Turning the Tables on Bard

A few months ago, I sent an email to Bard asking if perhaps he would like to be interviewed for his website.  To see if we could get a deeper glimpse into the man who has provided us with such great blogging material since 2009.  A way for him to express himself in an entirely new way – where perhaps he is not totally in control.  An innocuous request, which I thought might pique Bard’s interest.  It did.  – AH.

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AH: You have been blogging since 2009, and you’re still going strong.  Congratulations!  What do you think has been the secret to your success and longevity?

Bard: Thanks, AH. My focus and productivity with Neverland has waxed and waned in the nearly 6 years I’ve been blogging. I think the biggest factor in my longevity is that this is a labor of love. Homoerotic wrestling is honestly something I enjoy immensely. I’m thinking about and talking about it a lot, so putting some of those thoughts into print for the blog doesn’t feel exactly like work. I also think that I’ve kept churning out posts by switching things up every so often. From my “what turned me gay” series to “name that ass” games and wrestler interviews, I’ve tried to keep things fresh and fun for me. Hopefully that comes across to readers, and hopefully it’s fun for them, as well.

AH: You keeping your blog fresh and fun definitely comes across to me, and I hope to all your other readers as well. I have especially enjoyed when you have had polls included in your posts.  Do you have a favorite recurring post that you’ve enjoyed the most?

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Frank Zane turned me gay (not really)

Bard: I’m glad it’s stayed fresh for readers. Particularly early on, I really didn’t know who my audience was, and even still, I’m not always sure how my stuff is received.  So it’s nice to hear when it’s clicking for folks. One of the series that I think I enjoyed more than anyone else did was the “Guess that…” games. It started with “Guess that Ass,” but there were also some “Guess that Tat” and “Guess that Cock” episodes. I love puzzles, so putting those together was probably way more fun for me than for readers. I think my other favorite recurring series was the “What Turned Me Gay” sequence I did in the first couple of years of blogging. It was autobiographical and an honest examination of what I’ve found erotic over the years, with a heavy hit of social commentary and sarcasm. If I had to sum up my blog in one sentence,that would probably be the sentence.

AH: When you are watching a match that you plan on reviewing, what is the process that you go through?

Bard: Well, first of all, I grab the lube.  But, that’s probably not what you meant. I sit down with my iPad in front of me and push play.  I typically watch for purely descriptive stuff to start with.  What are they wearing? What’s the setting? Then I spend some time listening closely. Regular readers know what a sucker I am for compelling dialogue in the ring, so I listen for the story that the wrestlers tell when they first encounter each other.  Are they appreciating each other’s physiques? Are they trash talking? How do they make sense of this familiar moment when two ripped hunks climb into a ring and throw everything they’ve got at beating and dominating one another?  What’s in it for them: ego strokes, erotic attraction, an honest lust for competition? I try to take notes on the the highlights of the action, particularly the parts that impress or surprise me.  But, sooner or later, inevitably, I put the iPad down and pull out that lube. It’s an extremely rare homoerotic wrestling match that doesn’t make me need to get off if I spend enough time watching it.

AH: I think I need to be invited to a viewing party at Bard’s house!  I’ll bring the lube!   I tend to look over pictures and see if there are moves that grab my attention.  Gear is definitely a big plus in my book, too.  I go back and forth on the dialogue; sometimes I think it enhances a match, sometimes I think it hinders it.  Is there one type of match that is your “default” for watching, or does it depend on the mood?  Seems like you’re big into the muscle worshiping and eroticism of matches more than the moves/wrestlers themselves

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An OTK backbreaker ALWAYS turns me on.

Bard: Fascinating that your impression is that I’m less into the moves and wrestlers and more into eroticism!  I wouldn’t necessarily have said that. For example, I’m like a dog with a bone when it comes to an OTK backbreaker, or to a hot wrestler getting trapped in the ropes. A flying dropkick, relatively rare in homoerotic wrestling circles, is a sensational turn on for me. My moods swing me toward ring matches more often that mat matches, so the ring would probably be a “default” setting for me. My moods also tilt me toward matches with some back and forth momentum and at least a pretense of competitiveness about it. So, while I occasionally get a hankering for a sweet, crushing, humiliating squash, a competitive match would be my default setting for what I’m typically looking for. All that said, I get bored pretty fast on a complete diet of relatively straightforward, G-rated wrestling with no explicit and very little implicit erotic content. I can tune into mainstream pro for that. So even if it doesn’t have nudity or making out or fuck stakes involved, I’m very partial to wrestling that gives at least a nod to the homoerotic sensibilities of our audience.

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Pass AH the lube

AH: Perhaps my impression was on purpose, Bard….to get a rise out of you!  You’ll never know!  My go-to move for any match is any variation on the sleeper.  Pass the lube if that occurs.  You mentioned mainstream pro wrestling; to the best of my knowledge, you’ve never mentioned any pro wrestlers/pro wrestling on your blog.  Is that again because of your audience, or is it because like you say in the about me portion of your blog, “devoted to contemplating in excruciating detail the world of homoerotic wrestling”?

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Billy Jack Haynes was one of my earliest pro wrestling infatuations.

Bard: You provocateur! I heartily approve. Early on in my blogging I talked about my complicated relationship with mainstream pro wrestling. I’ve posted about my major, youthful crush on muscle hunk Billy Jack Haynes in my “What Turned Me Gay” series. And I think I have some early posts about the classic vintage Brit pro Keith Hawarth. And, hell, the banner for Neverland is the fantasyman himself, Tommy Zenk. But I grew disenchanted with watching contemporary mainstream pro over a decade ago when it kept striking me as blatantly homophobic. Throughout most of my blogging, I’ve enjoyed reading other bloggers who keep their eyes on straight up pro, like Beefcake’s of Wrestling, Ringside at Skull Island and Inner Jobber. But I find wrestling explicitly for gay eyes to be just as entertaining, more titillating, and much less of a moral dilemma to enjoy, so I spend most of my viewing and blogging time on the more gay-forward homoerotic wrestling companies.

AH: I’m sorry. Obviously I didn’t do my research.   Since you mentioned other bloggers there have many multiple blogs and bloggers on the subject of homoerotic and underground wrestling pop up in the ensuing years since 2009.  How do you feel about that?

Bard: Hell, I forget half of what I’ve written, so I certainly don’t expect anyone else to have my entire 6 years of blogging memorized.  I think it’s fabulous that there are a number of homoerotic wrestling blogs. The old Rants, Roids & Wrestling blog was just shutting down as I was starting up. I loved the artwork and storytelling there. Joe started Ringside at Skull Island about 6 months before my blog, and I’ve always enjoyed Joe’s take on the scene. And of course Wrestling Arsenal is a classic that’s been around forever and has a fantastic, unique voice and angle all his own.  There have been times when I’ve been just about to post something when I discover someone else (usually Joe) has already reviewed it, said it, asked it. But honestly, I think it’s fantastic that there are several voices out there, a lot of different perspectives and tastes reflecting much more of the diversity of homoerotic wrestling than any one of us could by ourselves.

AH: What do you think of wrestlers having more of a Social Media presence than ever before?

Bard: I think it’s the future of entertainment of any kind, including the homoerotic wrestling business.  Pro wrestling is as much driven by personality as it is by athleticism or hot bodies. We have more access to interact with and know about the people in our lives, and social media has given us the opportunity to build the illusion that public personalities are “people in our lives.” So, anonymous guys with hot bodies showing up in a ring, wrestling with more or less skill, and then disappearing from view is much less compelling these days than wrestlers turning us on in action and then populating our Twitter and Facebook feeds with photos and attitude and the illusion that their professional character is part of our social network. Wrestlers like Ty Alexander, Kayden Keller, Ethan Andrews and Cameron Matthews have done great work at the sell in and out of the ring. I know fans enjoy seeing them in social media, and I strongly suspect that those who exploit that fan experience beyond the confines of a particular wrestling product will only literally sell more products. And have you seen the number of photos that Ty posts of his ass!? Fuck, that guy is working it with a vengeance!

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Just one of the hundreds of ass shots Ty Alexander shares on social media.

AH: True.  There have been plenty of wrestlers, through all of the homoerotic sites that have been “one and done” – they have the great bodies, but if the personality is not there or they don’t sell for the camera and draw the audience in, they are not featured again.  It does give us a kind of “behind the scenes” look at some wrestlers.  However, don’t you also think that there could also be some fatigue with specific wrestlers who appear over and over again combined with their increasing online presence?

Bard: My thinking has evolved on that question over my time blogging. Early on, I was pretty harsh on wrestlers who seemed to show up everywhere at the same time. I took some swipes at Cameron Matthews and Rio Garza a few years ago when both of them were showing up in simultaneous new releases across two, sometimes three different companies, sometimes even wrestling the same opponents across promotions. I still think that repackaging the same match-ups across promotions is bad for consumers, and my hunch is that there’s probably some corporate intrigue about the choice of a producer to tape and release copycat matches at the same time. Like, what’s the wisdom of releasing at the same time Rio and Jobe wrestling each other in the ring in two different matches? But I think instant downloads and social media are sensitizing us to a faster pace of information and exposure to wrestlers. And, frankly, I’ve simply found myself charmed and titillated by popular wrestlers like Cameron, Jonny, Drake and Ethan inhabiting multiple platforms, giving us long-form text, photos, and videos alongside of snapshot status updates to construct 3-dimensional characters in and out of the ring. Getting more access to these sensational wrestling characters has actually increased my anticipation and excitement for their new releases. There may be fan-fatigue for some wrestling consumers, but these days I see multi-platform promotion for wrestlers to be compelling. Now if we could just get Drake to update his fucking blog [laughing].

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What do we have to do to get Drake to update his fucking blog!?

AH: Haha, there you go bashing Drake again.  Can’t you leave the poor guy alone?  Are you trying to get fans to sympathize with poor Drake?  I didn’t want to name names earlier (cough Austin/Frey cough) about showing up across different companies and multiple matches a month, but hey, he must be doing something right in the eyes of the people producing and shelling out the products.  And he is not the only one. It does seem to make it harder for a rookie to get noticed and make a lasting impression, although I have to say that 2015 was a particularly strong year for them (at least for me.) with Chet, Biff, Van Skyler, etc.

Bard: I do like the increased social media presence of some of the wrestlers you mentioned, although like new releases, they are updated rather infrequently.  I think that actually works in their favor, as it keeps the audience salivating until there is a new post, a new video, new pictures.

AH: Since we’re talking about wrestlers populating social media, what are your thoughts on all the bloggers talking about homoerotic wrestling

Bard: Oh, can’t forget Austin Cooper!  His heel work at BG East in particular is crazy good.  But regarding other bloggers, I have tons of respect and take a lot of enjoyment in all of them.  There was a period where I was diligently reading everybody and intentionally cross promoting other blogs, but I just ran out of time to stay on top of that.  I still visit Beefcakes of Wrestling several times a week to check the mainstream pros I ought to be looking up on Youtube. I check in on Ringside frequently, now that Joe’s back at it again, particularly for a glimpse at some of the promotions that I don’t really follow. Alex is always sensational, and his work at The Cave is a great mix of sensational writing and inspiring reviews. I think each of the bloggers with an eye on homoerotic wrestling have unique perspectives, different things that draw their attention or spark their interest. And that’s what I like about blogging as a format. It lets us step inside someone else’s head for a moment and recognize the arousing and provocative things that we may not see on our own.

AH: Seems like each blog has a corner of the homoerotic wrestling scene all to themselves. I love it when multiple bloggers discuss and dissect the same match as it leads to differing views and makes me want to watch the match again trying to hopefully see it through a new lens.   Before finding all of these blogs, I never thought that all of these posts would be so arousing!! I just thought the videos and pictures would turn me on. Glad to be proven wrong.  So you have your avatar on your blog that shows off that chest and gives a glimpse of your abs. You’ve let your audience into your mind – but you have left the rest of your body and self, vague. Is that intentional on your part?

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Man of Mystery

Bard: When I started blogging, I didn’t have a clear picture of exactly what I wanted the blog to be. But I did feel committed to make it relatively confessional as a gay man strongly turned on by wrestling. With an interest in a frank discussion of eroticism, I decided that I’d feel freer to be blunt and honest about my sexual turn-ons if I were relatively anonymous otherwise. One of the greatest things about blogging has been hearing from guys who say, “I’ve had the same experiences, but thought I must be the only one!” But I don’t know if I’d ever have had the balls to dig down to those moments of homoerotic confessional truth, to talk about some of those things that many of us experience but may seldom discuss with friends and family that don’t get it, if I thought that my mom or my boss might stumble across my words. These days, I think of that avatar I use like a wrestling mask in the pro ring. There’s something that it hides, but there’s something that it frees to be seen, to be more open and passionately me as well. And, quite honestly, over time I’ve discovered that there are some relatively unhinged people in the webosphere who take all of this way, way too seriously, who I really wouldn’t want to know me in any more detail than what I share on the blog.

AH: Very well said.  I was quite late to the game in finding homoerotic wrestling sites and blogs dedicated to it.  But once I did, I had that “Aha” moment, where I was like I am not the only one who likes this stuff!  And we thank you for digging down deep, through your anonymity, to bring us your fresh take on these subjects that so strongly turn you on. I hope this interview does not provoke any unhinged people out there to search either of us out.

Bard: Some guys are extremely… passionate… about their opinions about homoerotic wrestling. It’s a fine line between passionate/playful and unhinged, but there is a line, I think.

AH: Rock Hard dabbled in luche style masks I believe once in their history (although it was obvious who the combatants were) and BG East has had masked wrestlers as well.  Do you ever watch lucha wrestling videos on youtbube or know that history, or were you just using the wrestling mask as a metaphor to prove your point?

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Masks are hot!

Bard: I am familiar with lucha wrestling and some of the standard parts of the lucha mystique as it relates to masks and unmasking. Mostly, I was speaking metaphorically, though.

AH: So, 2016 is a momentous year. We have a Presidential election as well as the Olympics. Who would you put on the Mount Rushmore of homoerotic wrestling?

Bard: Yowza, that’s a challenging question.  Coincidentally I traveled to Mr. Rushmore just last summer. I found it oddly underwhelming. But if I were to select 4 faces to get carved into stone as pivotal people in homoerotic history, I’d definitely start with Kid Leopard. I think BG East has been uniquely shaped by his vision and commitment to homoerotic wrestling, and I think BG East has, in turn, uniquely shaped the entire industry. Honestly, I think if anyone else’s face was carved next to him, Kid Leopard’s visage would pummel him. Who else is as iconic? Maybe Ron Sexton of Can-Am. I have no idea what he looks like, though, so I’m not sure if anyone would recognize him. But I think of him as, perhaps more than anyone else, bringing together the two worlds of wrestling and porn in ways that completely laid the groundwork for the likes of Naked Kombat. If pressed, I think perhaps a third face to carve into the Mr. Rushmore of homoerotic wrestling might be Steve Sterling. Bodybuilders in homoerotic wrestling are a mainstay these days, but I think of Steve as one of the first, if not the first, legitimate, incredibly muscled, competition bodybuilders to bring serious, aesthetic, massive physiques into the homoerotic wrestling fan’s immediate gaze. As for a fourth “founding father,” I’m sort of stumped. I think I’ll put Scott Williams’ face in that final spot. Not because he fundamentally shaped the industry at all. Just because I think he’s fucking handsome as hell, and I’d pay the price of admission to get to see that sensational jawline literally carved in stone.

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My nominees for the Mt. Rushore of Homoerotic Wrestling: Kid Leopard (L), Ron Sexton (not pictured), Steve Sterling (C) and Scott Williams (R)

AH: Shit, I am getting into my car and driving directly to your Mt Rushmore of homoerotic wrestling!  Where do you think this art form goes from here?  There has definitely been an evolution, one you know better than me, about homoerotic wrestling.  Now, you don’t need to wait a period of time for that “package” to arrive in the mail – you can instantly stream/download a match from just about any wrestler, any promotion, at any moment (and get a shock when you get your credit card statement too).  Mr. Firestorm has dabbled in newer matches (with the google-glasses bird’s eye view, and his choose your own adventure style match against your personal friend Drake); do you think that is the way to go – where it seems the audience has more of a say in what goes on in matches, or should we leave it to the people behind the scenes who have crafted gold into our memories for so long

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I paid for my own custom fantasy match: Lon Dumont vs. Jonny Firestorm.

Bard: I think there’s value added in both consumer directed products as well as the fare that established wrestling producers know how to put together so well. The custom and fan-choice matches scratch that great, postmodern itch of breaking down some of the barriers between viewers and the action, which I think is sensational.  It’s also why I love behind the scenes glimpses and the online presence of some homoerotic wrestling personalities these days. It pokes holes in that wall that divides the passive viewing fan from the extremely active, intense, visceral nature of wrestling. However, 9 times out of 10, I’d let Kid Leopard pick a sexy hot pairing for a sweaty, high flying, low down ring match drama and be confident I’d be 100% entertained.  I love the unexpected. I love to be surprised and shocked by how a match turns or by the depths to which wrestlers will go to dominate. So I certainly wouldn’t want everything to be a Chinese menu of homoerotic wrestling choices. Some producers have a fantastic eye and taste for this that takes me places I’d never know that I need to go.

AH: Once again Bard, fantastic analysis; That’s the great thing about this subject and others like it – it’s so open for discussion and debate. Do you have any last rumblings and grumblings you’d like to share that perhaps you haven’t yet voiced in your blog yet?

Bard: I think the only other thing I’d pontificate about today is one that many readers have heard before from me and from others. I regularly get comments to my blog with pointed, often personal, frequently crass criticisms of wrestlers.  Most often the ones that really trigger me are the personal attacks on wrestlers’ bodies, like someone is too fat, too skinny, too ugly, too whatever and so somehow deserves disrespect.  On the one hand, I’m at the front of the line when it comes to loving and leaning into the fantasy of professional wrestling. When wrestlers belittle each other and heap trash talking contempt upon one another’s physiques and appearance, I can understand why fans would turn to social media and comment logs to participate in the same sort of posturing. However, as many can probably attest to, I do my best to censor those types of comments out of the comment pages on my blog.  I know this pisses some readers off. But I just have to say, again here today, that this practice of trashing wrestlers with personal attacks feels a lot like me inviting a whole bunch of friends over, and having one of the guests in my own home trashing and attacking another of my guests. I know you’ve got your opinions, and I know many of you aren’t shy about expressing the highly critical ones. But no. Not in my house. Not aimed at my friends.

Because that’s what’s happened as I’ve been blogging over the years. I’ve had the great privilege of meeting many of the wrestlers who I’m completely infatuated with. And it’s a mind fuck to actually sit down and talk with a stud puppy who, perhaps just the day before, I was pounding out a screaming climax to while watching him wrestle on my screen. And while I have zero problem getting off again and again to the wrestling work of these hunks I’ve got to meet in person, I just can’t behave as if these wrestlers are somehow not real people who deserve common human decency and respect. A few of them I’m particularly privileged to count among my friends, and I take that seriously. So not liking a match they’re in, or offering the critique about something they wear, or what you wish they’d done to a particular opponent is fantastic by me. But body shaming them, or calling them losers, or questioning their intelligence, or assessing them as worthless is crossing a line.

So, like I said, readers have heard this from me before, but in closing, I’d just say it again. Keep it classy. This little corner of the world inhabited by gay guys with a particular thing for getting off on wrestling is probably bigger than most of us might have originally thought it was, but we shouldn’t take for granted the balls it takes for wrestlers to strip down, gear up, and put their bodies on the line for this community of ours. I know for a fact that there are homoerotic wrestlers who have been shamed and punished when they’ve had friends, family or coworkers discover they’ve wrestled for a gay audience. That’s shitty. But the last thing they should also face is that very audience shaming or harassing them out of petty cattiness.

Anyway, I officially step back off my soap box and thank you, AH, for turning the tables on me and interviewing me for a change. It was a fascinating experience to be on the other side of the questions!

AH:  No, thank you very much, Bard.  The honor was all mine, and thank you for agreeing to do this!

Getting It

I’ve prepared myself for what’s about to happen.  It’s like clockwork, so I’m absolutely certain I know what comes next.  Every time I take the opportunity to acknowledge my lustful appreciation of the unique wrestling talents of Skrapper, there are readers who instantly start trashing him.  Honestly, I just do not get it.  I understand that not everyone will enjoy the same styles, body types, personalities, etc., that I like. I sympathize when a fan reflects back to me their apathy about a wrestler that turns me on hard. But I just don’t get the vitriol that Skrapper inspires from a certain segment of the audience.

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Skrapper turns me ON!!!

Just to put you on notice, I screen out attempts to trash the bodies, intelligence, or general attractiveness of wrestlers in the comments of this blog. That obviously doesn’t stop anyone from flaming up elsewhere, but here at neverland, my intent is to make this a gay-positive, wrestling-positive, wrestler-positive space for those appreciating homoerotic wrestling. So if you don’t agree with my estimation that Skrapper is, pound for pound and inch for inch, one of the hottest, most arousing wrestlers currently in competition, do be polite if you want to start a conversation about it here. As for me, I grow a little more infatuated with his sensationally sexy body every time I see him. In his newly released Matmen 26 match against that adorable jobber, the Cheshire Cat of homoerotic wrestling, Drake Marcos, Skrapper is meatier than ever. He’s not huge, I understand. But his veiny, bulging biceps are making me a little dizzy with desire. And that ass is such a piece of work.

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“Don’t call me a jobber, darn it!”

Drake is as adorable as ever, looking lean and mean and earnest as fuck. He’s downright solicitous as they arrive on the mat, praising Skrapper for leveraging his middleweight physique into a wrestling machine that’s quite genuinely made heavyweight muscle hunks 50% heavier than he is cry. Those are precisely the steps Drake would love to follow. He asks Skrapper for pointers in order to dig himself out of the “everyone’s favorite jobber” hole he’s dug for himself. Drake suggests they’re about the same size, similar physiques, so he’d love to learn from Skrapper how to finally earn some respect around here.

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“Smell my pit.”

You get a strong whiff of what’s to come when you see Skrapper’s face reacting to Drake’s claim that their bodies are similar. “You think so?” he asks rhetorically, flexing those juicy, softball biceps I mentioned earlier. Ostensibly, he agrees to give the Cheshire Cat some lessons. They start with forcing Drake to smell his armpit.

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“Kiss the mat!!!”

For a moment there, I think Skrapper is literally thinking that if Drake takes a deep inhalation of his musky, masculine sweat, it will work like an elixir and transform the adorable jobber into a force to be reckoned with. But the more Skrapper works his would-be protege, the more convinced I get that Skapper’s real intent is to demonstrate that Drake is not now, and never will be, in his league. And let’s talk about the metaphor I use so often around here: taking possession. Holy fuck, he ties Drake up in such knots that it’s almost not a metaphor any longer. I seriously wonder at times if he very well may successfully rip one or more limbs off of the Cheshire Cat.

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Drake is put on lock down.

He’s intent on making Drake kiss the mat. He wants to use Drake’s quickly sweat soaked bod to mop the floor with him, and this time I’m talking literally. He pulls and pries, rips and stretches, and overwhelmingly punishes the jobber boy like a maestro. When it comes to wresting personas, I don’t exactly think of Skrapper as a face or as a heel, and never a jobber. He’s a homoerotically charged scrapper who just fucking loves to wrestle. But with the point to prove that Drake needs to step the fuck back and stop trying to compare himself with the skrappy one, I get a strong hit of a sadistic, ego-fueled heel bubbling just under the surface of Skrapper. I pray to the wrestling gods that some day soon we will see this amazing mat warrior translated full blown into the vile, hungry, domineering pro ring heel I’m absolutely certain he is, deep down.

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Drake enjoys the unfamiliar feeling of being on top.

Never let it be said that I don’t give Drake his due, though. First of all, look at that sexy body of his glistening with sweat! The boy’s got abs that make me want to jump on like a hotel mattress.  And his long, sexy, punishing legs have never failed to make me weak in the knees, though never quite as much as when I was delighted to get to feel them wrapped around my own torso and squeezing every ounce of air from my lungs. To be honest, I totally thought this was going to be a squash. I thought Skrapper would crush his fawning would-be-protege like a grape. But it seems as if that air of inevitability about Drake perpetually sucking on a mouthful of humiliation may have finally pushed everyone’s favorite jobber over the edge.  Because he takes a mountain of punishment from Skrapper and then opens up a can of whoop ass that lasts for days!

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He seriously, seriously enjoys making Skrapper scream!

I’m not sure I’ve seen Skrapper suffer quite like this since Kid Vicious got his hands (and mouth and cock) all over him. Drake rips his opponent’s street clothes off. He grabs hold of the advantage and milks it for every ounce of punishing torture at his disposal. He rides Skrapper’s gorgeous ass with conviction, and there’s an all too unfamiliar look of shocked delight on Drake’s face as he seriously starts savoring how the other half lives. He makes that steel core down Skrapper’s spine absolutely melt with the heat of his offense, ripping out a screeching, scream of submission completely uncharacteristic of Skrapper’s normally earthquake rumbling bass. “That first time wasn’t real!” Skrapper spits angrily, trying to re-write history, trying to salvage the humiliation of having been tossed over the edge of pain tolerance by one of the most notorious jobbers in the business. “That scream sounded pretty real,” Drake instantly slaps down lightning quick, razor sharp trash talk like a seasoned heel.

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Drake running on fumes.

I love suspense, so I’m infatuated with the unpredictability of this battle. They strip each other naked and still just keep pounding, scrambling, squeezing and stretching one another. Drake is focused, dangerous, and clearly executes an expertly devised plan to make a bid at climbing out of that dark, dreary jobber hole of his. But in the end, he runs out of gas. They’re both at the point of complete exhaustion, but it’s D who finally can’t defend himself any longer.  And having tested and taunted Skrapper as brutally as he has up to that point, Drake is in for a sensationally sexy world of hurt from a vengeful badger like Skrapper, once he’s defenseless.

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They get us.

These two sensationally sexy middleweights inhabit the same world you and I do. There’s no doubt that they are every bit as turned on by the pressing flesh and battle of wills on the wrestling mat as you and I are. Even if you aren’t as completely turned on as I am by this match (and don’t even try to tell me you aren’t if you haven’t seen it), I insist that gay wrestling fans owe the utmost respect to these two battlers, not just because they’re phenomenally arousing to watch go at it, but also because they so clearly get it. They get us. They are us, damn it.

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They are us.

And nothing transports me so completely into a full throttle, sweat-soaked, naked finish homoerotic wrestling match as much as two wrestlers who want it to happen every ounce as much as I do.

Happy New Year 2016 – Part 4

This is the final of 4 installments in my New Year original homoerotic wrestling fiction. Or is it?…

……………

(Continued from Part 3)

…………….

Okay, remember all that shit talk I told you earlier about humiliating Drake in our one-on-one private bout a year ago? This wasn’t the same Drake Marcos. He was honest-to-god crushing my windpipe, backing me into a corner. So much rage! I’m pretty sure if this was the Drake Marcos I’d faced a year ago, I’d have been lucky to have escaped without a trip to the emergency room. My ears were starting to buzz from the lack of oxygen, and fuck it all if I wasn’t nursing the hardest erection of my lifetime!

Suddenly I was sucking down ragged, gulping breaths with my windpipe cleared. I dropped to my knees, clutching my throat, momentarily not knowing what the fuck just happened. The mat bounced and shimmied beneath my knees as I heard pounding blows punctuating the buzzing in my ears. Blinking rapidly, clearing the tears from my eyes, I saw bodies flying in front of me. Check that, once the fog cleared, it was Drake’s body that was flying in front of me.

Clearly, Trey had taken advantage of his opponent’s distraction. Scooped up in the golden boy’s arms, Drake’s feet arced high through the air as he was slammed with authority to his back. I pulled myself up to my feet with the aid of the ring ropes, but my eyes were locked on watching Trey viciously pry Drake up by a handful of hair, scoop him up in his arms again, and body slam him back to the mat violently. Drake’s lower back arched high off the mat in agony until Trey’s naked heel stomped hard into the Cheshire Cat’s lower abdomen, driving his hips back to the mat with a thud.

I admit to more than a little satisfaction watching Trey straddle the Cheshire Cat and angrily yank the singlet straps off his opponent’s shoulders. With one swift jerk, he ripped the singlet completely off Drake’s legs. Left in nothing but a sweat soaked leopard print thong, Drake tried to roll away as Trey pursued him across the ring. Snagging the back of the thong and yanking hard, he pulled Drake up to his hands and knees just long enough to land a swinging place kick to the balls from behind. Drake gasped, falling to his right shoulder, both hands clutching his balls

Trey took just a few seconds of deep, recuperative breaths before reaching down and dragging Drake up to his knees again by a handful of hair. From behind, the golden boy snapped on a full nelson and dragged his prey to his feet with authority. With his chin shoved into his upper chest, Drake dangled like meat on the hook as Trey walked him across the ring to where Kid Leopard was filming at ringside. “Ooo, leopard print thong?” Trey cooed through his syrupy Southern drawl. “What’s The Boss going to say when you’re crying like a little bitch in his signature leopard print thong?”

Drake growled like a wounded animal, which earned him a quick trip to the nearest turnbuckle for three nasty revenge face plants. Trey released the full nelson and spun Drake around. Locking his arms around him, the golden boy hoisted the Cheshire Cat off his feet in a spine tingling bearhug. Drake screamed, pulling his knees up to squeeze into his captor’s kidneys in a futile attempt to lessen the pressure.

I watched from the corner for a few seconds before deciding it was time to look like a ref again. Following my aching cock, I strolled over to where Trey was squeezing the stuffing out of Drake and asked if the Cheshire Cat had had enough. “Fuck you,” Drake snarled, but it was so much less than convincing this time. He was fading dangerously.

Finally, lubricated with copious sweat, Drake slid downward in the bearhug. Before he could catch his breath, however, he was shoved backward into the ropes. He sagged there, gasping for air, fighting to stay on his feet, which provided the perfect set up for Trey to snap the middle rope over top of Drake’s arms and pin him there like a stuck bug.

Kid Leopard climbed up to the ring apron to get a better angle on his handsome protege all trussed up and vulnerable. Trey shrugged his own sculpted shoulders out of his singlet straps and pulled the yellow fabric down his shredded torso, glistening with sweat. “Like what you see?” he asked, startling me out my reverie, staring at the stunningly sexy tableau set before me. “Fuck, yes,” I said with a chuckle, hovering just a couple feet away to watch with fascination.

Trey stepped forward, prying Drake’s knees apart with legs and shoving the handsome stud’s head backward by his chin. Leaning over him, Trey shook his head, sending a shower of sweat raining down on Drake’s captured face. The Cheshire Cat squirmed, attempting to pry his arms free. But he suddenly went limp when his opponent traced his index finger down Drake’s throat, between his lightly hairy pecs, slowly, meanderingly down his taut abdomen, and inside the pouch of his sweat soaked thong. Drake groaned with reluctant pleasure, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Gently, Trey tugged Drake’s balls and swollen cock out. His cock bobbed eagerly, almost fully erect and quickly getting topped off by Trey’s hand jerking him still harder. Trey looked at me sidewise. With a subtle jerk of his head, he invited me closer. Me on one side, Kid Leopard and his camera on the other, Trey grabbed my wrist with his free hand while continuing to stroke Drake’s pulsing rod. The golden boy pulled me still closer, pressing the palm of my hand against his own rock hard left pec. He flexed, sending a charge of electricity up my arm. Slowly, he dragged my hand across his sweaty torso, down his rippling abs. Firmly, he pressed my palm against his growing package. “Hoh, fuck…” I managed to mutter with every ounce of coherence I had left.

“Help me out of this,” Trey whispered, licking his lips. I swallowed hard. My heart pounded in my chest so hard I could hear it. I knelt at his side and pulled the singlet down his long, smooth legs. He wore nothing underneath, so his massive cock spilled out gleefully and bounced as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, stepping out of the singlet.
As I rose to my feet, Trey dropped to one knee, sliding the leopard print thong off of Drake’s hairy thighs. He pried open Drake’s jaw and shoved the tiny patch of dripping wet fabric into the Cheshire Cat’s mouth. “Here,” Trey pulled me in front of him guiding my hands to take his place working Drake’s throbbing tool. The golden boy’s right hand on my wrist guided me as I jerked his vulnerable opponent. Drake’s sweaty, naked body shivered in front of me, his eyes half lidded, staring at me with some combustible mix of bitter rage and desperate lust. Trey pressed his naked body close behind me.

Even as I cupped Drake’s balls with my left hand, I felt the golden boy unzip my trousers from behind and tug free my full erection. His left hand wrapped around my side, pulling me hard against the distracting pressure at the base of my spine. His right hand began tugging at my cock, working in time to the same rhythm with which I was pounding out Drake. I slowed down. The golden boy slowed down. I sped up, he sped up. I could feel his hot breath in my ear, leaning over my shoulder, watching his naked opponent writhing with rising ecstasy. I sped up. Trey sped up, and both Drake and I moaned at the same pitch. I slowed down, squeezing harder. Trey slowed down, squeezing harder, and Drake and I both gasped. Enfolded in the arms of one wrestling infatuation, the white hot cock of another pulsing in my hand, I came. Drake came.
The smell of cum and sweat was intoxicating as Trey held me tight, squeezing out every last drop. I suddenly sucked in a deep, gasping draw of air. I don’t know how long I’d been holding my breath, but my heart was pounding and my lungs were burning. There was a sweet tenderness about him as Trey slowly released me. Another sly wink made me smile. Then Trey unceremoniously freed Drake’s arms and yanked on the rope, catapulting the Cheshire Cat sprawling into the middle of the ring. I had to laugh out loud.

The glistening, naked, bronzed golden boy took a slow lap around his opponent. Hands on his narrow hips, Trey studied Drake’s naked ass long and hard before finally straddling the Cheshire Cat and dropping to his knees. Leaning forward on his left elbow, he slipped his right forearm across his opponent’s throat and rolled to his back, pulling Drake on top of him. Drake’s heavily lidded eyes snapped open wide in shock. The leopard print thong still filled his gaping mouth. Trey’s smooth legs wrapped around Drake’s hips, his ankles locked together tightly across the Cheshire Cat’s lower abdomen. Slowly, Trey stretched his body, pulling down on Drake’s hips with his legs and up against his throat with the chokehold.

Drake’s exhausted cock sprang back to life, bobbing and jerking as Trey bore down on him. His face turned blotchy pale, starved for oxygen, consciousness slipping away. Trey’s baby blues smiled up at me, letting me know it was time to do my job as ref again. I knelt on one knee next to Drake, absentmindedly stroking my own reanimated cock still hanging from my unzipped trousers. “What do you say, Drake?” Drake’s throat constricted, struggling to swallow. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to say it, big D,” I whispered into his ear. Again, his throat constricted, struggling to swallow. Finally, his right hand tapped frantically at Trey’s right knee.

Trey threw his opponent rolling off of him. We both climbed to our feet. Facing Kid Leopard and his camera, I hoisted the golden boy’s wrist into the air in victory. I was awarded with a full body, naked golden boy hug, before Trey turned back into the crowd pleaser he is by flexing his phenomenal physique with one foot planted on the Cheshire Cat’s ass.
“And… cut,” Kid Leopard shouted, dropping the camera and looking down at his slowly rousing protege with contempt. Shaking his head, he gave Drake a halfhearted kick in the ass before leaving the ring without so much as another word.
“Really, pleasure to meet you, Bard,” said this stunning, ripped naked man who moments earlier jerked me to one of the dizziest climaxes I’ve ever experienced. Suddenly self-conscious and star struck all over again, I stumbled over my reply. “I’m… uh… pleasure has clearly been all mine.” He gathered up his yellow singlet and climbed out of the ring. I watched his picture perfect ass every second as he strode toward the back rooms to clean up.

“You… mother… fucker!” I was abruptly shaken out of my reverie by Drake’s raging rant. “You just fucked with the wrong wrestltler.”

(….to be continued?….)

……………

One particular author to whom I gave an advanced copy of this story quickly, and somewhat adamantly insisted that he would write the “sequel.” I’m looking forward to what happens next for a particular blogger and a notorious jobber.  Again, Happy New Year, everyone!

Happy New Year 2016 – Part 3

Original fiction, inspired by the erotic wrestling hunks of BG East…

…………….

(Continued from Part 2)

Abruptly, he climbed to his feet and walked over to my corner, shoving a finger in my face. “Fuck you, Bard!” he shouted. “I’ve taken your shit online for over a year, and I’m not taking your shit one more day.” He shoved me in the chest, backing me into the corner. My adrenaline was pumping overtime in the heat of the Cheshire Cat’s intimidation offense. The heat of the moment made my cock swell, pressing uncomfortably inside my tight trousers. I glanced outside the ring at the Boss, wondering if this was one of the wheels within wheels that made sense of why I’d been invited to “guest referee”: to be on hand for Kid Leopard’s protege to work out a little retribution on an unsuspecting blogger in front of his mentor. Drake towered over me, staring down his nose as I felt my face flush with the rising impulse to fight back, despite my “neutral” assigned role.

Not that I needed to. Trey’s long fingers suddenly appeared between Drake’s powerful thighs and wrapped around the Cheshire Cat’s balls like a vise. Drake’s knees buckled and knocked together comically as he gasped for air, slack jawed. All that rage and ruin in his eyes glazed over as he duck-stepped backward under the control of his opponent’s crushing grasp from behind. Trey looked over Drake’s shoulder and gave me yet another conspiratorial wink. “You said I can twist his balls right off, right ref?” the bronzed beauty asked playfully..

Drake suffers.

“Fuck yes!” I replied a little more enthusiastically than the ref probably should. Trey’s face screwed up in concentration which, judging by the effect on Drake, signaled still more pressure being applied to crushing the Cheshire Cat’s testicles. Drake dropped hard to his knees, doubling over and clutching at the claw latched onto his balls. Like a felled tree, he slowly collapsed to his side. Trey yanked his hand free from between his opponent’s legs and smiled down as he watched Drake writhe and wriggle in the fetal position.

I stepped forward, but stayed a couple of feet away. “Are you ready to submit already, Drake?” I asked, not because I thought in a million years that he’d submit just yet, but just to rub it in that he was getting fucked over good right now. “Fuck you!” he snapped back, in exactly the raging, wounded tone I’d expected.

I stepped back out of the way as Trey bent forward and grabbed Drake by the ankles, rolling him to his back. Spreading his opponent’s legs wide apart, Trey drove his naked heel hard into Drake’s crotch. The air exploded out of Drake’s lungs. The blow was so savage even my balls felt just a twinge of sympathy pains. I backed all the way into the corner and leaned against the ropes as Trey yanked his opponent’s ankles wide apart again and stomped viciously into his lower abdomen. By the screech of agony, I guessed that the head of Drake’s cock took a glancing shot from the blow.

Smoothly, Trey rolled his opponent over, stepping his left foot over the back of Drake’s legs and hooking his ankles under his arms. Wrenching his opponent’s legs backward into a Boston crab, the golden boy squatted low, cranking Drake’s lower back into a sick, sick angle. Fuck, that’s gotta hurt, I was thinking a half second before Drake screamed, pounding his fist angrily to the mat.

“Was that a tap out, Drake?” I asked, hurrying forward and dropping to one knee next to his handsome face. “You calling it quits, Drake Marcos?!” I shouted when he didn’t immediately answer me.

“Fuck, you, Bard!” he spat furiously, sucking down the pain. I stood and shrugged, “Wrestle on, then.” Impressively, the Cheshire Cat pulled his upper body up to rest on his elbows. Trey struggled to keep his balance, which allowed just enough give in the hold for Drake to crawl a couple of feet forward on this elbows and grab a rope. He pulled on the rope, twisted his body, and kicked hard all at the same time. Trey tumbled forward, gracefully rolling up to one knee.

As Drake dragged himself up to his knees by the ropes, I couldn’t help but enjoy the observation that sweat was already dripping from his forehead. Trey’s yellow singlet was also sweat stained where the fabric plunged so intimately into his ass crack. From the pressure in my crotch, I was pretty sure I was also just a little “stained” myself, but that was a fleeting thought as all my attention was riveted on the action unfolding before me.

Trey charged forward, reaching down to grab his opponent’s ankles again. Smoothly, Drake swept his left leg hard into the back of the golden boy’s knees, dropping Trey unceremoniously to his ass. With an astonishing burst of energy, the Cheshire Cat dove on top of him, sliding wetly to his side and locking his long, powerful legs around Trey’s midsection. I knew exactly what Trey meant when he bit his lower lip and his face flushed beet red. Those fucking legs are sensationally strong. And Drake knows it. Slowly, Trey fell backward to his elbows, fighting against the pressure rearranging his internal organs. Drake lifted his torso up onto his right elbow to bear down that much harder. A groan of exquisite agony escaped reluctantly from Trey’s lips. Bending sideways, Drake reached down and latched his left claw onto his opponent’s balls in revenge. That groan churning out of Trey’s chest exploded into a scream of panicked pain.

trey
Trey squeezed and crushed.

Honestly, I swear, the whole scene was so sensationally hot that I completely forgot my job. “Fucking ref!” Drake snapped angrily at me. “Ask him if he’s done now, you bastard!” It took me a few seconds to come to my senses, but sure, I crossed the ring and leaned over Trey’s screwed up face. “Are you ready to submit, Trey?” I asked, most definitely not wanting to hear an affirmative answer. Biting his lower lip so hard I was afraid he’d bite right through, he shook his head violently side to side.

“No love, Drake. Wrestle on,” I said, backing toward a corner. Drake’s wrist twisted as he wrenched violently on the golden boy’s distended pouch, bulging between his clenched fingers. Trey screamed again, louder this time. “Ask him again, ref!” Drake demanded angrily. I ignored him. Trey knew how to make this all come to an abrupt end, and me asking him again wouldn’t change anything. “Ref!” Drake shouted at me again. “You fucker!”

A solid, pointed jab to Drake’s gut gave Trey enough room to suck down some air. Another flailing gut punch made the Cheshire Cat’s ankles pop open. Trey rolled to his side, freeing himself from those vile scissors. Drake quickly rolled up to his hands and knees, his left arm wrapped protectively across his tenderized lower abdomen.

Drake dove across the distance between them, but Trey rolled with the momentum. They tumbled across the mat until Trey came to a halt mounted atop his opponent’s chest. Swiftly sliding forward, he pulled on Drake’s head and rolled to the side, snapping his ankles together and bearing down in crotch-to-face headscissors. If I were watching this at home, I’d be preparing to push pause and rewind right around that moment. Drake’s lips pressed involuntarily against his opponent’s ample yellow pouch made me hard as granite. The golden boy pulling on his opponent’s hair, squeezing his flexed thighs in waves of skull crushing pressure was almost too arousing to resist unzipping my trousers then and there. Suddenly, I noticed The Boss’ camera trained on me, I’m pretty sure zoomed right in on my tented crotch. Watching him watching me watching them for someone else to watch us all. Fuck, this whole scenario just turned insanely meta.

Trey’s whimper of pain drew my eyes and The Boss’ camera back to the real story. No shit, Drake was biting his opponent’s balls! Trey’s legs popped open as he rolled to his back, the Cheshire Cat’s teeth still latched to his testicles through fabric of his singlet. I had no idea Drake had that level of rage bubbling up inside of him! Even as he let go of his mouthful of tasty agony, he hooked Trey’s knees with his shoulders and rolled the golden boy up. Prying his opponent’s legs apart and pinning Trey’s feet to the mat on either side of his head, Drake had the pretty boy pinned squarely to the mat.

“Count him out!” Drake snarled at me, but I was already dropping to my stomach, checking that, indeed Trey’s shoulders were square to the mat. “One!” I slapped the mat hard next to Trey’s head. “Two!” I barked. Suddenly Trey’s entire body coiled and uncoiled violently like a spring. Drake tumbled backward as the golden boy dragged himself to the nearby ropes to begin pulling himself off the mat. I had only reached my hand and knees when Drake charged into me, grabbing me by the throat with his right hand and dragging me to my feet. “What the fuck was that!?” he shouted into my face, spit flying. “You call that a count!?”

Happy New Year 2016 – Part 2

Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction, the product of my homoerotic wrestling imagination inspired by the sensationally sexy wrestlers Drake Marcos, Trey Dixon, and Kid Leopard Happy New Year, readers!

………..

(Continued from Part 1)

…………..

I might be embarrassed to admit I jerked off to nothing more than the text of that email, but I know you, dear reader, popped wood just now, too. Trying to look cool, I managed to restrain myself exactly 13 minutes before replying to Kid Leopard’s email with a concise, definitive answer: Hell, yes.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. If you’ve seen even half as many Kid Leopard matches as I have, you’d also be suspicious of any completely unsolicited, gratuitous, too-good-to-be-true offer of an unearned gift from the most diabolical character in homoerotic wrestling history. As we sorted out the details and travel arrangements, I nursed a thoughtful skepticism about what ulterior motives might be hidden behind this offer of a wrestling fantasy come true. But I’m pretty sure that I provide the Boss’ business one of the most prolific and enthusiastic sources of free advertising in the form of over 6 years of lovingly blogging about the sexiest homoerotic wrestling I’ve ever seen, most of which has been produced by Kid Leopard. I’ve even written a lot of the match descriptions you read of new wrestling products on the BG East website, taking nothing more than some advanced review copies of the DVDs as compensation. So sure, I knew there was much, much more than met the eye when I boarded the plane for south Florida. But of all the ways this could go terribly wrong, I honestly thought I was too much of an asset in the Boss’ business portfolio to get screwed over too much.

The last time I walked into BG East’s Florida facilities, I was all sorts of nervous about the prospect of getting schooled by a hot young pro homoerotic wrestler. This time, I was feeling significantly less pressure, but no less excitement. Drake met me in shorts and a t-shirt at the front door with nothing but a contemptuous snarl. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the ring room. I chuckled as I followed him, perversely pleased to see that our last encounter was still festering inside the Cheshire Cat. “Clean the ring!” I heard Kid Leopard bark angrily as I walked through the door. Drake seemed to sulk as he grabbed a bucket and a mop and climbed up to the ring apron, starting to sanitize the mat reluctantly, but obediently.

 

The Boss

“Well if it isn’t Bard!” The Boss shouted, grabbing me by the hand and shaking it with uncomfortable pressure. It wasn’t the first time we’d met. I’d spent several awed hours with Kid Leopard and some of the back office boys a few years ago when I had an opportunity to make a pilgrimage to BG East’s main campus outside of Boston. “Of course, you’ve met this little punk already,” he hooked a thumb toward Drake, who was doing his best to ignore us.

 

Cinderella gets to work

We waited another half an hour for Trey to show up. According to the Boss, Trey had been showing up later and later in direct proportion to the number of fan letters he receives. Prima Donna or not, I was tongue tied and star struck when he strolled in and flashed those baby blue eyes at me briefly. Literally, I was a little weak in the knees just catching sight of one of my wrestling infatuations in street clothes. Kid Leopard gave him a cursory dressing down for his tardiness, but critical comments seemed to bounce off of the bronzed stud unnoticed. Soon enough, the Boss sent both wrestlers to the back rooms to get into ring gear and get this show on the road.

I’d received no instructions about what I ought to wear as guest referee. I can think of no more than about 3 matches that I’ve seen BG East bother with a referee, so this was sort of uncharted territory. I pulled a pair of black trousers and a white t-shirt out of my backpack and asked if Kid Leopard approved. “No,” he said with his customary bluntness. Without explanation, he left me alone in the ring room for a minute before returning with a stretch poly white and black vertically striped referee shirt in hand. “Wear this,” he said without any interest in my opinion. Not that I expected Kid Leopard to express a lot of interest in my opinion. The shirt was a size “small,” and I, dear reader, am not. “Go on, Mr. Abs,” Kid Leopard smirked, referencing my online avatar. “Squeeze those muscles in nice and tight.”

My shoulders and upper arms strained the seams, but I managed to slip into the skin tight top. It clung to my abs and molded across the expanse of my pecs. The Boss nodded approval with a smirk. I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them off with Kid Leopard watching appraisingly. Fuck, standing there in boxer briefs with the leading legend of the homoerotic wrestling industry watching me strip made my cock throb. My heart was pounding in my chest as I slipped on the tight black trousers I’d brought with me. “Mmm-hmmm,” The Boss grunted passing approval. “That’ll do just fine.”

While we waited for Drake and Trey to return, Kid Leopard filled me in on the background of this match. It was a special request match for a wealthy fan. The wrestlers were custom ordered, and, to my surprise, so was I. “He insisted,” Kid Leopard assured me. “Trey and the punk, in the ring, no-holds-barred, with blogger Bard as guest referee.” Setting aside the momentary swelling I got from the ego stroke of being in someone’s fantasy line up, I asked what, exactly, you need a referee for in a no-holds-barred wrestling match. “To declare the winner,” The Boss snapped impatiently, clearly bored by my ignorance. The match would be recorded by none other than Kid Leopard himself, for just one pair of eyes to ever see.

 

Trey Dixon

 

When Trey and Drake were ready, Kid Leopard ordered me to climb into the ring as he pulled a small handheld camera up in front of his face. “All right, kiddies, make this a good one!” he shouted. Trey strolled into the ring room first. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Kid Leopard announced from behind the camera, “arriving at 5’10” and 155 pounds, Golden Boy Trey Dixon!” My jaw dropped to the floor. Trey wore the matte yellow wrestling singlet he rocked so sensationally in Gear Wars 4. Holy fuck, it was painted on and edged into every sensationally sexy crack and crevice of his insanely fit body. Honestly, there’s not a spare ounce of anything on his shredded physique. I had to adjust my cock pressing at a painful angle in my tight trousers before Trey had even hopped up to the ring apron. He ducked underneath the top rope and turned to the camera, flexing a double bicep and pursing his lips seductively. Barefoot, bronzed, dirty blond and blue eyed, he was sexier in real life than on video, and I for one would not have been able to imagine him being any sexier than what I enjoyed of him on video. He flexed and preened as Kid Leopard zoomed in on his stunning display of muscle and beauty. When Trey finally concluded the pre-match muscle show, he turned and strolled confidently across the ring, subtly, almost too quickly for me to catch, giving me a sly wink as I openly stared at him. He hopped up and sat his muscled ass across the top turnbuckle in the next corner to the right of the one in which I stood.

 

Drake Marcos

Drake marched into the room with an unmistakable chip on his shoulder. He wore that sexy white singlet with blue and black trim that he sported in Mat Scraps 2, at least until Ray Naylor ripped it off of him and used it to choke him. His pale skin and hairy chest were a stark contrast with his perfectly smooth, bronzed opponent. His lightly hairy legs were noticeably thicker than when I’d felt them squeezing the air out of my lungs a year earlier. Barefoot and babyfaced, Drake’s sweet ass stretching the seat of his white singlet made my cock twitch with the tactile memory of feeling those glutes squeezed in the palm of my hands. Today, the Cheshire Cat refused to spare a half second for a flash of that handsome smile that always turns me on. He also didn’t waste a second for the camera. “And now arriving ringside,” the Boss announced, “at 5’10” and 165 pounds, the Cheshire Cat of wrestling, everyone’s favorite jobber, Drake… Marcoooos!” Drake visibly bristled at being announced as everyone’s favorite jobber. He slid underneath the bottom rope and backed warily into the corner opposite his opponent, refusing to tear his eyes away from anything other than the Golden Boy.

Frankly, I expected a pro wrestling match to be more scripted than this, but I took the bull by the balls and decided to call the competitors into the middle of the ring to give them a lay of the land. They were almost exactly the same height, about 4 inches taller than I am, bumping pecs and staring angrily into each others eyes. “This is what you’ve got to work with today,” I explained, looking up at them. “There are no fucking rules.” I said with a smirk. “Trey, you want to twist his balls off, go for it,” I said with a chuckle. “You want to pull his hair, be my guest. You want to tie him up in the ropes, and take my word for it when I say that’s fun to do with Drake, so, make it so, big boy.” Drake tore his eyes away from his opponent to stare down at me indignantly. Trey also glanced at me with a wry grin. “The winner,” I continued, “will be the first to pin his opponent’s shoulders to the mat for a count of three, or make his opponent tap out, or force a verbal submission. I’d say, ‘fight fair,’ but in this case, fighting fair is for chumps. So…,” I paused for comedic timing and stared back at Drake glowering at me, “…fight fair, Drake.”

Trey chuckled as he turned and strode back toward his corner. I backed quickly out of the way, just in time for Drake to attack his opponent from behind. He closed the distance in a sprint and swung his right knee savagely into Trey’s side, before quickly grabbing the back of his head and charging toward the corner. Trey’s beautiful face was pounded viciously into the top turnbuckle. The bronzed beauty’s knees buckling underneath him made me question if this match might just be over before it started.

Drake was like a dog with a bone. As Trey sagged to his knees, the Cheshire Cat pounded the golden boy’s face into the middle turnbuckle. When Trey collapsed flat out on the mat, Drake mounted his back and pounded his face into the mat. Holy fuck, I’d never seen Drake so vicious or in such total control.

(Continued in Part 3)

Happy New Year 2016 – Part 1

My tradition for many years was to publish some original wrestling fiction here at neverland to ring in a happy New Year. Now, most of the wrestling fiction I’ve written has starred known homoerotic wrestlers, celebrities, male models, etc., but for my New Year’s canon I always indulged in writing myself into the narratives.  Making quick work of one of my New Year’s resolutions, I’m posting a new homoerotic wrestling scenario here over the next few days in serial format.  While everyone involved in this narrative is a real life hunk, let me just clarify that this is a work of fiction. Fans of any of these fine men, cut me a break. It’s all imagination and fun (for me). If your homoerotic wrestling imagination makes you picture this scenario completely differently, don’t send me your hate mail, just sit your ass down and write (and share!) your own original wrestling fiction! And most importantly, have a happy New Year, wrestling fans!

 

Drake Marcos took it hard.

To be honest, no one was more surprised by the outcome of my wrestling match with Drake Marcos than I was. Well, Drake was obviously shocked senseless to find himself on the bitter end of an ass whooping by a mere blogger. But with precious little wrestling experience, I fully expected a homoerotic wrestling pro like Drake to take me to school. The handsome industry insider was famously tutored in the harshest realities of hardcore, low down, balls out grappling by none other than The Boss of BG East himself. Drake wears his spine tingling apprenticeship at the hands of nasty, nefarious, notorious classic heel Kid Leopard like a badge of honor. Seriously, he can’t shut up about being the protege and heir apparent to the living legend. He had me pretty well convinced that I was essentially climbing into the BG East ring with Kid Leopard himself, and as a long-time fan, I’m not ashamed to admit I was entirely intimidated and, perhaps, just a little terrified.
I’ve documented that match elsewhere, so I won’t rehash too many of the glorious details. Well, I can’t help myself but savor at least some of the details again here. Suffice it to say that the first two thirds of that late night session in the BG East ring presented me one of the steepest learning curves of my life. Full disclosure, the Cheshire Cat (as I’m fond of calling him) is significantly younger than I am. He’s also taller. And, as I mentioned, he’s more experienced. So it should be little wonder I was out-hustled and punished hard by Drake as the night wore on. Not that I wanted to be anywhere else in the world than stroking his sensational thighs as they crushed my body. He’s long and lean, but the kid’s got incredibly strong (and sexy) legs. True enough, I was choking on the pain, but reaching around and grabbing that meaty ass, staring down that shit eating grin permanently stretched across his handsome face, I was hardly disappointed with my pro wrestling ring initiation thus far.

The lid was completely blown off, however, when I managed to muscle my way free from yet another bear trap. In an upper body comparison, I’ve got the Cheshire Cat beat bad. So although it took some work, I finally broke free and slipped behind the young pro. I may not have had any significant pro wrestling experience, but when it comes to being intimately familiar with the size and scope of the BG East catalog, I’m fucking world class! I’d studied every Drake Marcos match publicly available. I watched this cocky kid going down in flames time after time, and one thing that even a casual homoerotic wrestling scout will tell you is that Drake Marcos gets off on getting choked. Slipping my big bicep across his throat, I tightened up slowly. And right then and there, I was convinced that this whole match had just taken a 180 degree turn. I knew I had the cocky pro all buttoned up the moment I saw his cock crawling up his lower abdomen, stretching the pouch of those tasty, tight pink briefs.

 

Hanging up the laundry.

Once I knew just where to apply pressure, I played the Cheshire Cat like strumming a guitar. I felt the heat pulsing off of his body, straining underneath me. He was hating it. And he was loving it. He tried to pry arm away from his throat. Not that I couldn’t easily thwart him, but I swear I could feel it in the way his body sagged against me that despite himself, he didn’t want to be free. He wanted to be in my control. He wanted to get dragged to the edge of consciousness. There were spurts of reluctant fight writhing in my arms, but the writing was on the wall. Drake Marcos was all mine.
Again, the photographic evidence of the fun to be had with a barely conscious, completely crushed homoerotic pro wrestler at your mercy is available elsewhere. Hung like dirty laundry from the ring ropes and turnbuckles, I snapped pics with my phone to savor later, and to document for the homoerotic wrestling world the precipitous fall of a rising pro wrestler. Dragging his hot, sweaty body to the middle of the ring, I claimed one last trophy: a close up photo of those pink briefs ripped off his sexy body and shoved down his throat.

 

The best way to silence Drake’s trash talk.

 

Again, no one should be surprised that after everything was said and done, Drake’s bruised ego desperately tried to spin his humiliating defeat. Online, he claimed my pics were photoshopped. One minute, he was trying to convince his astonished army of fans that this crowing blogger had chloroformed him. The next minute, he was arguing that his split personality betrayed him, and all my pictures were nothing more than evidence that he wasn’t in his right mind around the time he was getting tossed around and tapped out.
I admit it. Watching Drake wriggle and writhe on the line was irresistible. I didn’t need to poke him. It wasn’t necessary for me to rub it in, publicly humiliating him in front of all his wrestler buddies and adoring fans on social media. I didn’t have to have such fun at the Cheshire Cat’s expense. It was just such a fucking pleasure.

 

The Boss and his Vice President’s of Pain when I met them during my BG East Pilgrimage in 2012.

Fast forward about a year. I was actually starting to feel sorry for Drake just a little, watching him struggle to come up with some new excuse for how his sweet ass got owned by a blogger. But the biggest surprise of all was getting that email from Kid Leopard, the Boss himself, inviting me to take my infatuation with all things homoerotic wrestling to a whole new level. My besting of his protege clearly hadn’t gone unnoticed. My raging crush on yet another BG East hunk, Trey Dixon, also had not escaped the Boss’ attention. So the Boss had an offer he knew I would be completely incapable of refusing: be a “celebrity” guest referee in a no holds barred ring match between Drake and Trey.

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(Continued in Part 2)

A Year in the Life

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With 2015 coming to a close, it’s time to reminisce. I published 100 posts this year, and readers added up an astonishing 493,000 page views in 2015. Most readers (by far) find their way to the home page of neverland, tracking the most recently published posts from day to day. Fascinatingly, the second most viewed page was the About neverland page, which sort of warms my heart because it’s text intensive (so you weren’t just chasing pics) and, well, all about me and my philosophy of blogging. By far the most popular pic clicked on this year was of hot, hairy chested Damien Rush crunching out a most-muscular pose with his masked undoing hovering ominously in the background.

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Damien’s most muscular grabbed readers most.

Readers also clicked most on my review of the Gazebo Grapplers 17 match pitting jungle boy Lorenzo Lowe against hot jobber Tim Messina. You also seemed to be as infatuated with the pulse pounding 2015 debut of big, bulging, beautiful, blond, blue-eyed beefcake Biff Farrell, clicking directly through to my adoring review of his introduction to the homoerotic wrestling audience in Lon Dumont’s Wrestler Spotlight DVD. Of course, these stats are systematically biased toward older posts (you’ve had less time to rack up clicks on December posts, for example).  Which makes me think that my September review of Hunkbash 15, although only the 3rd most viewed blog post of the year, may actually turn out to be the hotttest click over time. And I can certainly understand why. I’ve nearly worn out my DVD of Logan Vaughn’s divine, titanic thighs squeezing every ounce of resistance out of every inch of supplicant-in-training Trey Dixon. There are tastes du jour and then there are exquisite, timeless dishes that we’ll be savoring for years to come, and I have to believe that Trey crushed into sweaty, slack jawed worship at the bare feet of Logan is going to be a keeper.

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Timeless!

Neverland readers originate from across the globe. English-speaking United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada are, in order, the top ranking origins of the most readers. Germany comes in fourth place with over 13,000 page views, edging out Australia. France, Japan and Mexico round out the top 8 countries of origin of homoerotic wrestling fans checking out the latest here at neverland.

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

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

Those of you using search engines to find your way to these pages typically know what you’re looking for, most of the time using keywords “sidelineland” or “neverland wrestling.”  Fascinating me to no end, the next most common search engine keyword earning a click to neverland is “David Muir shirtless.”  Google it, and sure enough, neverland is ranked #1. Again, consider my heart strangely warmed by the newsboy love that clearly many of you share with me.  Those of you searching for a particular wrestling crush sending you this way were most likely to be seeking out Lane Hartley or Lon Dumont.

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Favorite moment #5: Gio plays for our team!

As for my favorite moments of 2015, one of the most fabulous reveals that I celebrated on the pages of this blog was my current top newsboy crush, Gio Benitez, coming out to his adoring public via Instagram photos of sunning his magnificent muscles next to his then-boyfriend Tommy DiDario. When he then documented his Paris marriage proposal via social media, getting down on one knee (Tommy said yes, of course!), a newsboy homoerotic wrestling lover champion tag team was born in my imagination. Every time I see Gio’s gargantuan biceps straining the seams of his suit coats as he reports on GMA, I no longer need to imagine what those hot, bulging muscles look like shirtless, thanks to Gio sharing the wealth and proudly showing off his, and his fiancee’s fabulous muscles in 2015. I’m still waiting for my wedding invitation.

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But seriously…

One of those little moments that probably blew right past most readers but tickled my crotch just right this year was a snarky little exchange I had with none other than BG East Boss himself, Kid Leopard back in February. In my relentless pouring over and critiquing the nominees for BG East’s 2014 Bestie Awards, I adamantly announced that Kirk Donahue did not deserve to be in the running for Best Ass. You know what a smart ass I am, so of course I poured it on thick, speculating that the eventual winner of the category ought to bend Kirk over his knee and spank that adorable, yet not outstanding ass until he confesses who he fucked to get the nomination. Well, my smart assedness earned me a firm, slighty chiding message from Kid Leopard, who I assume is nominator in chief, explaining that I was completely off base in my disregard of Kirk’s award worthy butt. Getting a virtual slap on the wrist from the Boss both tickled and aroused me so much that I promptly published a public service announcement clarifying that, with additional persuasive evidence offered by the Boss, Kirk’s ass is totally nominatible.  Of course, I was still a smart ass. And I still say Kirk’s ass is sensationally fuckable, but nowhere near deserving of a top 5 ranking in the exceedingly hot field of BG East butts.  But anytime Kid Leopard calls me into his office to slap me around a bit, it’s going to be on my list of favorite moments.

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

My third favorite moment of 2015 was a little self-generated pride and joy I felt in getting my ass back to what really started neverland in the first place: writing homoerotic wrestling fiction. In August I took the flimsy excuse of Details Magazine identifying their top 31 male models, to write up a first round of homoerotic pretty boy wrestling fiction. I have yet to complete the tournament, though Sean O’Pry, John Halls, and Jarrod Scott more than ably earned their way into the semi-finals.  What may not have been as apparent on your side of the screen was the pleasure I had in getting back to exercising my homoerotic wrestling imagination. I’ve gotten back to the keyboard several times this fall, and I anticipate 2016 getting me back to the online homoerotic wrestling fiction publishing business again.  I’ll keep you updated.

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

My second most favorite moment in blogging this year was the feast of homoerotic wrestler Halloween costumes I got to enjoy, and share, in early November.  Ty Alexander, Kayden Keller and Drake “Don’t-Call-Me-Jobber” Marcos partied hearty on Halloween this year and gifted you and me some hot shots of their sensationally sexy superhero costumes. By way of introducing himself to me, and by extension, you, adorably hot red-headed rookie twink Charlie Evans also sent some shots my way of his Iceman costume for Halloween this year. As soon as homoerotic wrestling studs send me unsolicited (or at least, lightly solicited) photos of themselves roaming the real world, I’m aroused and the moment is indelibly etched onto the list of most memorable moments.

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Man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams

My top, very most favorite moment in blogging for 2015 took place in the comments section.  Casual readers may not think to check the comments, but you do so at the risk of missing hot gems every so often. Such was the case when I posted one of my long, adoring, full throttle fanboy infatuation pieces on my long-time homoerotic wrestler crush, Scott Williams. Scott shared his appreciation that his fans are still gagging for it, assuring us that he is “still keeping in shape and wrestling privately here in Boston and when I travel…always will love it and will always make you proud on the mats or in the ring!” He signed his comment “Sending bearhugs – Scott Williams.”  I have since seen glimpses and snippets of evidence (follow the likes of Ty Alexander on FB, and you’ll see what I mean) that Scott is, indeed, still climbing into the ring, and he remains incredibly, profoundly, astonishingly sexy fit still today. I think it’s a crime against homoerotic wrestling fandom that Scott is keeping his wrestling work out of the publicly consumable sphere these days, and I think you should, at this very moment, send an email to BG East pleading with them to convince this classic hunk to cum out in a new release in 2016. In the meantime, that virtual bearhug from one of my longest running wrestling crushes still keeps me warm at night.

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Scott takes full possession of favorite moment #1.

So, 2016. I’m hoping it’s a year for getting back to what has been the most fun for me over the past 6 years. Be it resolved that I will publish homoerotic wrestling fiction in the coming year.  Be it also resolved that I will snag some fresh new wrestler interviews, because the lack of interviews in 2015 was, in retrospect, tragic from my perspective. I’ve also been not-so-subtly angling for an opportunity to be your Every-Joe-Fan at an honest-to-the-homoerotic-wrestling-gods taping of a match, and I see no reason why 2016 shouldn’t be the year that that invitation doesn’t show up in my mailbox. Those are a few of my hopes and dreams for the New Year. Hope yours is hot, sweaty, and includes some OTK backbreakers.

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…to you and yours.

Super Sexy

I knew there were a lot of you sexy beasts dressing up/down last weekend.  My sincere gratitude to some boys of BG East who sent along photos of their super sexy styles in honor of Halloween. I forgive them for not inviting me to join what looks like a fabulous party, only because I was flat on my back and in bed all weekend (which sounds so much more enjoyable than it was).

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The Flash (Drake Marcos), Green Arrow (Ty Alexander), and Aqua Man (reigning HWOTM Kayden Keller) go out on the town to party…

This raises for me the ages old dilemma of wondering who would cum out on top if superheroes were to suddenly turn on one another.  In this case, Aqua Man, Green Arrow and the Flash throw down in the middle of the dance floor. Whose super sexiness and wrestling skills win the night?

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Drake & Ty appear to have made up since their bitter-to-the-cum-slapped-end erotic grudge match in Babyface Brawl X. It was D who reigned victorious on the mat that day, but does this friendliness signal a 2-on-1 in store for big bad Kayden?
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Of course, we know the score with regard to the 1-on-1 ring history between Ty & Kayden, as well. It was the Wolf who smacked Ty’s ass into line back in Raunchy Rookie’s 7. If Drake joins the fray on Ty’s side, though…
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I’ve always argued Ty is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, though. He hsd plots  and schemes worked out 3 and 4 steps ahead.
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But, holy shit, Kayden Keller is one big, bad, beautiful HWOTM! And he wears glasses, which instantly increases my attraction to him by a multiple of 10.
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I worry about blogger bait Drake in this scenario. Since owning Ty’s ass, Drake suffered brutal, bitter, publicly documented  humiliation in the clutches of a “mere” blogger. And looks at Ty’s eyes. He’s got plans. Don’t turn your back, Cheshire Cat/Flash.
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On the other hand, Ty is never one to miss an opportunity to turn his bubble butt backside to the camera.
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I have it on good authority (i.e., Ty)  that Ty designed all 3 super sexy costumes for the three super amigos this year. Which, knowing his eye for fashion, is hardly a surprise. Of course, as sexy as the costumes were, you have to admit, he had fabulously sexy raw material to work with. Thanks for sharing, boys. May I suggest next year a sizzlingly sexy Superman blogger addition to the crew?

Treasure Below the Waist

Summer ushers in many things I enjoy. Warm, sunny skies, outdoor events, fireflies, long awaited SCOTUS decisions. But the one thing I anticipate with the most eagerness each thaw is that tipping point when hunks drop trou and start showing off their legs. Too little attention is paid to thick, powerful, beautiful legs on men. Even in homoerotic wrestling photography, the convention of cropping wrestler images off at the waist or mid-thigh is such a waste! So here are a few luscious wrestlers showing off most of their best angles below the waist.

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Mike Columbo’s gargantuan quads about to crush Derek D’Amore in Fantasymen 21.
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A secret obsession of mine, Troy Milan showing off his stripper hunk bod before getting wasted by gorgeous Corey Young in BG East’s Fantasymen 18.
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Johnny Modesto’s monster quads and Brad Rochelle’s sculpted calves are just 2 outstanding reasons to enjoy Matmen 16.
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Mouthwatering legs for days when Chad Weston took on Troy Baker in Undagear 8.
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That is clearly Brian Baxter’s hot, sexy legs on the right, but who is the beefcake on the left?
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Two of the most beautiful bodies on a collision course when Rio Garza and Kid Karisma compared quads in Undagear 15.
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Although it’s true I left the Cheshire Cat stripped and stunned last fall, I am the first in line to adore his gorgeous, long legs. And trust me, those puppies are fucking powerful!
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Goldenboy Austin Cooper shows off his thickly muscled legs in this promo shot for his upcoming Muscle Rookies release at BG East.
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The Black Muscle God, Darius, is ready to crush bones between those massive thighs in his upcoming release in Muscle Rookies.

And the winner is…

The awards show that turns my crank this season is of course, the announcement of the BG East Best of 2014 polls.  Well, technically there is no “show,” although I think there should be. Hot contenders show up on the red carpet. Winners announced. Rip ‘n’ strip wrestling breaks out all over the place. Me, with a gallon of baby oil, standing nearby to keep things moving along nicely.  Short of that, let’s take a look at the matches that rose to the top of the rankings of BG East fans and voters.

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For sexiest match, voters swung toward X-Fights 38, with Drake Marcos and Lorenzo Lowe taking it all wonderfully too personally. I don’t have any problem at all with this victory, even though I finally decided it was Trey “Oscar” Dixon and Skrapper who demanded my vote. There’s a major bitter aftertaste to X-Fights 38, with Drake and LJL slapping down hard, angry resentment from start to finish, so voters seem to have a taste for the passionately punished grudge angle on for sexy this year.  I totally get that.

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Best Mat Battle was awarded to yet another LJL match, this one against Cameron Matthews in Submissions 9.  I could see this coming from a mile way, even though my personal favorite was Drake and Mason’s brutal humiliation session in Passion & Punishment. Cam and LJL are first rate grapplers, stunning contortionist, and damn fine hunks that are a delight to watch, particularly with a liberal coat of sweat dripping off of them.  A second Best Mat Battle honor in a row for Cameron, who took the title with Eli Black last year.  Total winners.

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Voters picked Demolition 17 for Best Ring Match, with Guido Genatto crushing delectable Jake Jenkins, this year’s (and last year’s, and the year before that) Best Babyface. I’m not surprised my pick, Tag Team Torture 17 didn’t take it, but I am surprised the crowd when this direction. Unlike the best mat battle winner, Demolition 17 was total one-way brutality, which I always assume won’t speak to a significant segment of the voters. I think Z-Man & Kip Sorell have got to be picking their jaws up off the ground to be runners up for this one.

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On the other hand, Best Squash winners Jonny Firestorm and Nicholas Rush for their Demo 17 match should just prove never, ever bet against Jonny Firestorm (or his fans). I called Jonny & Nicholas total dark horse contenders in this field, and the majority propelled them to the top of the heap.  This is a third Best Squash victory in a row for Jonny who seems to own this category as commandingly as he owns his babyface victims.  Which again begs the question for me why, oh why, was he not in contention for Best Heel this year?!  I also find all sorts of mixed signals about Demo 17’s Guido v JJ match winning for Best Ring and Best Submissions, but Demo 17’s Jonny v Nicholas pulling out Best Squash.  Fascinating, perplexing, but again, I say, another reminder to NOT best against Jonny Firestorm.

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As I just mentioned, Demo 17’s Guido v JJ again won in the Best Submissions category.  As I’ve also mentioned, I’m not sure about exactly what this category is measuring, but I am surprised that this was the match that won.  Guido’s match in Demo 18 against newbie Kirk Donahue featured far more terrifying, humiliating, screaming submissions than this one. Cameron and LJL surely won best mat battle for the incredibly acrobatic and insanely hot and dangerous submissions both accomplished submission wrestlers slapped down on each other. And Wet & Wild 7 had submission flying between 5 different hot, wet hunks, including my personal favorite, Mason’s lips crushed against Trey’s balls poolside in a face-to-crotch headscissors.  But Guido & JJ?  Fantastic match, but I’m just out of step with the majority/plurality on this one.

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Best Liplock was awarded to Gabriel Ross & Christian Taylor in Wrestleshack 18.  I called this as an incredibly tight field, which I honestly found completely impossible to handicap. There wasn’t a loser among them, though I was blown over hardest by Drake & Ty in Babyface Brawl X and Trey and Skip in Gear Wars 4. However, I’ve never failed to dehydrate whenever I’ve watched Gabriel or Christian in action, and there’s something appropriate about BG East’s resident kisser-king, Christian, taking home this title.  Perhaps the key here is that this was Gabriel’s third taste of this title in a row, having won 2 years ago with his lips attached to Drake Marcos, and last year again with Kid Karisma. Fans clearly love watching Gabriel suck face, and I’d give a kidney to lock lips with Christian.

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Looks like Guido & JJ nearly grabbed Best Match Overall, but they were runners up to Cameron & LJL’s Best Mat Battle of the year, Submissions 9.  There wasn’t a Best Match Overall category in 2012, but last year this award went to the Aryx Quinn and Alexi Adamov’s Ring Revenge.  I’m sort of excited to see this award getting doled out to both mat and ring matches over the years.  And I predicted Cam and LJL would take this title, despite my tastes lying with Drake v Mason and Trey v Skrapper.

The Demolition series, and particularly Demo 17, certainly was the big winner this year, with 3 victories.  Lorenzo “Jake” Lowe also has to be seen as a major league player for starring roles in Best Mat Battle, Sexiest Match, and Best Match Overall, despite being inexplicably absent from the individual wrestler awards. The other major story here seems to me to be the disconnect between best individual wrestler award winners (particularly Best Heel, Best Jobber, Best Debut) and the match awards.

One thing for sure, it was a stunningly hot, incredibly entertaining year in BG East wrestling! Handicapping the field and now going back to review the winners and losers is reminding me all over again what a sensational body of work BG East produced from start to finish in 2014.  Congratulations to all the winners, and if any of the losers need some full contact blogger consolation, just let me know. I’ll be happy to soothe, stroke, or knead out any sore spots you’re nursing. And if you haven’t fully appreciated all of these fine homoerotic wrestling matches, consider taking BG East up on the offer to send them your way for 25% off if you order before the end of the month!