Tag: Devil Devitt

What I Know

New blog post about how very very much I know about very little.

wrestlebard2 Comments

The older I get, the more it occurs to me just how incredibly much I know about a very few things. For example, I was recently binging on old episodes of the BBC comedy “Would I Lie to You,” in which celebrities try to guess if each other is telling some far-fetched truth or just out-and-out lying. It’s fun British comedy of the sort of like. No one has to be bitterly insulted or degraded. They enjoy laughing at themselves as much as each other’s jokes. It’s clever and crass, and they swear and flip each other off (good-naturedly) in a way that would be banned from broadcast TV in the intensely repressed US. In one segment each episode called “This is My…,” they bring out some random person and three celebrities tell the story of who this person is to them. But only one of them is the real story, and the other team of celebrities have to figure out who is telling the truth.

So I was watching WILTY with some friends recently, and they bring out this drop dead gorgeous, super fit lean hunk for the “This is My” segment, and I immediately blurt out, “Holy shit, that’s Brit pro wrestler Terry Frazier!” And, yeah, I ruined it for my friends, because the real story among the lies was the (also hot) comedian Jack Whitehall told the story that this guy was Terry “Mean Machine” Frazier who was teaching him how to wrestle. The other team couldn’t believe it. They guessed one of the other stories was true, and still they were sort of not quite believing it when it was revealed that the guy really was a pro wrestler giving lessons to Jack Whitehall. To prove the point, Terry picks Jack up and bodyslams him to the set floor, and absolutely everyone loses their shit. Though, of course, I’m over here unable to stop myself from saying, “I told you so.”

What this demonstrated to me, other than that I have no problem smugly bragging about what I know to my mostly disinterested non-wrestling obsessed friends, is how remarkably much I know about a particular segment of professional wrestling. I have a somewhat encyclopedic body of knowledge specifically about wrestling for gay eyes, including most gay-oriented wrestling and those mainstream pro wrestlers who, let’s face it, are such gorgeous gay bait. Like Terry Frazier, who I have gotten off on countless times over the years from his Brit pro wrestling matches I treasure on YouTube. I’d pick him out of any crowd, and before watching WILTY, I never expected that the absolute lock I have on that bit of trivia would ever come in handy other than helping me satisfy the occasional itch for an intensely sexy, lean babyface twunk jobber to watch.

I’m sure that’s one of the big reasons I enjoy having gay wrestling friends. Like, if I’m in a mixed group and professional football comes up in conversation, I’ve got nothing to contribute. Hell, if most mainstream pro wrestling were to come up in conversation, which it really doesn’t that often in my non-gay wrestling friend circles, I still have precious little to offer. Unless Finn Balor or L.A. Knight or Josh Woods pop in the conversation, at which point I have to check the crowd I’m in to decide whether or not to reveal that I know the back catalog of gay-oriented wrestling companies so well that I can point out their underground gay wrestling-as names from back in the day.

But I feel like I finally get a little taste of what it might be like to grow up as a boy obsessively immersed in boy-things like sports stats that honestly bored me to death when I was, in fact, a boy. When I’m hanging out with gay wrestling fans, suddenly the embarrassing wealth of knowledge I carry around with me from the thousands of hours I’ve spent watching and writing about wrestling from a gay perspective turns into something useful. More than that, that shared body of gay wrestling knowledge connects some invisible dots between me and my wrestling-obsessed friends. Like, we don’t need to explain how we happen to be able to name every opponent Alexi Adamov wrestled in Who’s Next… we know that we all know because we spent delightfully hot and sweaty moments of profound pleasure watching them.

It brings to mind that powerful moment I wrote about from the Gay Wrestling History Panel I co-moderated at Wrestlefest about a year and a half ago, when I asked the wrestlers on the panel who they wish they’d have had a chance to wrestle from the past. And I swear all 150 of us in the room turned glassy-eyed and introspective as the wrestlers started shouting out names that strummed the nostalgic strings of lust in all of us. And, spontaneously, people in the audience began shouting out the names of their favorites, too. And after ever name, there was these deep, primal, corporate grunt of lustful acknowledgement. We’d all invested ourselves in experiencing and cataloging those private moments of pleasured appreciation, and when given the opportunity to all come together in one place and name them, those gutteral gasps and grunts conveyed something we’d shared all along, even if we’d never met each other before.

I used to spend a lot energy wanting to be the smartest person in the room. But these days, I know enough to know that on most topics, I’m seldom the smartest person the room. And at this point in my life, I’m really (really) okay with that. What I don’t know about auto mechanics or the NBA draft or pharmacology or quantum physics (or any number of things about which there are so many other people with such greater expertise than I have), it’s left me with so much room in my brain to store tens of thousands of pieces of titillating trivia about the subject that I spend so much time exploring and writing about here.

Our Man Inside

wrestlebard3 Comments

I’ve often written about just how titillating I find it to see behind-the-scenes images of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers. It’s like how I get off more on Clark Kent than Superman (true story, also related to why I get off on hunks in glasses). Several years ago, I received the first of several batches of candid photos of BG East wrestlers, clearly taken before, sometimes during, or occasionally after since-published matches. These photos come to me anonymously and shrouded in mystery, much to the annoyance of powers that be at BG East, as well as some of the wrestlers. I know for a fact that at least one wrestler, accused of being the mole, was threatened with bodily harm if he were discovered to be the one smuggling BGE intellectual property off site and leaking it to the media (I love being considered “the media”!). But thus far, Our Man Inside (or OMI, as I affectionately refer to him) has remained unmasked, and the plucky mother fucker has continued to sneak shots my way, risking life and limb, just to get me (and you) hard. Fuck, I love that guy!

Diabolical Dr. Cooper with a gorgeously sweet smile, perhaps just before fucking up Calvin Haynes in Undagear 33

I am thrilled to announce that OMI apparently continues to work among the crew at BG East, because he just dropped me a bunch of new contraband. As always, there’s absolutely no context given for any of these shots. Some of the look like they came from recent releases, and some of them look like they may foreshadow yet-unreleased match-ups. The men are all gorgeous, of course, but it’s the unguarded, half-shy smiles, that turn me on so hard. There are real life, beautiful young men behind the larger-than-life wrestling personas they put on to compete at the elite level of homoerotic wrestling. I love catching that glimpse of the wrestlers just being guys, playful, shy, quirky, and effortlessly themselves.

Ace Aarons chills in the ring, maybe around the time of Grudge Match IV (judging by the gear)

Thanks, OMI. You are truly my hero, and your courage and commitment to feeding my libido leave me owing you a debt I fear I will never have the pleasure to repay!

The Man of My Dreams, Scott Williams, IRL makes Poseidon look pedestrian! Why in the fuck is this gorgeous specimen not still actively wrestling on camera!?
Delicious Devil Devitt makes goofy look so, so fucking sexy! Judging by the sensationally tight, sexy gear, I’m guessing he was just about to put the devil eyes on and bash the shit out of Alexi Adamov.
Devitt looks just a little (adorably) self-concious showing off his magnificent physique. This look like the gear he wore teaming with Paul Hudson in Tag Team Torture 10.
Then he turns on the heat, and flashes those deadly eyes mid-fucking-up Paul Hudson in Pros In Private 13 (nasty divorce!)
Paul looks embarrassed of the camera. Fuck, he needs a cuddle.
Heartthrob Calvin Haynes first flashes blue steel, hanging out pre-match…
…then Calvin turns up the goofy factor. Fuuuuuck, I want to lick his thighs!

Bodies Over Time: Wrestler-of-the-Month Edition

wrestlebard1 Comment

Reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, Charlie Panther, grabbed my attention every bit as commandingly as he grabbed poor rookie, Tim Messina, and crushed him like a grape between his steel cabled thighs.  Charlie is relentless, battering Tim in wave after wave of withering physical and psychological domination. The squash is breathtaking (for me… for Tim, it’s also dignity-stealing). Charlie’s non-stop verbal assault is every bit as humiliating as the non-stop physical assault, and that much more erotic for it.  Charlie earned his status as my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month for all of that, but also for his incredibly hot, hard, sexy body. Perhaps what grabs me most is the change itself. Between three years ago and now, Charlie Panther went from looking like this…
…to looking like this…
Holy shit! Charlie’s mighty, meaty pecs and tight, narrow waist rock me hard. Losing the bleach increases his handsomeness by a multiple of at least 10, I think. But the physical transformation runs far deeper than a bottle of peroxide.
Irish Muscle God Devil Devitt targets where Charlie Panther used to be most vulnerable.
The last we saw of Charlie, he teamed up with the brutalizer Matt Stryker (and his dubious manscaping) to face off against the high flying, high quality indy pro team of Paul Hudson and Irish muscle god Devil Devitt.  Charlie was big and beefy, no doubt, but next to the stunningly ripped physique of Devitt, Charlie looks ready to show up in a Wrestling Arsenal feature on doughboys. 
Charlie gets a kick out of watching his opponent’s suffer.
That tag match was a rare re-match after Charlie’s nasty mauling of hardcore pro boy Paul Hudson in singles competition. I’m not sure if lovely, lithe Paul ever looked sweeter getting worked over by the heavyweight Panther. The contrast between them is a work of art.  Charlie’s gorgeous, dark brown complexion wrapped around Paul’s blindingly lily white skin only skims the surface of the visual contrast between these two “blonds.” Paul is whittled down to the lean loveliness of a professional athlete who trains relentlessly and probably has the genetic gift of burning calories effortlessly. The snarling Panther is a full half a foot taller, fifty or so pounds heavier, and bursting at the seams to bully his lightweight indy pro opponent. 
Cameron Mathews tries to turn the tide of fate and
start a winning streak by tackling the Panther.
In the Big Cat’s only other match released to date, he was still sporting the unfortunate effects of bleach, but this time facing off against an indy pro a little closer to his own size, Cameron Mathews. Cameron was achingly young and pretty, not yet having quite blossomed into the muscle stud he is today. But despite having the reputation as “the company punching bag,” Cameron twist-ties Panther like a loaf of bread and pushes the Big Cat to reconsider whether all that talk he’s so good at may have just been digging him deeper and deeper into a hole. However, with the wind at his back, Charlie makes Cameron pay, crushing and slamming Cameron’s beautiful bubble-butt into whimpering submission.

Tim Messina doesn’t have enough hands to check all
the bruises that muscle stud Charlie Panther pounds into him.
I have to wonder if that’s the Charlie Panther that Tim Messina thought he was going to face when he signed up for Pros in Private 9. Perhaps Tim thought he might catch the Big Cat flat-footed, counting on Charlie to lumber into the ring and underestimate him as just another in that long line of lean white boys who eventually succumb to the Panther-pounding.  It’s easy to miss it, but Tim’s clearly an accomplished wrestler, and you just have to wonder if perhaps he was counting on exploiting Charlie’s soft-around-the-middle conditioning and outlast the Big Cat to a stunning career-establishing upset.
Charlie Panther displays his stunningly beautiful butt while threatening
to pop Tim Messina’s head off of his neck.
If Tim was expecting to see the Charlie Panther of 3 years ago, imagine the shock to watch Charlie Panther 2.0 climb into the ring! Charlie must have dropped about 30 pounds of padding and then added another 15 back on in gorgeously seasoned, thick, powerful muscle mass. It’s not like Charlie’s ring record was suffering from having to work a little harder than any of his opponents to move his beefy body around the ring. He was already devastating. He took some licks, but let’s face it, carrying some extra ballast and all, he’d proven again and again that he wasn’t going to be satisfied until he’d beaten the will to fight out of his opponents.
The Panther roars with his prey captured helplessly and humiliatingly.
Now add to that tried and true formula for success a newly sculpted physique. Add to that concoction even more power, twice the endurance, and, unbelievably, even more self-possession that leaves no doubt that Charlie knows what a rocking stud and dominating ring master he is. He’s every ounce the same crushing, slamming, pounding presence he’s always been, but with that mouth-watering new body of his, the Big Cat is nothing short of a juggernaut. The second most astonishing thing about this match (after the unveiling of Charlie’s luscious new physique) is that poor Tim has still managed to resist the temptation to running screaming from the ring a full 30 minutes after he arrived.
Time and training have done Charlie Panther good!
Charlie Panther has all the moving parts that define a homoerotic wrestler of the month here at neverland. He’s got a mouth that never tires out. He’s got muscles just crying out for some slow, lingering, hands-on worship. He’s a seriously handsome mother-fucker, particularly without the extra weight and that unfortunate encounter he had with a bleach bottle a few years back. It’s amazing to me that I’ve managed to make it this far without mentioning his astoundingly lovely ass and the concealed handgun he’s got stashed in the pouch of his perfectly proportioned trunks. And, as always, most importantly, Charlie Panther tells an excellent story, both in word and in action, grabbing my attention, twisting my crank with both hands, and leaving me breathless and deeply satisfied.