glimpses we do get of it in Knocked Out confirm the prime real estate that his mouthwatering cheeks are. I recently announced that I thought Cal Bennett had one of the most fuckable asses in the business, and I’m saying here and now that I think Alex’ glutes belong right up there at that same level. And while I am dizzied by his thick quads and lickable six-pack, I’m slightly embittered by how little camera time there is for Alex’ amazing ass.
Not to say that there’s a lack of attention paid to Alex’ ass. I think the second most evocative moment in the match comes right near the end when Damien has him in a reverse bearhug. Again, we get a great view of the fratboy’s gorgeous frontside, but, come on! A standard bearhug would have shown off that ass so sensationally! But still, it’s not like Damien’s overlooking the goods. When an exhausted Alex bends forward over his tormentors fists locked across his lower abdomen, Damien growls, “Right where I like it!” Several pelvic thrusts, pounding his crotch into the fratboy’s epic cheeks connects all the dots here.
Lest I neglect all of the most important parts, let me state the obvious when I say that Damien is a hot, hairy, fantasy heel. The contrast of his hairy muscles against Alex’ baby smooth body is yet another unmatched pairing that works sensationally for me. I have to admit that I think few muscle hunks suffer as desperately and provocatively as Damien does when he’s on the receiving end, but he does a great job as the maniacal tormentor in total control here.
So, although I’ve mentioned often how qualified is my enjoyment of an occasional squash, and how I’ve tried to parse apart the genres of domination kink and wrestling kink, despite myself, I loved Knocked Out. I’m looking forward to seeing more of Alex Oliver, preferably from behind. I’d love to see more of this ripped-from-real-life-and-dropped-into-the-homoerotic-wrestling-universe scenario, and next time let’s see the involuntary hunk wrestle in street clothes just a little bit, driving home this great real life/fantasy tension. But in the mean time, I’m going back to enjoy Knocked Out more before it’s pulled off of the W4H member video rotation!
With 2015 coming to a close, it’s time to reminisce. I published 100 posts this year, and readers added up an astonishing 493,000 page views in 2015. Most readers (by far) find their way to the home page of neverland, tracking the most recently published posts from day to day. Fascinatingly, the second most viewed page was the About neverland page, which sort of warms my heart because it’s text intensive (so you weren’t just chasing pics) and, well, all about me and my philosophy of blogging. By far the most popular pic clicked on this year was of hot, hairy chested Damien Rush crunching out a most-muscular pose with his masked undoing hovering ominously in the background.
Readers also clicked most on my review of the Gazebo Grapplers 17 match pitting jungle boy Lorenzo Lowe against hot jobber Tim Messina. You also seemed to be as infatuated with the pulse pounding 2015 debut of big, bulging, beautiful, blond, blue-eyed beefcake Biff Farrell, clicking directly through to my adoring review of his introduction to the homoerotic wrestling audience in Lon Dumont’s Wrestler Spotlight DVD. Of course, these stats are systematically biased toward older posts (you’ve had less time to rack up clicks on December posts, for example). Which makes me think that my September review of Hunkbash 15, although only the 3rd most viewed blog post of the year, may actually turn out to be the hotttest click over time. And I can certainly understand why. I’ve nearly worn out my DVD of Logan Vaughn’s divine, titanic thighs squeezing every ounce of resistance out of every inch of supplicant-in-training Trey Dixon. There are tastes du jour and then there are exquisite, timeless dishes that we’ll be savoring for years to come, and I have to believe that Trey crushed into sweaty, slack jawed worship at the bare feet of Logan is going to be a keeper.
Neverland readers originate from across the globe. English-speaking United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada are, in order, the top ranking origins of the most readers. Germany comes in fourth place with over 13,000 page views, edging out Australia. France, Japan and Mexico round out the top 8 countries of origin of homoerotic wrestling fans checking out the latest here at neverland.
Those of you using search engines to find your way to these pages typically know what you’re looking for, most of the time using keywords “sidelineland” or “neverland wrestling.” Fascinating me to no end, the next most common search engine keyword earning a click to neverland is “David Muir shirtless.” Google it, and sure enough, neverland is ranked #1. Again, consider my heart strangely warmed by the newsboy love that clearly many of you share with me. Those of you searching for a particular wrestling crush sending you this way were most likely to be seeking out Lane Hartley or Lon Dumont.
As for my favorite moments of 2015, one of the most fabulous reveals that I celebrated on the pages of this blog was my current top newsboy crush, Gio Benitez, coming out to his adoring public via Instagram photos of sunning his magnificent muscles next to his then-boyfriend Tommy DiDario. When he then documented his Paris marriage proposal via social media, getting down on one knee (Tommy said yes, of course!), a newsboy homoerotic wrestling lover champion tag team was born in my imagination. Every time I see Gio’s gargantuan biceps straining the seams of his suit coats as he reports on GMA, I no longer need to imagine what those hot, bulging muscles look like shirtless, thanks to Gio sharing the wealth and proudly showing off his, and his fiancee’s fabulous muscles in 2015. I’m still waiting for my wedding invitation.
One of those little moments that probably blew right past most readers but tickled my crotch just right this year was a snarky little exchange I had with none other than BG East Boss himself, Kid Leopard back in February. In my relentless pouring over and critiquing the nominees for BG East’s 2014 Bestie Awards, I adamantly announced that Kirk Donahue did not deserve to be in the running for Best Ass. You know what a smart ass I am, so of course I poured it on thick, speculating that the eventual winner of the category ought to bend Kirk over his knee and spank that adorable, yet not outstanding ass until he confesses who he fucked to get the nomination. Well, my smart assedness earned me a firm, slighty chiding message from Kid Leopard, who I assume is nominator in chief, explaining that I was completely off base in my disregard of Kirk’s award worthy butt. Getting a virtual slap on the wrist from the Boss both tickled and aroused me so much that I promptly published a public service announcement clarifying that, with additional persuasive evidence offered by the Boss, Kirk’s ass is totally nominatible. Of course, I was still a smart ass. And I still say Kirk’s ass is sensationally fuckable, but nowhere near deserving of a top 5 ranking in the exceedingly hot field of BG East butts. But anytime Kid Leopard calls me into his office to slap me around a bit, it’s going to be on my list of favorite moments.
My third favorite moment of 2015 was a little self-generated pride and joy I felt in getting my ass back to what really started neverland in the first place: writing homoerotic wrestling fiction. In August I took the flimsy excuse of Details Magazine identifying their top 31 male models, to write up a first round of homoerotic pretty boy wrestling fiction. I have yet to complete the tournament, though Sean O’Pry, John Halls, and Jarrod Scott more than ably earned their way into the semi-finals. What may not have been as apparent on your side of the screen was the pleasure I had in getting back to exercising my homoerotic wrestling imagination. I’ve gotten back to the keyboard several times this fall, and I anticipate 2016 getting me back to the online homoerotic wrestling fiction publishing business again. I’ll keep you updated.
My second most favorite moment in blogging this year was the feast of homoerotic wrestler Halloween costumes I got to enjoy, and share, in early November. Ty Alexander, Kayden Keller and Drake “Don’t-Call-Me-Jobber” Marcos partied hearty on Halloween this year and gifted you and me some hot shots of their sensationally sexy superhero costumes. By way of introducing himself to me, and by extension, you, adorably hot red-headed rookie twink Charlie Evans also sent some shots my way of his Iceman costume for Halloween this year. As soon as homoerotic wrestling studs send me unsolicited (or at least, lightly solicited) photos of themselves roaming the real world, I’m aroused and the moment is indelibly etched onto the list of most memorable moments.
My top, very most favorite moment in blogging for 2015 took place in the comments section. Casual readers may not think to check the comments, but you do so at the risk of missing hot gems every so often. Such was the case when I posted one of my long, adoring, full throttle fanboy infatuation pieces on my long-time homoerotic wrestler crush, Scott Williams. Scott shared his appreciation that his fans are still gagging for it, assuring us that he is “still keeping in shape and wrestling privately here in Boston and when I travel…always will love it and will always make you proud on the mats or in the ring!” He signed his comment “Sending bearhugs – Scott Williams.” I have since seen glimpses and snippets of evidence (follow the likes of Ty Alexander on FB, and you’ll see what I mean) that Scott is, indeed, still climbing into the ring, and he remains incredibly, profoundly, astonishingly sexy fit still today. I think it’s a crime against homoerotic wrestling fandom that Scott is keeping his wrestling work out of the publicly consumable sphere these days, and I think you should, at this very moment, send an email to BG East pleading with them to convince this classic hunk to cum out in a new release in 2016. In the meantime, that virtual bearhug from one of my longest running wrestling crushes still keeps me warm at night.
So, 2016. I’m hoping it’s a year for getting back to what has been the most fun for me over the past 6 years. Be it resolved that I will publish homoerotic wrestling fiction in the coming year. Be it also resolved that I will snag some fresh new wrestler interviews, because the lack of interviews in 2015 was, in retrospect, tragic from my perspective. I’ve also been not-so-subtly angling for an opportunity to be your Every-Joe-Fan at an honest-to-the-homoerotic-wrestling-gods taping of a match, and I see no reason why 2016 shouldn’t be the year that that invitation doesn’t show up in my mailbox. Those are a few of my hopes and dreams for the New Year. Hope yours is hot, sweaty, and includes some OTK backbreakers.