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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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?

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.



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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Best Muscle Money Can Buy

No smile?!

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.

Trophy Boy in the house.

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.

That grin instantly gets me hard.

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.

Someone’s getting face fucked before this is all said and done.

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!?

“The Best Muscle Money Can Buy!”

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.

Jobbers suck on the humiliation

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 spanking hard

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.

Drake turns tail and tries to run 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.

“…more animal than man.”

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.

Drake and Ty are not having fun.

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.

Suffering piled high

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.

Oh, well, fuck. Forgiven.

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.

Just me. Destroying you.

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.

Alex Oliver doesn’t see what’s coming.

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!?

A homoerotic wrestling sadist rips another hunk from the real world.

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.

Damien unwraps our present.

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.

“Ooooo, looks like you’re nice and prepped!”

“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!”

“Fun time is just beginning!”

“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.”

Headscissors, hairy pecs, and a chloroform chaser.

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.”

“That is just…SO…beautiful!”

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.

A rare view of Alex best side.

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.

“Right where I like it!”

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.

Damien is tantalizingly terrifying.

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.

Welcome to our world, stud!

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!

So pretty, it hurts.

A Year in the Life


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.

Damien’s most muscular grabbed readers most.

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.


Click-throughs reveal what I’d expect. I spend most of my time reviewing BG East products, so little wonder that over 14,000 of the click-throughs this year were of readers checking out the source material at BGE. Most of the other click throughs were to brother bloggers like Wrestling Arsenal, Inner Jobber, Beefcakes of Wrestling, and Ringside at Skull Island. I do have love for more than BG East, of course, so I’m glad to see there were over 2,500 click throughs checking out source material at Can-Am, over 2,500 to Cameron Matthews‘ site, and over 1,800 to Muscle Domination Wrestling.

The moment I get my hands on (a pic of) David Muir shirtless, you will be the first to know!

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.

Favorite moment #5: Gio plays for our team!

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.

But seriously…

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.

Aussie fashion model Jarrod Scott inspired my homoerotic wrestling imagination this year.

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.

Super sexy Drake “Blogger Bait” Marcos, Ty Alexander, and Kayden Keller.

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.

Man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams

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.

Scott takes full possession of favorite moment #1.

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.

…to you and yours.

Tug on Superman’s Cape

Damien Rush has never been less able to squeeze his bulging muscles inside this suit!

“Riddle me this, Super Stud: what is black and green and in your gut?” Simple, naive, gullible as shit Super Stud is stumped. He looks inward, trying to solve the riddle. Riddle Man relieves the suspense by driving his black and green walking stick viciously into the super hero’s rippled abs.


How in the fuck could adorable, skinny little red-headed rookie Charlie Evans Riddle Man possibly execute a salacious squash all over incredibly built, bigger and bigger every time we see him, Damien Rush Super Stud? A kryptonite plated walking stick, kiddies. That’s what levels the playing field, or, more accurately, levels the luscious man of steel, Super Stud.

Damien’s is big, but Charlie’s stick is bigger!

Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Super Men 4.4  is a perfect stocking stuffer for the homoerotic wrestling fan with a twink’s revenge fantasy deep inside. The contrast of skinny, snarling Charlie and magnificently muscled Damien is an enticing hook. Charlie’s green and orange tights hang loosely off his thin frame. This was also Bryce’s costume as Aqua Bryce, but I’m suspecting the Mastodon may have been the last MDW wrestler to squeeze is massive muscles into those tights before tossing them over to the lightweight rookie, because the ass sags halfway to Charlie’s knees without the prominent shelf and shapely glutes of the bigger boys at MDW to fill it out. In contrast, that same Super Stud suit we’ve seen Damien wear on multiple occasions has never fit tighter, never sucked into every crevice and stretch across so many mountainous bulges as it does in 4.4. Literally, Damien can no longer zip the lycra suit up all the way because his gargantuan shoulders and huge pecs can no longer be contained! There’s something extravagant and overcompensating about the suction packed super suit that makes the drapes and pleats of Charlie’s sagging tights seem somehow hungrier, more dangerous, more ripe with arousing potential for the brainiac high school nerd to get sweet, sweet satisfaction from the suffering letterman.


Hot jock laid waste!

I’m sure I’m simply a sick puppy for getting turned on by the scene in Rob Zombie’s Halloween when the kid version of Michael Myers gets revenge for getting bullied at school by ambushing his bigger tormentor in the woods and beating the shit out of him (literally) with a tree branch. Yeah, that’s just fucked up, I realize, but I’m just being honest. I took my fair share of bullying torment as a skinny academic all star, so I’m sure it says everything about me that I’ve got a hair trigger for the twink’s revenge narrative in 4.4.

Charlie digs deep for this one.

But unlike Michael Myers, Charlie Evans has more on his mind than homicidal brutality. He mercilessly taunts the bulging super hero as he pounds his kryptonited cane into Damien’s very prominent pouch. “I don’t think your super crotch here has seen enough action,” Charlie gloats. Not nearly satisfied enough, he dives in and wraps the fingers of his right hand around Damien’s mountainous crotch, squeezing, manipulating, crushing the nearly comically virile hunk into a writhing, impotent pile of meat.

Charlie lords it over his magnificently muscled prey.

Like the vicious twink avatar he is, Charlie doesn’t just drive home the blunt end of his walking stick, he drives him the utter humiliation that all those gorgeous, lovingly sculpted muscles are completely useless.  The jock’s pride and joy, his never fail cocktease physique is laid to ruin by a lightweight 4 inches shorter and, according to their wrestler profiles, 70 pounds lighter.

Things to come, Super Stud. Things to come.

Things really start to turn sexy when Charlie pounds the end of his walking stick into Damien’s fabulously meaty glutes. “Time to soften you up before I get a little touchy-feely.  I don’t know which is more fun,” Charlie chuckles. “Your front, or your back.” As I’m screaming at the screen “his ASS!!!” Charlie rolls the writhing hunk to his stomach and digs his fingertips into those meaty, shrink wrapped glutes. “I can work with this, I think,” Charlie says appreciatively. “This will be a lot of fun to play with!” He grabs both cheeks and shakes the meat enthusiastically. “I’m going to have a blast back here!” he promises.

“This will be a lot of fun to play with!”

“You might look pretty bad, but you feel pretty nice!” Charlie coos, getting good and handsy feeling up Damien’s sweetly suffering muscles. “You’re going to be my slave!” the twink on a rampage promises.

“You’re going to be my slave!”

As is the norm at MDW, this is a squash, and other than ball claws, stomping, and assault with a blunt weapon, there’s not a strong reference to professional wrestling in the narrative. It’s a domination match, through and through, and setting my imagination into overdrive for what a skinny, horny, vengeful nerd might do with a battered, conquered, and sleepered jock tormentor at his mercy, Super Men 4.4 scratches an itch for me right.  “And now you’re mine to play with…”

“And now, you’re mine to play with…”

Services Rendered

Daddy’s hot, hard, hunky little rich boy, Damien Rush.

I’m on the record many times over as a big fan of hot and hairy Damien Rush. It seems like he’s tried to shed the ignominy of being daddy’s little rich boy, but personally, that back story makes it that much more captivating to see him stripped to wrestling trunks and pounding that hot body of his into another man’s muscles. His return to the Muscle Domination Wrestling ring in Six Pack Bash 8 portrays him as a freelance fitness coach, thrusting his services upon Brad Barnes without waiting for an invitation.

Damien lends a hand to enhance Brad’s abdominal workout.

Brad is working his abs in the ring, sporting orange very-briefs and nothing else.  Damien offers to enhance the work out with some light punches to Brad’s contracted abdominals, a la Rocky.  Naive, dare we say, thick Brad concedes at first. But you and I know what happens next before we even see it. “Light” punches turn harder, more vicious, until Damien is beating the crap out of the muscle hunk’s gut with two fisted chops.

Damien is swimming in his own sweat, getting all hot and lathered beating the shit out of Brad Barnes.

Damien is luscious in his familiar sparkling purple trunks that manage to ride up high on his waist but not quite cover his sweet ass cheeks. Both studs are barefoot, and I love barefoot ring wrestling. It has a direct line to my adolescent self slack jawed in lust over a young Kevin Von Erich.

Damien prides himself on digging in deep, stretching you out in all different directions, and then pulling out hard.

“People pay for my services in the ab conditioning world,” Damien explains, clawing the living fuck out of Brad’s gut. “Because I give it to them better and harder than anyone else.”  I love it when the double entendres fly thick and fast.  “I dig in deep!” Damien grunts through gritted teeth, clawing his fingers past the first knuckles into Brad’s beet red gut. “And I pull out hard!” Like instructions in a sizzling hot night of rough sex, Damien marries physical brutality with a running narrative.  “And then I stretch them in all different ways!” Yeah, Damien. Dig in deep and stretch me out in all different ways, rich boy!

Daddy’s little rich boy needs a blogger cornerman to towel off all of that slippery sweat!

I know I’m a broken record for pointing it out, but knowing some wrestling fans like I do, I feel obliged to warn you this is a complete, total, unequivocal squash from start to finish.  There is one moment where Brad desperately slaps on a bearhug, but the look of unhurried contempt on Damien’s face makes this one of the more pitiful moments in the match for big Brad. And there are just so many moments to pity him!

Rope burn as homoerotic wrestling offense?

I also don’t quite get the rope.  Damien appears to exponentiate the ab torture by stretching a rope across Brad’s gut.  Huh?  I mean, rope burn sucks, but… I’m just not buying it as the muscle crushing maneuver it’s made out to be.  Brad’s capacity to sell is sorely tested there, as it is later when he’s “trapped” in the ropes (really, just draped backward across the top rope, but seemingly paralyzed). Brad suffers non-stop through this match, but you can see his skills wearing thin right around the same points at which the plot does.

Damien is ALL OVER hunky Brad.

Watching Damien work up a thick sheen of sweat, though, is never wasted time for me. Damn, this kid’s got my number.  I mean, literally, I’ve been begging for an interview with Damien for years now, but I somehow never get past his personal assistant (not daddy’s little rich boy, my ass). The one-sided specialities at MDW do not serve him up nearly as movingly as Damien’s work elsewhere in the homoerotic wrestling universe. But those hairy pecs, that 5-o’clock shadow, and his sweet ass keep me tuning in, over and over.


I’d love to see both of these boys work about 10 times harder than they do (or at least sell that much more). I’m still lobbying MDW for fewer squashes and more wrestling competition drama. But this is Damien Rush and Brad Barnes and muscle domination and monologuing, so I know there’s plenty of market for Six Pack Bash 8.