Tag: Dio Characi

“You Just Admire Now!”

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Not long ago, I was chatting with a friend about muscle worship videos. While wrestling is, by far, my primary kink, I occasionally get a taste for some hot muscle worship. I think it dates back to coming across some old black-and-white AMG clips years ago that included completely out-of-context scenes of one scantily clad hunk looking awestruck and euphoric as he reaches out and touches the flexing biceps of another thonged muscled man with the tentativeness of someone tapping a stovetop that may, or may not, be hot enough to burn. There’s this titillating blurred line between explicit and implicit eroticism in good muscle worship, just like in the hottest wrestling. When it’s good (for me, at least), there’s this almost demure quality to muscle worship, as a worshiper rides the ebb and flow of obvious erotic pleasure with his finger tips, thumbs, and palms, while straddling this cheeky line of plausible deniability. I was mentioning to my buddy that not all muscle worship fare lands for me, though.

Sometimes, I know why, and sometimes I don’t know why a muscle worship vid doesn’t quite push my button. There are some essential elements to the genre for my tastes. The muscle hunk being worshiped needs to be excessively hot. Like, I need to feel that awe deep down inside of me, to buy the passionate awe of the worshiper. It hits the sweet spot for me when there’s a contrast of passion, with a worshiper barely able to restrain themselves and the object of worship enigmatically almost (almost) disinterested. There’s a quality to the touching that has to be there, as well. Occasionally, I come across (or fail to cum across) a disappointing example of the genre where there’s missing authenticity to how a worshiper is putting his hands on the one worshiped. I suspect some of what I’m indicting involves gay-for-pay hunks going through the motions, but without genuinely feeling it from the inside out, the purported worshiper looks more like he’s hanging drapes than erotically revering the stunning physique of a muscle god. I’d give examples of muscle worship misses, but it’s my policy not to call out products that I don’t like and just focus on promoting what I enjoy.

But I’m happy to be able to call up BG East’s new release Wrestleshack 35, and its very enjoyable play on elements of playful muscle worship blended beautifully with hot mat wrestling. The casting is instant drama. On the one hand, you’ve got Dio Characi (have I mentioned I got to talk with him in person last February at Wrestlefest NYC?). Dio has never been coy about his erotic interests. The Brazilian beauty always shows appreciation for his opponents’ hotness. Like clockwork, he is regularly turned on by a hotly muscled body standing in front of him, often reaching out unbidden before a wrestling match starts to cop a gratuitous feel of hard flexing muscles. As I’ve documented extensively, I think Dio, the 2022 Best Body winner, can easily belong on the receiving end of slack jawed muscle worship, which honestly makes it that much hotter when he gets that gleam in his eye and that tug of hungry delight at the corner of his mouth when he comes face-to-face with another worship-worthy muscle god. Like Chace LaChance.

Is it Mandela effect, or am I correct in remembering that Chace was one of the early Best Body BGE award winners? That’s not included in his pedigree on his profile, but I would swear that he topped that chart at least once. In any given year, he easily merits being a contender for the title. Fuck, his body is 100% classic physique coverboy! We’ve had the privilege of watching Chace grow up before our eyes in front of the BG East cameras, emerging from a cocoon and slowly spreading his wings into this stunning specimen of gorgeous aesthetics and superhero proportions. Unlike Dio, I have no idea what does or does not turn Chace on, though. His deep catalog at BGE and elsewhere veers decidedly on the side of merely implied eroticism. Many opponents have turned their lustful gazes on Chace, but he’s remained the straight man in the drama, not flinching at the erotic gaze of opponents, but staking out his investment squarely in the territory of testing his muscles and skills in defense of his ego.

So, when Dio strides into the wrestleshack (looking sexy AS FUCK as always), the salacious grin that stretches across his face when he sees Chace stretching out on the mats says everything. “Okay, I can see a bunch of muscles here,” he says like a hungry man stepping up to an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Those muscles look tight,” he observes, immediately copping an uninvited feel of Chace’s mountainous right bicep. “Damn, they’re pretty big,” Dio undersells, even as his roaming hands disclose a lot more unqualified appreciation for Chace’s mouthwatering body. Chace can’t stop himself from flexing and stretching his massive muscles even as the Brazilian helps himself to digging deeper and deeper into Chace’s luxuriously thick pecs.

“I thought this was a wrestling match,” Chace observes dispassionately. “But I guess someone will have to give me a little muscle massage. Does that feel good to you?” The answer is written all over Dio’s cherubic face, and in the intensity of his palms pressing into the powerful pecs, and in his light grunt of pleasure. But in that cheeky way Dio has, he damns with relatively faint praise. “Pretty much.” Under the pretense of helping Chace stretch out his magnificent muscles, Dio slides his hands across the muscle hunk’s body and snakes his arms underneath Chace’s pits, ostensibly to palm those pecs again, but then suddenly, he snaps on a full nelson. “I’ll show you how to stretch,” Dio says with that little devil gleam in his eyes.

I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again. Dio in the driver’s seat sends me places! Fuck, he manhandles Chace hard, and I’m here for it. Double hammerlocks wrench on the big man’s massive shoulders and puff out Chace’s bulging pecs for more hungry groping. Body part by body part, the Brazilian punishes and then possesses his opponent’s sensational physique. He wrenches on the big man’s knee and lower back in a single leg crab, keeping one hand free to slide his palm up Chase’s inner thigh. He’s got Chace begging with bitterness thick in the back of the muscle hunk’s throat, and it’s lush and so hot. With that diabolical, light chuckle of his, Dio caresses the big man’s chest with open lust, demanding the battered muscle god flex for him. And Chace does. “Are you happy,” Chace asks angrily pumping his biceps on command. “More than happy,” Dio enthuses, leaning in to stroke the muscle man’s upper arms and hungrily sniff Chace’s sweaty pit.

Chace catches his breath and hits his second wind in time to catapult sexy Dio across the shack. And holy hell, Chace serving up revenge muscle torture is almost as intoxicating to me as having Dio in the driver’s seat. Having jobbed so many times and suffered so magnificently at the hands of a career and half-long line of heel opponents before, a more seasoned and skilled Chace is a thing of beauty. His bodyscissors wring the sweat out of Dio’s pores. The Brazilian’s head just about disappears when it gets trapped between Chace’s massive quads. Again and again, Chace punishes Dio and then shoves a flexed bicep in the Brazilian’s screwed up face. “Want some biceps now!?” I think Chace thinks he’s teaching the sexy cherub a lesson, but Dio’s answer is to open his lips wide and start sucking on those massive peaks of Chace’s. “I don’t know if you’re enjoying this more than I am, now,” Chace says with a bemused chuckle.

The things is, I think that’s a real question. I mean, on the one hand, Dio shows his cards from start to finish. Dio doesn’t exactly mind getting punished while he’s getting to grope and lick and sniff everything Chace shoves at him. The answer to Chace’s question on the surface of things is OF COURSE Dio is enjoying this more. But, to my delight, I think the answer is more complex than that. Because, I don’t know if Chace would admit it, but there’s no fucking way he’s not getting into getting worshiped with the single-minded focus of this hungry Brazilian. He’s got Dio in a schoolboy pin at one point, just lording his magnificent muscles over his crushed opponent, and having clearly established that Dio wants to stroke, grope, taste and smell every inch of him, Chace smiles down and flexes some more. “You just admire now,” he orders his supplicant. And, I swear, Dio and I say at the exact same time, “Fuuuuuuuck.” And we’re both meaning the same thing. This is fucking hot as hell, and holy shit, I seriously think Chace is getting into being slack-jaw-worshiped just as much as Dio is enjoying doing the worshiping.

There’s a bit of suspense along the way of this 27 minute sweat-fest in the wrestleshack, but whoever is on top, the muscle worship theme rings true and persistently from start to finish. The passion and personalities just keep driving this back to those elements of hot muscle worship that I crave most when I’ve got a hankering for it. That, along with hot, mean, sexy wrestling, make me a huge, huge fan of this match. I’m a long-time fanboy for Chace, and (I know I hide it well), I’m infatuated with Dio (I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but I actually talked to him for a few minutes in person at Wrestlefest NYC last February). And the pairing of these two gorgeous crowd pleasers, along with the perfect complement of a ravenously hungry muscle worshiper and a muscle Adonis almost startled to discover the pleasure of being worshiped, is absolutely sensational.

“Don’t Make Me Hurt You”

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I’ve been blogging about Austin Cooper for exactly 14 years. Literally, this is the 14th anniversary of my innaugural post featuring Coop when I first caught sight of him in the early days of Rock Hard Wrestling. I’ve spilled a shit ton of virtual ink marveling at Coop’s wrestling skills, larger than life character development, and, of course, he’s wicked hot muscles. He’s got to be one of the most prolific wrestlers in the wrestling-for-gay-eyes corner of the industry, appearing for multiple producers up and down the U.S. East Coast. In everything I’ve seen him in, there’s something hardcore and constant about him. He’s casually aggressive, with sadistic mean streaks even when he’s totally serving up babyface. I’ve always had this impression of Coop as right at the edge of where cocky turns into arrogant, never more so than when he really started relishing ripping less experienced wrestlers limb from limb and going full-on heel. But since he showed up back at BG East, serving up huge cuts of brawny beef, there’s this almost live-and-let-live vibe to start his matches off that’s just so down to earth and casual. I mean, he’s got even more a bulldozer feel about him, but in Backyard Brawls 19, when he offers Dio Characi the opportunity to just walk away after muscle mauling the beautiful Brazilian for just a couple of minutes, not shit, I think he’s sincere! It’s almost like he’s a little worried for Dio and doesn’t want to hurt him more than he has to. Fuck, I remember when Coop gave Leo Tomasi a bloody nose and laughed in Leo’s face about it. These days, I feel like he’s almost saying to dazzlingly pretty Dio, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

But, oh fuck, he hurts Dio a lot before this is all said and done. Of course, I’m well on may way to spilling another shit ton of virtual ink over my obsession with Dio Characi. Have I mentioned I met him in person at Wrestlefest NYC last February? Yeah, I know. I drop that treasured fact into pretty much any and every conversation that I possibly can. Dio doesn’t accept Coop’s offer to walk away, of course. In fact, the increasingly skilled, strong, and stunningly agile babyface beauty doesn’t just effectively counter, he gloats. “I have to admit, you’re pretty strong,” Dio says with that mischievous grin on his cherubic face as he stitching together a simultaneous hammerlock, choke, and ankle lock. “But I am, too.”

Dio likes to pop big bad heels in the nose and give them everything he’s got, to see if they can put a hurt on him. And he puts up a serious fight against this seasoned wrestler with so many years more experience and so many pounds more muscle. Honestly, Dio on offense is one of my favorite things these days. He follows up a headbutt to Coop’s testicles with a sneering ball claw on the stunned brute. He’s got this Bond villain laugh that’s hardwired directly to my cock, as he delights in shocking another big, bad, more experienced opponent. His crotch pillow headscissors make Coop’s stunned face turn a seriously deep shade of purple. One of the sexiest still frames in Backyard Brawls 19 is Dio mounting his opponent in a schoolboy pin, clawing the fuck out of those extra meaty pecs Coop wears these days, and then twisting on the veteran’s nipples like he’s trying to dial in Cleveland. Holy shit, he even sits on Coop’s face, gut punches the veteran, and literally spanks Austin’s legendary ass! Holy fuck, I swoon.

There are a lot of other candidates for sexiest still frames, though, and most of them feature Coop provoked far beyond any empathy or concern he might have had about not wanting to hurt his adorable opponent earlier. His Boston crab on the astonishingly flexible Brazilian serves up Dio’s athletic ass to perfection, just about to completely squeeze out of his trunks. The series of bearhugs Coop applies, turning from belly-to-back to belly-to-belly and back again, shows off every mouthwatering, aesthetic muscle on the suffering babyface. Similarly, Coop’s surfboard provides this dazzlingly hot tour of the Brazilian’s stunning body that was, just 15 minutes earlier, literally doing a round off back handspring across the yard.

Fourteen years later, Austin Cooper has evolved from one of the (literally) inaugural ripped rookies into one of the most accomplished veteran muscle heels on record. Approximately 50 matches into his BG East catalog (!!!), and I’m guessing at least that again for other companies, he’s made an indelible mark on the industry and shaped the homoerotic wrestling fantasies of a generation. And, holy shit, he leaves an indelible mark on Brazilian It-Boy Dio Characi in Backyard Brawls 19.

Bard’s World

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This is my periodical post reminding everyone who spends any time here on the blog that what you find here at Sidelineland is just my personal musings on what turns me on about homoerotic wrestling. I’m about to celebrate the 16th year of this curious little sideline of mind, and it has remained just my personal take on wrestling and wrestling-adjacent topics (which reminds me I ought to write more on current hot celebrities who I wish wrestled). From time to time, I have been treated to some free videos from producers to whet my appetite to write reviews, but no one sponsors what I write. No one endorses my opinions (other than Scott when I talk about how incredibly hot he is). This is just my 1,745th post sharing my personal opinions and tastes and often ill-informed takes on the fascinating and titillating world of wrestling for gay eyes.

Scott agrees with me every time I mention how hot he is.

I’m prompted to remind you of this fact, despite how obvious it seems to me, because sometimes new readers stumble across Sidelineland and misunderstand what they’ve found. This isn’t journalism. It often isn’t even particularly well written, though occasionally I string together prose that I’m a little proud of. I don’t speak with any particular authority, and I don’t claim that my insights reflect anything other than my personal biases and tastes. So, when someone criticizes my opinion or perspective, I think that’s totally fair game. In fact, I get a kick out of comparing notes with legitimate homoerotic wrestling fans who see things differently than I do from time to time. So you don’t get instantly hard at the sight of Dio or Mitch or Lon or Rusty or Scott? I find this fascinating, because I do SO fucking much. I have, on many occasions, had my gaze turned on someone who hasn’t pinged my radar, to discover something hot and new introduced to me through the avid fanaticism of another wrestling fan. I’ve also had fans do their best, but be unable to quite get me into the particular wrestler or sub/uber-fetish that they’re devoted to. Thus I’m just a traveler alongside of those of you who are so fanatical about gut punching or feet (you know you are).

Stop hurting Dio! …. [note: please do NOT stop hurting Dio]

Honestly, I love comments here on the blog, and on social media. Last February at Wrestlefest NYC, I just about wanted to cry every time someone walked up to me to tell me that they read the blog and appreciated it, because I honestly had no idea 16 years ago who might care about anything I had to say, much less agree with it, and even much, much less get engaged in the conversation to eagerly disagree with it. Just so fucking cool, honestly! I don’t take it for granted for a second.

I was shocked the first time I heard someone tell me they didn’t get off on Mitch!

There are just a few guardrails on that here at Sidelineland. Obviously, I can’t prevent anyone from wanting to a pick a fight (not talking about the good kind of fight that ends up naked in a wrestling ring). Trolls are going to troll. That hasn’t changed in 16 years. But here, on the pages of my own blog, there are a few low blows that aren’t tolerated. One category of comment that’ll get you banned is talking shit about homoerotic wrestlers. You don’t have to like the wrestlers I like, or the matches, or the producers I favor, but anything that smacks of personal attacks on the men who wrestle for the enjoyment of others will get your comments deleted and your opportunity to comment here shut down. Body shaming, personal insults, homophobic slurs, going out of your way to try to take a dump on a match… basically, if it feels like you’re just here to tear down, that’s not what Sidelineland is for. The other, rarer reason someone gets banned is a personal attack on me. I actually put up with a lot more shit trying to shame me for my opinions than I’ll put up with slams on the people putting themselves in front of a camera and wrestling for the entertainment of others. But I do have limits, particularly here in my house, on this platform I’ve been constructing one post-in-the-dark after another.

Despite my blatant lobbying and pandering to voters, Lon Dumont has never won a Bestie Award.

This does beg a thorny question, however. When is trash talk a personal attack? I mean, fuck, I’ve literally recorded a podcast episode paying homage to how hot trash talk can be in a wrestling match! One wrestler insulting another to get under his skin, to light his fuse, to assert psychological dominance is a treasured part of the pro wrestling canon, as far as I’m concerned. So, I sort of get it when fans start throwing around insults that feel akin to the snarling trash talk quite a few of us enjoy from super hot wrestlers doing their thing. However, if you aren’t actually wrestling or setting up a hot wrestling premise for a motivating grudge to fuel your next (literal) match, then you dumping on a wrestler who’s had the balls to wrestle in front of a camera for your entertainment doesn’t make you a heel. It just makes you a dick. And you have every right to be a dick. Just not in the comments on this blog.

Damien likely isn’t a nepobaby, but he is indisputably hot as fuck!

One last distinction I want to make is how much I love kayfabe. I love the pretense. I love it when wrestlers are all-in, selling not just the holds and the suffering, but the world-building of villains and heroes battling it out in the ring (or on a mat, or in a motel room, or literally absolutely anywhere else). If you’ve read anything I’ve written, you likely know how much I love storytelling, and in particular, I love the narrative of brutal, hot, intense wrestling drama. I also love pulling back the pretense and talking with wrestlers about their actual lived experience of being part of the world-building as a character in a homoerotic wrestling drama. And, fuck, it can get confusing. I have sometimes had extensive conversations with wrestlers before conducting an interview with them, as we both decide if this will be a shoot interview or in character. There are few wrestlers out there where the two overlap so much as to make the matter moot, but most of them are not the larger than life sadistic heels or virtuous babyface heroes or hapless and horrified jobbers that they may portray. Nine times out of ten here on the blog, when it’s just me sharing my thoughts, I’ll enjoy living in that world they’ve built, though. I’ll heap scorn on Damien Rush as a beefcake nepobaby (though I strongly suspect he did not, literally, grow up with a trust fund). I’ll complain about the brutality heaped upon the cherubic beauty of babyface hero Dio Characi. I enjoy playing into and playing with and amplifying the narrative as a way of respecting kayfabe and appreciating the hot wrestling drama it delivers us. I sincerely have nothing but slack-jawed awe and respect for all of the wrestlers I’ve featured here on the blog. And on just a couple of occasions, when I’ve had a wrestler take issue with something I’ve said, I’ve diligently amended what’s published here, because pissing off or insulting the hot hunks I crush on in wrestling is the opposite of my intention.

Rusty was another of my passionate fixations that someone wasn’t shared by everyone.

On a related note, just a heads up that I’m moderating all comments for a while (even those of you who are long-time commenters). Don’t take it personally, please. When the comment section cools off a bit, I’ll put it back to normal. But in the mean time, if it takes a beat longer than usual to see your comment post, be patient. And know that I love what you have to say (unless you never see your comment posted, in which case you’ve been banned).

Sidelineland Sounds – Episode 4

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Hey there, again, homoerotic wrestling fans. This is Bard, longtime homoerotic wrestling blogger. It’s been a few months since my last episode of Sidelineland Sounds, and, honestly, that’s just how it is. I find it great fun to watch wrestling, to write about wrestling, to review matches, to cobble together these audio episodes… and I just wish I had time to do more of it, and be more consistent. Early on in my nearly 16 years of blogging I used to beat myself up about having to take breaks from it every so often, but I’m older and wiser now, and I’m just enjoying the fun of broadcasting my passion for hot wrestling whenever I get the chance.

In case you haven’t listened to the first three episodes of Sidelineland Sounds, check them out. Listeners have given a lot of great feedback to my audio musings about the written word in the age of instant video gratification. In episode 2 I sampled some of the hot trash talk that spices up my favorite wrestling fare, and in episode 3, I shared some of my thoughts about what I find hot about the sounds of a wrestler suffering. For this fourth episode of Sidelineland Sounds, I’m taking a step back from the action itself, and reflecting instead on one of the unsung heroes of homoerotic wrestling video post-production, the musical soundtrack.

[Bell Ring – sound credit: BG East’s Three-Way Thrash 6]

I’ll forgive you if nothing comes to mind when I mention the musical soundtrack of homoerotic wrestling. It’s easy to miss. In fact, depending on the source of your wrestling videos, music may or may not even be there. But there are some examples of musical soundtracks in homoerotic wrestling that have seriously imprinted themselves deeply on me.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East Wrestlfest 1 trailer]

That was the soundtrack to BG East’s trailer for Wrestlefest 1, and it’s the same soundtrack for several other BG East trailers. And it’s fucking hot! And, depending on how old you are and what digital era you started watching BG East, you might have a similar Pavlovian response to mine, after repeatedly hearing that music paired with seeing super hot wrestling clips.

So, where does music show up in the homoerotic wrestling canon? To explain, I need to go back to my early days of discovering the exciting and salacious world of wrestling for gay eyes. My first foray into purchasing homoerotic wrestling videos happened just before DVDs really became the standard format for video recordings (yes, I’m that old). So, for the younglings out there, before streaming, before blu ray and before DVDs, there were VHS tapes. And frankly, VHS tapes were a pain in the ass because they were literally on a tape.  Rewinding or fast forwarding to a particular spot you wanted to savor was time consuming and an inexact science. Some of my earliest wrestling VHS tapes actually broke from me playing, rewinding, and playing the same spot in the recording so often the tape wore out… and I know that you know what I mean about those super sweet spots in a favorite match that you’ve just got to watch over and over again. But the inefficiency of a VHS tape had an extremely fortunate side effect. So if you had a standard 2-hour long VHS tape, producers like BG East and Can-Am would release these collections of 3 or 4 matches to approximately fill a tape with, each match being anywhere from 20 to 40 minutes long. And then there’d be that extra bit of tape still left over at the end. Sometimes just 2 or 3 minutes, sometimes 10 or 15 minutes of space. When I started ordering them, I discovered, to my delight, that BG East ingeniously cut trailers for other products to fill every last inch of available tape, padding the matches you ordered with, essentially, commercials at the end.

I’ve blogged about this before, but let me just say that I LOVED those fucking trailers. Honestly, some of the worn out spots in my VHS tapes were actually during the trailers at the end of the tape. They were these hot, sort of impressionistic short outtakes from full-length matches. Like, they’d have a five second clip of one sweat soaked muscle hunk cranking on a Boston crab, and then a quick cut to later in that same match when the tables had turned and the other hardbodied stud was pumping on headscissors. You couldn’t tell the plot or understand the momentum of match from these trailer, but the point was just to whet your appetite, to make you need to send in more cash and get another tape of matches. These trailers had no audio from the actual matches themselves. Instead, they had these super sexy electronic dance music scores with what can only be described as a distinct homoerotic wrestling sensibility to them.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s Submissions 6 trailer… “I submit, sir!”]

That’s the soundtrack to the trailer for BG East’s Submissions 6, and they used that music for other trailers. I think that one’s got to be one of the most on point musical accompaniments in history. Again, it has that intense, driving electronic bass beat in the background, with that plaintive, pleading high pitched voice-over begging to be allowed to submit. 

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s Submissions 6 trailer… “I submit, sir!”]

Fuck, that’s hot! Someone at Wrestlefest New York told me last year that he thought Kid Vicious was the actual musician behind these BG East trailer soundtracks, but Kid Vicious told me they were produced by a friend of BGE, but not him. I feel like whoever wrote and produced these has got to be in the club with us, right? I mean, I could be totally wrong, but they *feel* like the musical transcription of an erotic reaction to incredibly hot wrestling.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s X-Fights 20 trailer soundtrack… “Heavenly Bod”]

That was the soundtrack to the X-Fights trailers from BG East, with this upbeat attitude and the indulgent celebration of the heavenly bodies of sex gladiators. In case you didn’t catch the lyrics, the slow, sexy voice is singing, “I face you in a match, be prepared to try your best, you will struggle, you will fight, but you’ll give up like the rest. Meet your master, be my slave, I will whip you with my rod, you will surrender yourself, and you will worship my heavenly bod.” Like, fuck, yes! That’s the vibe of some of the sexiest homoerotic wrestling, right? The X-Fights genre lands squarely in that conquer-and-possess end of the wrestling pool, with an unflinching focus on the erotic attraction between the wrestlers. Some homoerotic wrestling is more explicit, not just in terms of nakedness and sex, but more explicit in terms of exploring how wrestling is turning on not just the audience watching, but the wrestlers themselves. Like the driving, upbeat soundtrack, they celebrate that edge of competition fueled by desire, where the passion to win is just the first wave of erotic passion you’re going to see in a wrestling match.

Not all of the BG East trailers were quite so in your face. Some soundtracks for these trailers were a little less literal than those first three examples. Though, those first three are my favorites. But there were others that were more tone-setting, with more instrumentals, more like the way a cinematic score is designed to signal to a viewer the intended emotional impact of a scene. Like the soundtrack to the Undagear 3 trailer…

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s Undagear 3 trailer]

These more straightforward, solely synthesizer soundtracks were more major chords, less cheeky, literally no lyrics, just a driving electronic dance beat to accompany clips of quick, hard action. I feel like my conditioned response to that Undagear soundtrack is all about eager anticipation of the relief of suspense. It scratches that itch that I often have for the drama and storytelling of hot, competitive wrestling, where two legitimate contenders walk in, both thinking they’re going to walk out of there the winner, and the back and forth of the action slowly wears away the pretense and leaves one of them with a seriously bruised ego.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s Undagear 3 trailer]

So I’m listening to this soundtrack to the Undagear 3 trailer and watching Brigham Bell, that ultra lean gorgeous boy absolutely taking it from muscle hunk Steve Corelli and, in turn dishing it right back. You’ve got no idea from the clips in the trailer who comes out on top, but you know for a fucking fact that the battle was nasty and intense!

I think the BG East trailers have been the most on point in translating a specific homoerotic wrestling vibe to music, but they haven’t been alone in bringing some professional polish to post-production with a soundtrack. Hunk Wrestling has this whole sexy world-building montage before Ivan Guerrero and Steve Mason step onto the mats, for example, that has this almost ethereal dance music with an alto voice musingly singing, “Look into my heart and see what, my love, you are to me.”

[Audio Clip – sound credit: Hunks Wrestling Ivan Guerrero vs Steve Mason]

I don’t know that it strikes the tone of the seriously mean mat scrap about to break out between Steve and Ivan, but the soundtrack accompanies this luxurious, slow look at each of them, separately, working out their hot bodies, perhaps speaking more to the viewer falling in lust with the two of them in the abstract, before our lust to see them work each other over finally breaks out. 

A lot of what I’ve seen in pairing music with homoerotic wrestling videos is less about the vibe of a particular match, and more conveying an ethos of a production house in general. In many cases, the music is just part of a visual and audio branded logo, speaking to the particular sensibility of the producer, overall. UCW, may it rest in peace, had that quick 80’s guitar riff to start off matches. 

[Audio Clip – sound credit: UCW College Boy Beatdown #4]

It’s very “80’s garage band” which was totally apropos of UCW’s cinder block walls and relatively low budget, high earnestness staging. Just to give credit where due, I sampled that last clip from my copy of UCW’s match between Marcus Ares and Quinn Harper entitled “College Boy Beatdown #4,” now for resale on Underground Wrestler.

And speaking of Underground Wrestler, while I haven’t watched a lot from them, yet, I have caught the high gloss finish to their branded logo of a neon sign blazing to life, along with the Tron-esque audio of a live wire, followed by this ominous horror film minor chord chime fading into silence as the screen fades in on Nordic muscle god Chase Lundqvist stretching out in preparation for his $1,000 Challenge Match against Chasyn.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: Underground Wrestler $1,000 Challenge]

These audio brands don’t drill down quite so deep into the specific ethos of a particular type of match like the BG East trailer soundtracks, but I like the attention to detail, to establish a tone of a production house, if not of any one particular match. Which is probably why polished post-production really stands out, I find, when I come across it on Watchfighters. I mean, the genius of Watchfighters is that everyone from major underground operations to just a sole wrestling enthusiast with a camera phone can share what they produce and let wrestling fans vote with their credit cards for who’s making a move in the market. So, it’s probably no wonder there’s a lot, including a lot of hot wrestling, with little-to-no post production, sometimes no credits, no logos, and certainly no soundtracks. But, a couple I’ve seen deserve an honorable mention for bringing some forethought and creative style to bedazzle a relatively straightforward homemade wrestling video into something with self-conscious character.

A couple of Watchfighters matches I’ve reviewed on the blog stand out for me. The first I want to mention is the growing Uruguayan production house headed by Muscles77 (who wrestled for BG East a while back as Marcelo Muscle). The crew behind matches like Muscles77’s match against Rocky Big Guns opens with a slow motion survey of both hardbodied wrestling hunks in turn, posing, flexing, sneering with cocky confidence at the camera as this unhurried, electronic melody with (mabybe?) a South American sensibility provides the soundtrack to our eye fucking, giving us time to decide whose mouthering muscles we want to see on top.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: Muscles77’s Alpha vs Alpha: Big Muscle Domination]

My last shout out for self-produced wrestling content with a self-conscious, perhaps even cerebral post-production footprint goes to long-time friend of this blog, Mason Brooks. I reviewed his apartment match against Dio Characi after Dio told me it was one of the favorite matches he’s filmed by that point in his early career. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Mason has crafted super-stylized opening credits with a funky, quirky beat and an A-Ha-style life-to-storyboard visual effect.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: Mason Brooks’ Mason vs Dio Characi]

The music is high concept. Like, I’d expect to hear it on the floor of a gay dance club AND playing the elevator of a museum of modern art. Which, honestly, is a pitch perfect capture of exactly the way I think of Mason Brooks in general.

In summary, I confess that a hot musical soundtrack is, by no means, a requirement for me to get turned on by homoerotic wrestling… but it certainly doesn’t hurt. Honestly, I’m all about the blending and blurring of artistic media. I do it every day. Every morning, I wake up before the sunrises and write homoerotic wrestling fiction with my best wrestling buddy and graphic artist, AR. Getting turned on by the overlap of watching hot homoerotic wrestling with a conscientious musical soundtrack is why this infatuation I have with homoerotic wrestling feels like something more than just my taste in porn. It’s a sensibility that translates well beyond pushing play and watching wrestling on video. It’s a worldview that translates into literature and audio podcast and visual arts… and into music.

So, that’s about it for this much anticipated fourth edition of Sidelineland Sounds, my audio accompaniment to my longstanding blog Sidelineland. Email me at Wrestlebard@gmail.com, or message me at Wrestlebard on Instagram and BlueSky, and let me know what music speaks to your homoerotic wrestling sensibilities. It can’t promise when the next episode of Sidelineland Sounds will drop, but my plan for episode 5 is really inspired by the BG East track “I submit,” slowing down and taking a long, slow listen to the panicked pleading of once proud wrestlers begging not to get broken. Until then, keep enjoying homoerotic wrestling, and let me know what’s catching your eye and what’s turning you on hardest in the world of homoerotic wrestling, because you know, I’m going to keep telling you what’s turning me on about it. 

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s Submissions 6 trailer… “I submit, sir!”]

[Bell Ring – sound credit: BG East’s Three-Way Thrash 6]

A Few Are Familiar With Me

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I’ve been flying a bit under the radar this year for Wrestlefest NYC, but I’m happy to report that I’m back to enjoy it again this weekend. It’s a bit wild how quickly events like this went from being crazy intimidating to me the first time to just cruising in and looking forward to seeing old friends. Reports are that this is likely the biggest fest by far, with more than 600 attendees having RSVPed. I know for a fact some of the RSVPs didn’t show, and there’s really no “registration” or check-in, so how many wrestlers have descended on Penn Station this weekend is unknowable. However, based on the opening kick-off party last night, I’m convinced there is a huge collection of wrestlers concentrated in just a few city blocks in downtown Manhattan right now, and it’s pretty exciting to be part of it.

The kick-off party last night was overstimulating in every way. Scooter and his tireless band of volunteer organizers put together an amazing event at a club devoted, for the evening, to just those of us here for Wrestlefest. Two floors were packed pec-to-pec with sensationally hot wrestlers in singlets, trunks, or less. The eye candy was dizzying. Bodies in all shapes and sizes were there, but one mantra kept echoing in my thoughts about absolutely everyone: “Fuck, wrestling does a body good!”

Photo Credit: Mickey Knoxx

Everywhere I turned was another homoerotic wrestling celebrity sighting. Many of them I count as friends, but are nonetheless members of the pantheon that set alight the homoerotic wrestling fantasies of so many of us. Canadian Mickey Knoxx was there wearing nothing but irony (i.e., an American flag leather jacket and star-spangled ultra briefs). I also got a hug in on Bobby Carter, showing off the body that’s been setting BG East and Watchfighters on fire this year. It felt like coming home, getting sweaty hugs from Drake Marcos, Chase Addams, and Ollie Watts.

Photo Credit: Sir Dark

Just as exciting was meeting some new friends for the first time in person. I may, or may not, have awkwardly insisted on giving Beau Jordan a hug. I mean hell, I can’t really start my day without a strong cup of black tea and Beau’s fashion singlet morning jerk off on Blue Sky, so I feel like I know him intimately despite having never met before last night. It was Sir Dark who gave me an spontaneous hug after figuring out I’m the guy he’s chatted with on social media and who’s been swooning over his Watchfighters matches. I unabashedly fanboy-ed on Steve Mason, who managed to be disarmingly and smolderingly magnetic despite being one of the few there in street clothes.

Photo Credit: Sir Dark

It’s hard to describe just how overstimulated I was, hoarse from shouting over the noise, packed in tight with acres of sexy wrestlers, some of whom I only managed to admire from a distance. I’m not ashamed to say I swooned over JJ Allen’s tree trunk thighs, Lobo Gris’ magnificent ass, and Tarz Lando’s huge, hairy pecs. I clocked celebrity sightings of Matt Larsen, Rocko Mortis, Nero the Beast, Isaac Andrews, and Ben Monaco. I introduced myself to Ryan Reilly, who’s been grabbing my attention on social media lately, and discovered that’s he’s as adorably charming as he is stunningly sexy.

At one point, I caught sight of this blindly hot hunk across the way waiting for a drink at the bar. I didn’t get a good look at his face at first, distracted as I was by his hot body poured into this absolutely perfect singlet. When I did finally get a look at his face, I knew that I know him… like, know him well! But, still, it took me a good half a minute before I realized who I was eye fucking: Dio Characi. Dio traveled as part of a herd of devastatingly sexy, gorgeous young hotties in singlets, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to fanboy. I blatantly interrupted his conversation with his hot, bearded companion (truly sorry, bearded hot guy), and managed to introduce myself. Now, I’ve chatted just a bit with Dio by DM before, but for some reason, I was nervous as hell. He’s almost ethereally beautiful. I mean, one of the epiphanies for me last night was that every single wrestler I’ve lusted over watching wrestle on video was even more stunningly beautiful in person by at least a magnitude of 5. But Dio was even more stunningly beautiful than he is on video by a magnitude of 12 (approximately). I honestly kept thinking that I should probably let him get back to grazing with his herd of gorgeous hotties, but no shit, his face lit up when he placed that I was “that guy” who writes about him. Turns out, he’s charming as fuck (sorry Chase), seemingly almost as delighted to be fanboyed as I was to fanboy. I had to explain to a friend who was with us who Dio was (I know, and I totally agree with you… I need to slap that friend upside the head someday for somehow NOT knowing who Dio Characi is). And I was explaining, in front of Dio, that Dio is a wrestling superstar. And Dio quietly, demurely shrugged his big, muscular shoulders and shyly corrected me: “A few are familiar with me.” Lest my poorly informed friend believe the grossest undersell of the century, I repeated more emphatically that Dio is a fucking SUPERSTAR! And I kid you not, Dio practically blushed, and again, humbly insisted, “A few are familiar with me.”

I say all this for a couple of reasons. One reason is to just fucking brag that I had a delightful, real life conversation with Dio Characi. If I die in the forecast blizzard on my way home tomorrow, I still say it was worth it. But really, my point is just what a delight it is to get to swim around in so much good will in this wrestling community of ours. I mean, sure, there are egos. There’s drama. Literally, I overheard in the deafening din of the club last night conversations about ageism and racism and body fascism. It’s not like being united by a shared delight in homoerotic wrestling breaks down all biases and barriers and makes us better human beings. However, I do suspect it might make us, on average, happier human beings – and not in just an “I’ve got mine” sort of way. I suspect a large majority of the hundreds in attendance last night shared, at least briefly, the same sense of wonder and awe that I experienced at the size and scope of the community gathered there, and the unmistakable fact that who was there was just the tip of the iceberg. It’s bold and ballsy and beautiful, and it’s something to be celebrated. What divides us doesn’t surprise me at all, and I don’t mean to minimize it, but what unites us and what seemed to infuse that loud, sweaty club full of wrestlers last night, was a shared passion and the remarkable good will that can emerge from being community together.

Accepting Help

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At BG East, Dio Characi has jobbed pretty hard. He always struts in with hot attitude dripping with erotic tension. There’s always a strong hit of just how much Dio gets off on intense wrestling. Like, there’s no doubt in my mind at all he’s totally one of us, not some casual traveler solely here for a paycheck. I always think he looks like he’s enjoying being on offense more than he’s enjoying getting buried under (his WrestleFest 4 match when he’s rolling on Jonny for a while being perhaps the best example). But he definitely suffers beautifully. In fact, his suffering just gets more and more intense and full throttle. I’m still having recurring intrusive daydreams of Dio’s shocked face as Manny Mendez rips him in half in Babyface Bash 3. I noted that Dio snagged runner-up for Top Jobber this last year in the BG East Besties, even, though it was Top Babyface he won for the third year in a row. But there’s something pretty intoxicating about watching this 6-foot, curly-haired Adonis with that boy-next-door innocent baby face getting thrashed on and owned. Still, though, his social media persona and glimpses of his WatchFighters content keep me hungry to see his lip-curling, sneering sadist show up at BGE. The cherub-Adonis getting nasty is an angle I’m here for. And happily for me, that’s who shows up to generously give perennially unlucky lightweight Sunny DeLeon some coaching in Undagear 40.

Sunny ties me up in similar knots as Dio does, frankly. He’s wicked hot, and he regularly leans in to the erotic end of the pool in this effortless and unselfconcious way that I love watching. I know for a fact Sunny’s no traveler here, having enjoyed the rare privilege of being on the mat with him once, then seeing him wrestle live at WrestleFest NYC last year, not to mention his quickly growing catalog of matches at BGE and on Watchfighters. Sunny’s got flashes of badassness that send me places, like the bro-battering domination he gets in on Nathan FX in Undagear 38. But there’s something that speaks to vulnerability about Sunny that keeps upending him in match after match. His coiled, hot body worked over and worn out is just too hot. Those flashes of BJJ fierceness are just too tempting for opponents to skip out on smacking him around and luxuriating in bullying the lightweight hottie. He regularly ends up on the wrong side of the stick, and I totally get why fans keep tuning in for it.

Dio has noticed how much Sunny gets bullied, as well. I suppose it’s in Dio’s babyface DNA to show up and offer to give the lightweight hottie some tips. “I was watching your last match, and I have some stuff to talk to you about,” Dio says, finding Sunny stretching on the mat. “I can show you some moves to make you better. And, as I am more skilled and more practiced, I’m here. What do you think?” I honestly can’t tell if Dio is intentionally being insulting, or if it’s some subtlety lost in translation, as the typically fluent Brazilian heartthrob occasionally stumbles over his English. Sunny, quite clearly, just hears the insult. “Well, I don’t think I need your help,” Sunny claps back indignantly. “I’m doing pretty good on my own!”

While Sunny’s boast is debatable, no shit, he’s doing more than just “pretty good” once this would-be-coaching session breaks out. True, true, Dio scores a lightning quick submission in under 10 seconds with an aggressive arm bar, but Sunny strikes back almost as quickly, submitting Dio with bodyscissors and a shoulder-threatening hammerlock. “I told you, I don’t need your help,” Sunny sneers.

Seriously, though, Sunny is giving away a reported 50-pounds to the mighty Brazilian It-Boy. And Dio doesn’t look like he’s happy to give away a second quick submission to his ripped little lightweight opponent’s revenge arm bar. Did I mention each submission earns the loss of an item of clothing? Oh, yeah, that deserves mentioning, as they are both is down to just jock straps about 5 minutes into this match. And then here’s where Dio kicks it into high gear. Sunny just cannot handle the avalanche of nearly-naked muscle crashing down on him again and again. He spends days at a time trapped between Dio’s thick, hairy legs, that the Brazilian is so appropriately proud of. “Once you’re trapped between my legs, you can never leave!” And, no shit, Sunny twists and writhes and shoves, and gets absolutely nothing but an even bigger sneer of contempt out of Dio in return. Dio wrings more agonized taps out of Sunny, but the Top Babyface is done being generous. “So cute, your suffering,” he taunts as Sunny clenches everything trying to survive the onslaught. “Now, OPEN YOUR EYES AND LOOK AT ME!”

Fuck, Dio starts seriously bullying, and the erotic tension (already high) goes through the roof. Burying Sunny under all that gorgeous muscle, he smothers the overwhelmed lightweight between his legendarily juicy pecs. He can (and does) get taps anytime he wants in the final 15 minutes or so, but taps aren’t what Dio is hungry for. “Suck my nipples,” he demands. When Sunny isn’t enthusiastic enough about it, he barks down, “Use your tongue! Harder!” By the look of bliss washing across Dio’s cherubic face, he gets what he asks for. He chuckles like a comic book villain as he makes Sunny nearly pass out, buried in his sweaty pit. He pounds the hot jobber’s washboard abs, perched on top of Sunny’s face deep up the Brazilian’s ass crack. He may be a champion at suffering hard, but holy fuck, I’m way into the way Dio clearly relishes possessing Sunny every which way he wants to.

The smothering schoolboy pins, the face sitting, the slow, lush stroking and savoring of Sunny’s tight body… of all the things that Dio can be, and that Dio is, our boy enjoys being in control. Whether he’s a heel on-the-down-low, or whether he’s genuinely just trying to be a helpful babyface and toughen hot little Sunny up, watching Dio unstoppable and voracious is incredibly hot and sexy!

“Fuck, You Broke Me!”

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I’m not even exaggerating when I tell you there was a day when I did back handsprings. It’s been a while, though. Dio Characi, on the other hand, opens up the action in Babyface Bash 3 with two back handsprings, corner-to-corner, into an elbow strike to Manny Mendez’ gut. Fuck, a 6-foot jock doing back handsprings is impressive. I’ve been watching Dio’s video progress on Instagram as he’s been training in tumbling for a while now, and his hot body doing round-off back handsprings and back tucks makes me gasp and gets me hard every time. Seeing him pull out the tumbling in the ring and translate it into pro wrestling offense is brilliant, as far as I’m concerned. The earnest, eagerly proud look on his face after he lands a couple passes and pounds big Manny into a choking bow-and-arrow is nothing short of sensational. “I may not be big,” Dio says with a cocky smirk, “but I’m very athletic!”

Manny, on the the other hand, is fucking huge! There’s something raw about him, like he probably feeds his gargantuan muscles by ripping lean meat like Dio to shreds and devouring the pieces. They’re both cocky as hell to start with, but Manny’s muscle beast brutality is a whole lot more than a few hot back handsprings can last long against. This is a babyface bash, after all, so I don’t feel like I’m spoiling too much to say Dio gets bashed hard and long. The impacts are so hard they make my screen shake. Lovely Dio is stubborn, though. Manny’s insulting appraisal of his physique clearly gets under the Brazilian bombshell’s skin, and he refuses to give big Manny the satisfaction of submitting to the big man’s battering ram offense. That is, until Manny has manhandled him into a Boston crab, bouncing those 230 pounds of granite muscle viciously up and down on Dio’s folded spine. Dio screams like a bitch then, panic in his voice as he’s begging for mercy. “Fuck, you broke me,” Dio whimpers accusingly, earning him nothing but a cocky victorious flex from the big man posing over top of him.

Manny is all muscle, and he uses Dio’s mouthwatering body like modeling clay. There’s a moment where he scoops this Brazilian It-Boy up in his arms and folds him in half, suspended in the air. It’s a fucking trip, to see this homoerotic wrestling sculpture showcasing Manny’s strength and Dio’s flexible body turned into origami. There are just so many hot holds and moments of babyface bashing. The tree of woe, with Dio’s cherubic face buried deep between Manny’s huge, hairy quads is gorgeous. Manny absolutely cranking on the boy’s spine bent backward around his huge neck in a sick torture rack, again, just screams the story of these two stunning wrestler’s relative assets.

What makes my crotch twitch hardest, though, is Dio’s suffering. Holy hell, our boy goes unhinged by the diabolical corporal punishment he’s subjected to for almost 27 minutes. I’ve always enjoyed watching pain play across Dio’s ridiculously adorable face, but he (and Manny) tap into something more desperate than I’ve seen before. When he’s getting ripped in half (no shit) in this standing spadle variation (I honestly have no idea what to call it other than “sexy as fuck”), Dio is visibly riding waves of obvious panic. I’ve seen this hold just a few times before, but never on someone with legs as long as Dio’s, and possibly never quite conveying so convincingly the terror of a “very athletic” muscle boy getting ripped limb from limb.

Honestly, I want to marvel here at every panicked moment from lovely Dio, but I’m trying to restrain myself here. But the most pristine moment of adrenaline-racing anguish and terror is when the back of Dio’s head is resting on Manny’s big balls, his long legs trapped under Manny’s tree trunks as he’s being folded in half. Again, I don’t know what to call this crotch pillow spladle variation (it’s a standard in Jesse Zane’s arsenal), but Dio’s entire 6-foot length gets rolled up so tightly that I’m pretty sure he’s in striking distance to being able to suck his own cock. Again, it’s awesome homoerotic sculpture, with Dio’s gorgeous ass stretched wide and pointed at the ceiling, and his legs pinned to the mat way over his head. And I buy this as totally devastating humiliation and torture already, but then Dio fights through the pain to force his eyes open. And then he’s staring, his face inches away from his quivering bulge, his magnificent body manhandled into a position the human body just wasn’t built for. And Dio’s eyes widen in terrified shock at the sight of what’s being done to him. It isn’t subtle, but the brutality is over the top, so there’s no subtlety called for. “I-give-I-give-I-give,” Dio screams in open horror.

Babyface Bash 3 delivers on all levels for me. Manny is a mean fucking muscle beast, and Dio is the award winning babyface with that award winning bulge and award winning body that grabs me by the balls every time I see him. But it’s the personalities that really elevate this match for me. Manny is the raging muscle daddy in charge, and Dio is the fan-favorite body beautiful babyface who sells every second of having to stare into the face of terror… and stare in horror at his own gorgeous body getting ripped apart and purchased wholesale.

The Curated Self: Dio Characi

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Yeah, that’s right. I happened to have a brief, but deeply meaningful (to me) exchange with Dio Characi. So, you know I’m going to name drop that brush-with-fame! Fuck, that man is hot. I asked him if he could recommend a match that he thought was his best, excepting every match I’ve already reviewed (which means excluding all of his BG East matches, because I have jumped all over every one of those!). Dio was adoringly self-deprecating, but he did mention that he thought his match with Mason Brooks on WatchFighters is “good.”

So, what Dio considers “good,” I find sensational! I mean, it’s not like I’m surprised that Mason v. Dio turns me on SO fucking hard. I’ve hardly been subtle about how much Dio’s wrestling yanks on my chain. And I’ve been infatuated about Mason(‘s nipples) from before I ever even saw him. All of these awesome ingredients were guaranteed to make this battle incendiary.

I love the chemistry between them that feels genuine and passionate. Dio sells his patented brand of seduction and fire-to-dominate that carries through in every match I’ve seen of his (including the ones where he jobs). He compliments Mason in this casual way that seems so spontaneous and authentic, and it costs him nothing in terms of his ability to dominate and intimidate. I’d love to see Dio give lessons to A LOT of other homoerotic wrestlers out there about how to say what we’re all thinking (e.g., yes, Mason unquestionably has sweet, strong pecs). He can afford to hand out compliments like a snack-sized candy bar to an underwhelmed trick-or-treater, because Dio is cooly confident in his superior strength and skill. It’s like that classic underground wrestling mind game taken to the next level. Not needing to try to undermine an opponent’s confidence with a ton of trash talk only serves to put Mason on notice that the babyface beefcake from Brazil is absolutely certain that he’s going to wipe the floor with him. And I love homoerotic wrestling where the attraction between the wrestlers doesn’t have to be subtext. Dio can both praise Mason’s objectively and obviously hot bod, and he can delight in thrashing him into submission. “You have a good ass,” Dio observes, enthusiastically slapping Mason’s stripped bare muscle butt, because it’s just plain the truth.

“Just ‘good!?’ Fuck you,” Mason snarks back in classic, cocky Mason fashion. He appears to be his delightfully authentic self as well, from the moment that he sees Dio’s bare torso when the Brazilian pretty boy pulls off his hoodie, and Mason can’t help himself but give those legendary pecs a squeeze. Over the course of his career (at least since I started watching him when he debuted with BG East), he’s evolved into such a hilariously snarky bitch. He has a genuine self-consciousness about him, in a good way, like the self-deprecating shots he takes at himself from time to time. For example, the way he deflects Dio’s compliment for his handsome face (“Let’s face it, the ass is better, to be honest”). Not to suggest Mason’s ego is anything but super-sized. He’s unflinchingly cocky and wields withering trash talk with surgical precision. “You thought you had me, huh?” He taunts and sneers, when he’s turned the tables on Dio’s out-of-the-gate offense, slapping on headscissors, a hammerlock, and a twist of Dio’s leg to turn him into a deliciously mouthwatering pretzel. “I did enjoy those pecs, though,” Mason admits, savoring his riding time. “Not gonna lie.”

Both sets of pecs are profoundly enjoyable, and honestly, the stars of the show. Both of these sensationally sexy hunks have stunningly gorgeous pecs, but it’s Dio who takes advantage of his (and of Mason’s obvious attraction to them) most effectively. He smothers the snarky bad boy for days on end with Mason’s face buried in the cleft between Dio’s hot pecs. Sometimes, frankly, it looks like Mason is hating it, screwing up his face and trying to pull away in a way that makes me want to slap some sense into him myself. Fuck, Mason, if you aren’t going to enjoy that ride, tag me in, damn it!!! But soon enough, Dio’s magical pecs weave their spell over even jaded snarkmaster Mason, who isn’t exactly hating his life around the time that Dio is forcing him to suck his nipples, absolutely in control and shoving Mason’s face from nipple to nipple to make sure they both get equal love.

Both stubborn and dangerous muscle boys demand a submission, but only Dio, with that fucking sexy and chill inevitability about him, is able to milk it out of his opponent. It’s that rear naked choke, threatening to put the snarling bad boy out cold, that Mason finally can’t trash talk his way out of. “I’m sure you don’t want this bicep wrapped around your neck like this, right,” Dio asks. It’s a rhetorical question, because Mason can’t say a word with his windpipe pinched close. The level of panic in Mason’s frantic fingers, tapping out his submission like a seasoned Morse code operator, is delicious. The babyface Brazilian muscle boy literally laughs as he enjoys watching all that swagger and cockiness evaporate like dry ice, leaving Mason sweaty, bitter, and beaten.

I’m so turned on by watching this cherubic-faced muscle boy absolutely bring bad boy Mason to heel. There’s a sweet, sweaty moment where Mason has been riding roughshod on his hunky guest, and he’s sitting on his face and forcing Dio to stroke his (let’s face it, stunningly hot) pecs. Dio does such a good job of it, and Mason is so cocksure of his superiority, that the Brazilian takes advantage of Mason’s aroused distraction to pop free. “Now, it’s my turn,” Dio snarls with this deep, fierce, bitter sincerity that brings tears to my eyes, moments before snapping shut the bear trap of his hairy thighs around Mason’s head. I’m having a hard time conveying just how hot those four words are, but again, it has to do with the intimate intensity and spontaneity of this entire match. It’s not campy. It’s not forced. It’s just fucking fiercely sexy! At another point, after the fateful submission, when Dio is demanding that his beaten opponent worship his armpit, Mason is apparently half-assing it and just kissing Dio’s sweaty curls with his lips. “Use your tongue!” Dio fucking growls at him in a way that makes my crotch squirm at exactly the same instant it makes Mason stick out his tongue and start obeying.

The subission come 13 minutes into the rough and tumble session, mind you, with another 9 minutes or so left for Dio to savor the spoils of victory. There are a few moments where I think his bullying commands are going to make Mason start to fight again, but no shit, Mason got beat, and he knows it. And, judging by his hard cock coming out to play and getting totally put over the top by Dio’s battering his face with the Brazilian’s force-fed pec bouncing, Mason’s “okay” with finally admitting defeat.

The set-up is spartan, a couple of small blue wrestling mats on a wood floor. The camera work is pretty remarkable, putting you right into the room with them unselfconsciously. It’s pretty much all close-ups because space is limited, but it just feels intimate, not cramped. The product totals almost 23 minutes, with about 40 seconds of intro/outro graphics, and about a minute of pre-match chatter and sizing each other up. You’ll see Mason in all his naked glory, but Dio’s singlet, straps down, just barely stays on his gorgeous body.

I love knowing that when Dio thinks about the scope of his wrestling resume, this hot, intimate, intensely physical grappling session-turned muscle worship and domination rises to the top of his list of “good” ones. Holy fuck, can you imagine how dazzlingly sexy a match would have to be for Dio to classify it as “great?!”

“You’re So Hot!”

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I realize that I’m not subtle, but for the sake of new readers, let me state what’s abundantly obvious to anyone who’s read me over the past 12 months or so: I am a fan of Dio Characi. I’d really love licking honey off every inch of his ridiculously beautiful body, of course, but my fan-status is based on more than that. Dio seems to seriously enjoy wrestling. I can’t say the same for all wrestlers who show up on our small screens, but Dio has this delightful presence, this immediacy in his matches that never fails to sell me the story that the cherubic Brazilian babyface with a sizzling hot body gets off on wrestling. Of course, for all I know, it could be bullshit. Dio could be like a lot of wrestling-for-gay-eyes guys, just clocking in and earning some extra cash off of eager marks like me. But if so, he’s even more brilliant than I already think he is, because he tells that story so fucking well.

I’m also a fan of Forrest Taylor. Honestly, I’ve taken some shit for saying that out loud, because Forrest seems to collect haters like overripe fruit attracts gnats. And I get that, truly and deeply. There’s something about his tenor voice, spitting out cocky, contemptuous trash talk, demanding to be praised/worshiped, that makes me want to gag him with his own sweat-soaked trunks. But about 42% of the way through every match I’ve seen of Forrest’s, I completely forget to be irritated by him. Instead, I just marvel at his remarkably hot body, his lily white complexion and fiery red hair pulled straight out of the same gene pool as I come from. Fuck, Forrest’s rock hard muscled ass and thick, aesthetically stunning thighs make all the argument needed to convince me that he deserves the praise he demands. I mean, sure, he deserves to have someone shove his own sweat-soaked trunks down his throat and spank those shockingly white glutes crimson. That, too. But fuck, I can’t quit the guilty pleasure of letting his relentless wrestling offense and carved-from-ivory physique make me forget, for a little while, how annoying his over-the-top overconfidence and smirking trash talk is.

So Dio, grinning hungrily at the start of Mat Scraps 4, openly acknowledging how hot he finds it watching Forrest’s thick quads stretching and flexing as they warm up, is all sorts of right. “It looks like you have good quads,” the Brazilian bombshell says what we’re all thinking, even if I’m the only other one saying it out loud. In that classic Dio way, it’s not so much a compliment as it is a come on. Dio’s fucking famished from the moment the video starts, and that lick smacking hunger is the slow burning vibe that keeps their mat scrap hot and homoerotic. I swear, 95% of hunks showing up to wrestle for gay eyes seem to bitterly loathe the idea of giving an opponent an ounce of credit. Now, that’s fucking irritating! Dio, on the other hand, pays Forrest well-deserved compliments from start to finish in this match, and not only is he the bigger man for it, he’s also lighting the match in my crotch as I eagerly watch to see where his relentless attraction is going to drive the two of them.

Forrest is… well, Forrest. Without skipping a beat after Dio’s honest opening compliment of his hot legs, the red-headed hottie smirks and says, “Oh, I know I do.” It’s this oddly hot subtext throughout the match, that Dio hungrily praises Forrest, and Forrest just keeps throwing sneering trash talk back at him. Fuck, it’s SO audaciously irritating when Forrest sucks up Dio’s compliments and serves him damningly faint praise in return. “Yours are nice, too,” he deadpans. “Just not as nice as mine.” Half the match later, Dio gasps, full sell, “You’re so hot.” Then, as Forrest is getting fucking swarmed by the Brazilian, forced to worship the Brazilian house-on-fire Best Body at BG East winner last year (his DEBUT year!!!), Forrest deadpans again, “You do have a good body, I’ll admit….” You can hear the “but” hanging silently in the air, as Forrest let’s the tension mount. “…even though you’re weaker than I am.” It’s a patently ridiculous statement, as he’s staring up at Dio, force fed Dio’s bulging biceps, made to lick Dio’s pits and squeeze Dio’s pecs. I’d be so fucking irritated with him, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s now wrestling in a jock strap, and that magnificent alabaster ass is bare and so fucking beautiful. What was Forrest saying? I can’t remember now.

Dio clearly forgives/forgets Forrest, too. When Forrest is taking a turn accumulating riding time, squeezing (convincingly!!!) Dio’s coverboy torso between his tree trunk thighs, the Brazilian both suffers and manages to tug Forrest’s trunks off his ass. Holy shit, Dio kneading his fingertips into the red-headed hunk’s glutes blows my mind, all by itself. Forrest’s ass DESERVES the greedy, possessive clawing and groping Dio gives it. When Forrest cockily shoves his opponent’s face between his cheeks, there’s this sweet, sweet moment of perfection, as Dio, unsolicited, offers, “I’m enjoying the view a lot from here!” Like, FUCK. Such a fucking authentic moment that speaks volumes of truth about both of these gorgeous hunks, as well as you and me.

It will surprise no more than about 3% of Forrest’s marks (me NOT included) that Dio is just too much for him to handle. The Brazilian is 5 inches taller and a good 40 pounds of solid, succulent muscle heavier than the impertinent bearded pretty boy with such a smart mouth. It’s not a squash by any means. It’s got some playful highlights to the schoolyard who’s-bigger/badder feel to it, as they trade holds and hurts. And Forrest makes the big boy hurt! Fuck, Dio’s suffering sell is luscious. But just like gravity pulls us just one direction, there’s an inevitability about Dio wearing Forrest out hard and long. There’s one sensationally hot moment when Dio is really building up a head of steam, crushing the snarky red-head, digging his fingers deep into Forrest’s rock hard core. He crushes Forrest’s balls and smothers him in his pit. Then, trapping Forrest’s left hand behind his head, he claws the living FUCK out of the red-head’s impressive lat muscle. It looks like he’s ripping meat of the bone, and holy shit, it makes me swoon!

In the end, Dio shuts up the relentless, notorious trash talker in the second best way I can think of. In case my take on how erotic this match is leads you to think the boys get naked, let me transparently point out that no cocks are visibly unsheathed. Two of the sexiest asses in the business are beautifully bared, and every other inch of their bodies is explored and destroyed, admired and tasted, though. Dio is a force of nature, and I’ve got a spare bottle of honey waiting in case I ever get the call from him. And Forrest is so fucking irritating, his confidence so overblown, and then about 42% of the way through the match, Dio rips off his trunks and kneads those tasty glutes and… what was I saying about Forrest? I just can’t remember much after that moment. Damn.

“I Want More!”

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I continue to get instantly turned on when I see Dio Characi has a new release. The newest has him appearing opposite Kayden Keller in the double-header X-Fights 58. I feel like the Brazilian bombshell must have had a rider stipulating that we don’t get to see his full frontal, because once again, even in an x-fight, the Brazilian’s power tool remains holstered. It’s a little cruel, to be honest, and I actually think that’s completely in character for Dio, despite his persistent casting as a babyface borderline-jobber in his (hopefully first of many) forays into competing for BG East. Catching his Instagram reels is like eating M&Ms, because he melts in the mouth so seductively, while coming across as a sensationally sexy purveyor of snarling, dominating raunch. Which, FUCK, works like magic coming from someone with an insanely hot bod and cherubic baby face. But in his incarnation as an award-winning BG East it-boy, Dio puts up a good fight, but gets plowed under a lot (Rocky Sparks notwithstanding).

X-Fights 58 features the fan-selected Top Babyface of 2023 squaring off on the mats against the six-time award winning Top Heel, Kayden Keller. Fuck, the sexual tension and drama just write themselves, right? During the opening match at Wrestlefest 4, while Kayden was absolutely eviscerating bleach blond bon-bon Nathan FX, Dio was right up front of the babyface bench in the audience, leading the taunts and jeers taking Kayden to task for being such a nasty, cheating, merciless heel. At one point, as Kayden is bouncing off the ropes, about to kick Nathan in the face for the 645th time, Dio stands up and grabs him by the ankle, tripping the dangerous heel. You can see the steam rise off of Kayden, he’s so fucking angry. He starts hurling threats and insults at the Brazilian over the ropes, daring him to put his hot bod on the line and face him once he’s done with Nathan. Dio sneers back defiantly, telling Kayden to fuck off, holding his gaze unflinchingly. Which gives Nathan time to peel himself off the mat, clear his head, and nearly decapitate Kayden with with a clothesline when the distracted heel finally remembers he’s got an opponent still to finish off in the ring behind him.

I even speculated in my review of that match that the exquisite tension between Dio and Kayden in that moment simply HAD to result in the two of them facing each other one-on-one. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one with that opinion. “There you are,” Kayden says, as if mildly surprised to find the Brazilian bombshell stretching out his award winning body on the mat. “I was a little worried you might not show up, that you weren’t ready to take me on.” Dio looks up with those big brown eyes, looking through his long lashes, like a Raphael painting come to life, and grins. “Me? I’m always ready.”

Dio possesses a can of whoop ass as yet unopened at BG East, I’m sure of it. I keep thinking he’s going to finally crack it open and let loose the vile, raunchy, ravenous erotic wrestler that I’m 110% certain he’s got chained inside of him, but Kayden is just too much. It plays like brutal strength and experience chipping away relentlessly at stubborn, raw ambition. They’re evenly matched in terms of size, but Kayden strikes at will, persistently putting Dio on his back. “I heard a rumor you like legs,” Kayden confesses casually, as he wraps his long, strong tree trunks and starts crushing Dio’s rock hard core. I LOVE the passing allusion to the behind-the-scenes locker room culture. These guys aren’t just punching the clock. They’re thinking about each other off the mats. They’re comparing notes with other wrestlers, talking with former opponents to catch some juicy insights into weaknesses and what to watch out for.

Dio suffers gorgeously. Kayden tags the Brazilian’s abs for demolition, pounding, grinding, clawing and squeezing that sexy-as-fuck washboard. When seriously pushed, Dio sounds like he’s practicing Lamaze, with quick, shallow, audible exhalations, struggling to breathe through the corporal punishment. With Kayden’s huge quads scissoring his body, the sexy cherub’s neck arches in agony. His hands rest on his opponent’s rock hard leg bearing down on his gut. “Go ahead, you can feel those strong legs wrapped around you,” Kayden instructs. The intense intimacy, watching Dio immediately start to hungrily stroke his open palms over the bulging, brutal muscle, turns me on so fucking much.

Dio gets some offense, because he’s fucking fierce and strong. Assisted by Kayden repeatedly becoming almost completely distracted by the seductive allure of sucking on his opponent’s mouthwatering lips, Dio displays his sexy, raw power, turning the tables and climbing into the saddle of a schoolboy pin. It takes some seriously sexy strength for an opponent to grapevine Kayden’s infamous legs and rip them open wide, and gorgeous Dio absolutely possesses that sexy strength. And it’s entrancing watching Dio enjoy his riding time. He flexes his meaty, bubble butt hypnotically, grinding his hungry cock into Kayden’s gut. While Dio, indeed, keeps his cock holstered, it’s awfully inspiring to see it grow with excitement, straining the tight confines of his green trunks.

Among the super sexy moments in this match, there are a couple that keep intruding on my thoughts as I go through my day. One of those moments is the quirky, sexy script-flipping of Kayden repeatedly smothering Dio with his pecs. I’ve enjoyed (“enjoyed”) watching Dio pec-smother several lucky sons of bitches in his Instagram reels, and it’s compelling as fuck. So watching him panting like he’s going in labor, his breath muffled as his face his crushed helplessly against Kayden’s chest, is a super sexy twist. But I think the sexiest gem in this entire match is after Dio has had a few super resentful submissions wrung out of him, and Kayden is perched on top of a schoolboy, his fingers laced through the cherub’s curly locks, smothering him in his crotch. The Top Heel asks, “Do you like the smell and the taste of it, Dio?” As if in response, Dio reaches up and starts to stroke his opponent’s muscles. He squeezes Kayden’s juicy ass and palms the heel’s bulging biceps. When Kayden shoves them in his face, Dio obediently worships those biceps and licks his opponent’s sweaty armpit. Kayden is absolutely seduced, unable to resist swooping in and making out with the deliriously handsome babyface beneath him. “There you go,” Kayden coos. “Now you know your place.” And then, Dio absolutely pushes me over the edge when he stares up at Kayden with that fierce, unquenchable heat of his, and absolutely demands, “I want more.”

Dio is voicing exactly what I’m thinking, in that moment, and more philosophically as I think about his incredibly sexy journey through BG East thus far. I love the sight of Kayden forgetting himself momentarily under the Brazilian’s insanely sexy spell. I’m turned on so fucking hard by the raging furnace that is constantly burning just beneath Dio’s surface, whether giving or taking, demanding more, so completely turned on and sucking down the pleasure that comes with his gorgeous body locked in competition with a worthy opponent. And despite my disappointment at not getting to enjoy seeing what Dio’s packing in those bulging trunks, when Kayden peels out of his trunks and pounds out a quart of cum across Dio’s thick pecs and rippling abs, I get it. I really, really get it.