Pint-Sized

 

I went to college at a very, very small liberal arts school with a very, very unsuccessful Division III football team. They sucked. A lot. Literally, years went by without a single victory. Not that I was involved in the program, but it was no secret that recruiting for the football team was a major bitch. No scholarships. No pro career prospects. Very little hope of ever tasting victory before they graduated or, even more likely, they’d burn through eligibility while hanging on by the skin of their teeth to skimming by in their academics and finally just walking away to dig ditches. Our football team literally shrunk while I was enrolled in college, each year’s freshmen getting smaller, while bigger players went elsewhere. My junior year, the football team recruited a wide receiver who was, I kid you not, 5’2″ tall. Thing is, though, he was fucking fast, with big, powerful thighs, an exceptionally stellar muscled ass, and gorgeous, Tom Cruise-ish good looks. Despite their abysmal record, I suddenly took an interest in football that year.

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5’5″, 140 lbs Drake Wild bears down on 5’11”, 200 lbs Derek Fox in Pro Sex Fight 13

This pint-sized wide receiver with big league glutes and a baby face starred in many a homoerotic wrestling fantasy in my imagination. Just writing about him now is making me hard. There was just so much fabulous potential wrapped up in his tight, taut, petite jock body. In the never ending erotic wrestling tournament in my head, the little wide receiver inevitably got muscle bullied around the ring by bigger guys. I always pictured him getting picked up and thrown from corner to corner. Tall, ripped, cocky hunks (typically from our extremely successful and wildly popular basketball team) would, in the no holds barred wrestling matches in my collegiate imagination, deliver a barrage of high impact, high altitude power moves on him, gorilla presses, scoop slams, one-handed choke slams, spine-tingling suplexes that catapulted his magnificent, muscled ass from corner to corner.

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5’6″, 160 lbs Denny Cartier breaks big 6’2″, 240 lbs Joe Robbins down to size in Catch Weight 2

Rereading my interview with Charlie Evans and perusing several of the comments to that interview remind me of that hot, gorgeous little wide receiver firecraker with a supremely fuckable ass. As I’ve mentioned several times lately, the difference in size itself became erotically charged for me. But far beyond just visuals, I crushed hard on the little stud because of the drama of a vastly undersized hottie audaciously running out onto the field and climbing into the pro wrestling ring in my imagination (through the bottom two ropes, of course) and staring fearlessly up at the overwhelming odds towering above.

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5’7″, 150 lbs Bolt stares way up at 6’2″, 265 lbs Brute in Custom Series 33 from Thunder’s Arena

 

I was relatively agnostic about my all-time favorite wide receiver’s win-loss record in his homoerotic wrestling career in my mind. Like the very best babyfaces, he was always dangerous and perpetually vulnerable at the same time. I distinctly remember him getting his jock strap ripped to shreds and having his rock hard muscle cheeks plowed hard by a particular, hot, muscled black power forward. I also have clear memories of him turning the tide on a certain aloof, blond, aristocratic shooting guard who was schoolboy pinned and force fed the beer can cock of the smirking, flexing wide receiver. Win or lose, he was a favorite object of my homoerotic wrestling imagination not despite his stature, but because of it.  And not just because of his stature, but because of the inherent drama of an ambitious, earnest, hard working little stud throwing himself headlong at the big boys.

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5’9″, 165 lbs Cody  Cummings is jerked around by 6’4″, 220 lbs Zeke West in Mat Muscle Match 1

 

As I told Charlie, I continue to nurture a crush for David vs. Goliath homoerotic wrestling matches. I like big vs. little matches where the differential is massive, the odds are long, and the action is brutal. I love seeing audacious little studs hoisted over head and pounded into the mat. I love seeing them take every ounce as brutal an assault as any heavyweight and then keep peeling their battered, petite, bite-sized bodies off the mats and defying the big boys demanding that they submit in body and soul.

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Fearless 5’10”, 132 lbs Billy Lodi is just barely bested by 6’2″, 206 lbs Mitch Colby in Catch Weight 6

While I don’t care for many matches in which one competitor is just furniture, getting moved and manipulated and owned effortlessly, a match in which a seriously undersized wrestler is defiantly sucking down a mountain of abuse is in a squash-class of its own for me. If the little guy walks in with his head up, clenches his jaw in the face of fate, and demands respect by just surviving a magnificent beating, I will so get off on that just like I did when I staged wide receiver getting his sensational ass tagged in the middle of the ring by that power forward.

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5’7″, 150 lb Bolt momentarily schools 6′, 255 lbs Brian Cage in Ring Wars 21

However, I think my hardest David vs. Goliath fantasies flip that script with a vengeance. When the audacious little underdog battles back against the barrage of muscle and mass, now that is fucking hot. When he starts accumulating riding time on a thoroughbred 50 pounds bigger, my adrenaline pumps into overdrive. And when I pictured my pretty little wide receiver slapping down a big, cocky all-American who’s never tasted defeat before, when he wears the big boy the fuck out, slapping that beer can in Goliath’s shocked, humiliated face, then little David is fucking king of my world.

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5’7″, 120 lbs Charlie Evans shoved into the ceiling by 5’8″, 175 lbs Morgan Cruise in Gorilla Press 1 by MDW

 

I hold heartedly agree with the implication of Charlie’s argument that every homoerotic wrestling roster needs the little guys. Ever roster needs the underwear models and the bodybuilders. Ever roster should have raw edged street punks and square jawed All-American heroes.  They should all have daddy’s little rich boys and ripped, raging, beautifully endowed sex brawlers. The industry should invest in recruiting hard edged pros and hot, inexperienced nerds. It should put up flat footed pornboys and fierce, lanky, long-distance runners. Personally I’m longing for a snarling radical fairy doing battle with a white collar stock broker on the homoerotic wresting down low.

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5’10”, 150 lbs Skrapper is crushed by 5’11”, 240 lbs Brook Stetson in Catch Weight 2

The homoerotic pro wrestling industry is as susceptible to the tyranny of the capitalist market place as anything else, of course, so I certainly understand when, occasionally, it seems like everyone climbing through those ropes looks and moves and suffers alike. But as someone who has watched a TON of homoerotic wrestling (not even counting that running channel in my imagination of round the clock homopro), I’m always longing for producers to fill those niches Charlie and I talked about. Tickle those erotic fantasies we didn’t even know we loved. Populate our screens and imaginations with the great diversity of dramas, bodies, races, ages, etc., that makes oppressively straight real life bearable.

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Little 5’8″, 140 lbs Richie Douglas makes all the little guys proud against 6’1″, 170 lbs Goren Ford in Sunshine Shooters 8

And most definitely, gives us pint-sized baby face heroes audacious enough to climb into the ring with beasts a foot taller and 80 pounds heavier, and to tell us a compelling, seat of our pants, crotch-tugging homoerotic wrestling drama that reflects real life writ larger, more erotic, and completely improbable, but yet, speaking to our real lives.

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5’10”, 156 lbs TAK is dwarfed by 6’3″, 240 lbs Freak in Mat Rats 63 by Thunder’s Arena

And now, excuse me. I need to go dig out an old college yearbook.

Unmatched Pairs

I like not only a wide variety of bodies and builds and characters and gear and ages and races and ethnicities and scenarios in homoerotic wrestling, but I also like the combination of contrasts.  Let me be clear, I have nothing against hunks squaring off against similarly fashioned hunks. But I’ve long experienced some special kink bonus about mismatches, or, more generically, unmatched pairs. For example, there’s something that turns me on exponentially about wrestlers in entirely different types of gear. One in street clothes, the other in pro trunks, for example, or one in an earnest amateur singlet and the other in a stripper thong. I’m not entirely sure why, but fuck, yes, that contrast cranks my cock with just that much more enthusiasm. It’s also relatively rare, I find. So much more often, opponents are not only dressed similarly, but even dressed in identical gear choices, just in different colors.

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The Bigger They Are… stars 6’3″ Niko Knight towering a half foot taller than 5’9″ Cody Cummings

A more common unmatched pairing, which often lends itself to a mismatched pair as well, is the big vs. little throwdown. There are, of course, many ways to measure size, but on my mind today is the tall/short dichotomy. Watching a pair of hotties face off, when one opponent’s nose basically comes up to his opponent’s sternum, turn me on like nobody’s business.

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Cody makes the big man his bitch!

And I’m not just talking about squashes, where big guys manhandle and abuse guys 3 weight classes below them from start to finish. I only occassionally tuck in to a big bully squash like that, but a particularly fine vintage for me is the big vs. little pairing that turns out delightfully competitive, or perhaps even tilted toward a particularly skilled little guy cutting a big man down to size.

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5’5″ Jonny Firestorm stares up the half foot in height separating him from 5’11” Brook Stetson in Catch Weight 4

Perhaps it has to do with blurring the lines, this extra excitement I have for the unmatched pairs. In straight-up competitive sports, there are weight classes that control the narrative, that offer the illusion that the ultimate outcome is indicative of the better man, the skilled or more determined (or luckier) combatant. An unmatched pair of contrasting sizes may acknowledge that the tale of the tape in homoerotic pro wrestling is almost never about fair play and the raw measure of strength and skill.

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In Catch Weight 5, 6’2″ Joe Robbins nearly has more than he can handle in dangerous pro Paul Hudson, standing 7 inches shorter at 5’7″

There’s attitude and lust, sadistic impulse and desire to dominate. I may still expect the smaller man to get outmuscled and manhandled, but pro wrestling has always relied on a suspension of disbelief, and when, through cunning or skill or an equalizing shot to the balls, the little guy puts a convincing hurt on his goliath, I don’t just go with it, I scream full steam ahead!

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In Rough & Ready 69, Z-Man (reported elsewhere to be 5’10”) needs climbing gear just to look 6’7″ MXD in the eye. That’s a difference of 9 inches! 

Particularly when it’s competitive, I definitely don’t mind it when a hot bundle of compact muscle gets a beating from his taller opponent, either. I’ve mentioned in the past how, every so often, a squash turns sour for me if it comes across as just bullying. But if the scenario sells legitimate suspense about the ultimate outcome of the match, I’ve certainly found myself getting off to a big man putting a hurt on a pint size muscleman probably as frequently as vice versa.

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Z-Man may get altitude sickness hanging out in that suspended choke!

I’m not sure if I’ve come to any more clarity about my delight in a mismatched tall vs. short homoerotic wrestling match. But I know what I like, and things pump harder and hotter for me when a big guy and a little guy lock up, thrown down, and, especially, when they the winner (whichever part he played) sexually lords it over his vanquished foe.

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5’11” Derek Fox thinks he’s got petite 5’5″ Drake Wild in hand in Pro Sex Fight 13.
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Turns out, it’s the other way around!

 

 

It’s Political

My interest in professional football has primarily centered on a three-way ring wrestling fantasy in which Aaron Rodgers, Jordy Nelson, and Clay Matthews beat the living shit out of each other (obviously including extensive double-teaming by Aaron and Jordy), until they’ve all been stripped out of their trunks and the winner gets a blow job from one loser while he racks the other across his gargantuan shoulders (yep, you can pretty much guess who’s who). Actually following a season has been outside of my frame of reference for well over a decade, and actually paying attention to draft day has frankly never been on my radar. But it was hard not to notice Michael Sam getting drafted by the Rams and sucking face with his boyfriend in celebration. The kiss seemed a tad forced and uncomfortably choreographed to me. Nevertheless, it was hot.  For me.  Others were clearly offended. There were apparently the predictable junior high level “ewwwwws” from the un-self-reflected narcissists privileged to remain far too long in angst-ridden adolescent ignorance and knee jerk self-defensiveness around their own secret same-sex fantasies. There was the wildly hypocritical “shield my baby’s eyes” indignation from the same mothers who blissfully see no irony in wanting more guns in their children’s schools while earnestly believing that witnessing g-rated affection between consenting adults will scar their offspring permanently. And there’s the “homosexual agendaists” who whip themselves in sackcloth because of the “politicization” of sport, and sports television, and masculinity itself.  Whatever it means for football or football fans or sports television, the kerfuffle highlights the simple truth that persists regardless of where you stand: the personal is political. Oh, and two men kissing is sexy.

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Wrestleshack 18
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Pro Sex Fight 10
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X-Fights 35
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Pro Sex Fight 4
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Pro Tag Team Sex Battle 1
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Raunchy Rookies 7
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Passion and Punishment 1
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Lockerroom Sex Encounter
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Wrestle Shack 18
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Gazebo Grapplers 16

Hump Day

While I sort of despise the use of the phrase “hump day,” I have to admit today feels like a classic hump day.  Grinding hips, anticipatory pleasure, the fun of friction… yeah, I’m feeling it today.  Sort of like these studs…

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Drake Wild gets into the spirit, mounted atop Tyler St. James’ gorgeously muscled hump in Pro Sex Fight 10.
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Aptly named Gold Shaft wears down the crevices in Glacier Blue in Masked Mayhem 11.
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Immanently humpable Gabriel Ross makes the most out of long, lean, flexible Christian Taylor’s hot body, working a lip lock/hump combo in Wrestle Shack 18.

Thank Your Lucky Stars Boys

I’m sure I was probably too harsh a couple of days ago when I took poor twink Hunter James to task for not enjoying his muscle worship session with Braden Charron nearly enough in Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Oil Hunks 2. Muscle Master Kevin himself had to comment that I probably got the wrong end of the stick, mistaking Hunter’s deer-in-the-headlights-nervousness with a lack of enthusiasm. Fair enough. It got me thinking about point-of-view. POV in a well-told story typically takes the reader into the scenario in some relatable way. The character from who’s POV the story unfolds is identifiable and comprehensible to the reader. We may not exactly embrace them, but sometimes the truly masterful story is the one that sucks us into the POV of someone we might otherwise think is incomprehensibly other to us (hello, Dexter).  Like Hunter James in OH2, there’s a play on POV in many homoerotic wrestling products that pit a man of pure fantasy, ripped from the cover of a physique mag, unattainable like a star in the heavens, and pits him against an opponent who is relatable to the average Joe wrestling fan. The drama unfolds with the majority of viewers squarely in the back pocket of the average Joe, the Everyman. He may win or lose, compete or cave, but the story unfolds with us securely experiencing the scene from the POV of the boy who’s got to be thanking his lucky stars to get thrown into the deep end of the pool to swim with the gods for a brief moment in time.

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Okay that’s certainly a look of pleasure on Hunter’s face when he obediently peels Braden out of his trunks.

Hunter James being dominated and “forced” to oil up and admire a naked Braden Charron is a case in point. Hunter is not a physique star. I’m not saying he’s not a handsome little piece of meat, but the contrast between his lean, undefined, attainable body and the bulging, tanned, impeccably groomed beauty of Braden is a contrast that seems to almost inevitably shove most of us into the POV of Hunter. That’s probably why I’m so harsh on him. I think of myself, briefly, vicariously, as him. I’d dig my fingers deep into those glutes when Braden demands that I spread baby oil across his ass, so when Hunter demurely paints on a paper thin coat by barely making contact with that ass, I want to slap the twink around. That’s NOT my POV, damn it. Enjoy it! Play with it. Thank your lucky stars and then dive in with both feet and celebrate the phenomenal physique standing there naked in front of you demanding your adoration.

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Randy Dowell looks like he’s staring into the face of a Greek god as he kneels at the feet of Mark Merino.

I’m overemphasizing the attainability aspect of the Everyman, I’m sure. I’m not saying that a wrestler can’t look hot and still carry off the role of selling the average Joe thanking his lucky stars. Take Randy Dowell, for example, who in Wrestle Worship 2 had the stunning good luck to not only worship both Mark Merino and Stan Greer, but to watch, in awe, as Mark and Stan battled with one another over who’s hunky body Randy should worship last. The plain, cold truth is that Randy Dowell is a hot, handsome hunk in his own right. He’s not nearly as massive as Mark or Stan, but he’s fit, hard, and handsome as hell. But its context and sell that make him work as our eyes and ears (and mouth and nose and especially hands) in the ring, with the DVD promo letting us know that Randy is a fanboy who pelted BG East with a flood of pleas to get to meet gorgeous Mark in person. And Randy is thanking his lucky stars over and over, enthralled, enraptured, turned on like a light switch and hitting every mark that a muscle fan would insist on hitting when faced with the smorgasbord of beef set in front him.

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Randy Stanton may not take possession of Mr. Joshua, but on behalf of us all, he gets an appreciative, lingering grope in of Mr. J’s amazingly hot bod.

Another Randy, Randy Stanton, similarly is in possession of a hot, fit, lean bod all his own, but the handsome hunk is absolutely salivating when he strolls into the BG East mat room behind none other than Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!). Again, context builds this narrative every bit as effectively as Randy’s awestruck and truly awesome sell. The match description explains that Mr. J is playing with fire, letting himself get picked up by star-struck Randy and offering up full possession of Mr. J’s phenomenal physique should Randy have what it takes to own it. Holy hell, what a concept! What a cocky sell both of Mr. J’s gargantuan, mammoth, oversized, mouthwatering massive ego (you thought I was going to say something else), as well as transforming hottie Randy S. into, well, you and me, another guy dizzied by Mr. J’s gorgeousness and slack jawed at the wide open opportunity to get his adoring hands all over that body, heart pumping with the possibility of tagging Mr. J’s ass and, more importantly, unleashing the beast that Mr. J infamously smuggles down the front of his drawers.

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That average Joe Drake Wild is about to live the fantasy of so many of us, climbing to the top of Tyler St. James and planting his flag for all mere mortal homoerotic wrestling fans everywhere.

Can-Am pulled off a similar motif in their recent release of Pro Sex Fight 10.  In this case, it’s much less about the context and the narrative off camera, and built almost entirely on the stunning, striking contrast between the two sex fighters, Drake Wild and Tyler St. James.  Tyler is a fantasyman like few others. Tanned, impeccably toned, beautifully blue-eyed Tyler is posted at 6’2″ and around 247 pounds, while lithe, lean, pale Drake is reported to be somewhere in the vicinity of 5’4″ and a buck and a quarter or so. That alone sucks me into that ring irresistibly entranced by the David v Goliath implications, but even more so by the fantasyman v lean, brooding mini-twink. Visually, I’ve seen Drake’s sort out at the bars on plenty of occasions, including the attitude and the Napolean-complex-will-fuck-you-up-for-real stance. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a heavenly vision quite like Tyler in real life, much less had the opportunity to climb into the ring, call him on his shit, and both figuratively and quite literally fuck him up.

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Mark Nelson gets exactly what he wants from Brooklyn Bodywrecker, including the slap on the face as he kneels at the feet of one of the most notorious heel daddies to have entered the ring.

My final example of a thank-your-lucky-stars boy who pulls this motif off persuasively is Mark Nelson’s fanboy meets his worst nightmare/fondest fantasy Brooklyn Bodywrecker in Demolition 3. Another fanboy granted his fondest fantasy, Mark is sucking down the humiliation and punishment of BBW like a parched bedouin in the desert. The tension of physical domination, of terror, of the battle of bodies and wills is no less present, and Mark is another hunky hottie, but the sell is all about the point of view of the average Joe who comes face to face with a real, life, towering homoerotic wrestling god.

Who’s your favorite Everyman wrestler and in what match?

Davids and Goliaths

Lately, I’ve been drawn repeatedly to a few matches across different producers that keep calling me back. Suddenly, this afternoon, my mind abruptly saw an extremely obvious pattern that I was missing. I couldn’t see the forest for the trees (or the tree trunk thighs). Although it didn’t occur to me initially, each of these infatuation matches of mine has a quite apparent common factor: David vs Goliath.

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Naked Kombat’s Doug “the Destroyer” Acre (5’6″, 150 lbs) stares up at Marcus “Titan” Ruhl (5’11”, 210 lbs).

Credit where due, it was Naked Kombat’s description for their Wednesday new release that mentioned David vs Goliath, which was, in turn, what made it click in my mind that I’ve been tokin’ off of catchweight competitions hard lately. Like somewhere around the 3rd season of Lost, I’m no longer even trying to keep up with the narrative of NK’s “Summer Smackdown” tournament, which was bizarre from the start because it was apparently starring 10 men (in a single elimination tournament…. hmmm, math, people), 2 of which apparently had bys until the semi-finals, at which point the final round would be a tag team match. What the hell?  When I saw that this week’s match was Marcus Ruhl facing Doug Acre, the holes in the plot didn’t matter to me anymore. A month ago I called this match, predicting that Doug Acre was precisely the giant killer who could fell the mighty Titan.

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At the end of round 1, they’re almost even, but holy shit is Doug making the mighty beast work!  Sweat is pouring off of Marcus like a waterfall! In round 2, Doug starts to open a lead, primarily banking off of winded Marcus seriously slowing down. The final score after all three wrestling rounds gives Doug a convincing and, as far as I’m concerned, well earned upset victory over the mountain of muscle Marcus.

marcus3I don’t know if I’ve ever been quite as thrilled by an NK pony ride as I am to watch Doug use his newfound beast of burden for a leisurely lap. When asked in the post match debrief for his thoughts on the match, Doug’s mouth just gapes open for a moment before nervously chuckling and answering, “Damn! He’s a big guy!” Where it counts, Doug, you’re even bigger!  And, as I promised back when I called this match last month, Doug pounding Marcus’ defeated ass in a pool of sweat is now my screensaver!

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Can-Am’s Drake Wild (5’4″) stands in the shadow of massive bodybuilder Tyler St. James (6’2″, 240 lbs).

Can-Am doesn’t report the stats on their new big little man, Drake Wild, but elsewhere, he’s reportedly 5’6″ and nearly 100 pounds lighter than 240 lbs, blue-eyed bodybuilder Tyler St. James in Pro Sex Fight 10. When I first saw this match advertised, I thought there was no way I’d get into this.  The differential was too much to suck me into the competitive narrative.  But just like he does with massive Tyler, Drake grabs me by the balls everytime I push play, and I just can’t tear my eyes away!

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Honestly, I typically find myself pulling for the little man in a massively mismatched catchweight contest. However, there’s something almost disturbingly erotic about watching Tyler absolutely manhandle and bully his petite opponent. I’m totally caught off guard by the tension Tyler builds, leaving me to wonder if he’s going to snap the hot little lightweight into at least two separate pieces.  The golden bodybuilder is so fucking cocky, so completely dominating, stroking, spanking and kissing Drake’s ass, celebrating his certainty in victory from the moment the match starts.  “You don’t stand a chance,” Tyler mutters, not even threateningly, because its just such a flat out statement of fact.

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While I’m not sure why I’m enjoying watching this muscle brute mugging quite so much, I’m just that much more deeply ambivalent when little Drake turns the tables.  Watching mighty muscles conquered, decisively owned even, is a deeply satisfying scenario 9 times out of 10.  And yet watching the lightweight punk get crushed and shot-put all over the ring works me so hard this time out!  Like most Pro Sex Fights, the post-victory fucking releases most of the competitive tension anyway, but for some reason I’m left wishing musclegod Tyler could get another crack at putting the lean little scrapper in his place.

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BG East’s Flavio (5’10”, 180 lbs) faced down Lorenzo Lowe (5’5″, 135 lbs)

And then there’s the grand finale of this unexpected trilogy I’ve been caught up in lately, BG East’s Undagear 20 pitting stunning vision of golden, muscled beauty, rookie Flavio against the ever dangerous Lorenzo “Jake” Lowe.  LJL is “merely” 5 inches shorter and 45 pounds lighter, so compared to the first two catch weight matches I mention above, this one is relatively neck and neck at the tale of the tape.  LJL keeps writing bigger and bigger checks for that hot, lean, lightweight body of his to cash, and you have to wonder when Flavio effortlessly muscles his way free from LJL’s opening assault and, quite literally, picks him up off his feet and throws him into the wall, whether the mat veteran has bitten off way more beef than he can chew this time.

flavio2Watching every inch of Flavio’s body bulge and flex as he steamrolls right over top of LJL is powerfully mesmerizing. Those glutes alone could very well displace Doug Acre riding Marcus Ruhl’s ass as my screensaver. He absolutely owns LJL’s hot, lean bod in one humiliating hold after another.  The spinning full nelson that leaves LJL’s feet flailing a foot off the floor is an incredibly hot muscle bully moment that makes me doubt my persistent secret wish (9 times out of 10) that the little guy will climb on top of all those muscles and plant a flag in the bully on behalf of all of us who’ve been pushed around.

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But Flavio is a rookie. And LJL has clearly been taking notes from the master himself, BG East Boss Kid Leopard. Because it’s KL’s own signature finisher that snatches victory from defeat for LJL, making all of Flavio’s mouthwatering muscles go limp. It’s the look in LJL’s eyes as he puts the gorgeous fitness model all he way out that reminds me just how incredibly moving and sweet it can be to watch the “little guy” make a dominating specimen of physical perfection and arrogance his bitch!

There must be something in the air, because I’ve been hankering for muscle-taming catchweight homoerotic wrestling, and Naked Kombat, Can-Am, and BG East have set such a fantastic feast!

The Great Homoerotic Wrestling Kiss-Off

As of the writing of this post, yesterday’s poll is now closed and neverland readers have spoken. By a vote of 53 to 24, you picked Lorenzo Lowe’s lip lock/cock claw combo on ginger rookie Steven Ponce as measurably hotter than big Ben Monaco’s post-victory kiss on slack-jawed bon-bon Mason Brooks. Happily, the poll app here at neverland’s new host appears to be working reliably, so let’s get this Great Homoerotic Wrestling Kiss-Off rolling along with the second match up in this quarter final round.  Aesthetically, erotically, acrobatically… whatever your criteria, which of these two contenders from among recently released homoerotic wrestling face sucking is hottest?

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Rusty Stevens ties Kevin Crowes in the ropes and savors the moment in Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 4.

The first kiss in today’s quarterfinal competition is from Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 4, featuring Rusty Stevens and Kevin Crowes. In the interest of full disclosure, Rusty absolutely owned the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestler for ages on end, and I unofficially consider him one of exactly two studs to be permanently a favorite-emeritus, so I’m always partial. When Rusty encountered stunningly gorgeous angel Kevin Crowes in his ring, it wasn’t long before the long time veteran shocked, awed, and then tied Kevin’s wrists to the top ropes to exploit the beauty’s stunning physique at a leisurely pace. If you know Rusty’s work, you know he wants to hurt an opponent, but Kevin’s dazzling beauty makes Rusty incapable of resisting taking a break from muscle torture and grabbing that handsome face to plant a full throttle kiss on the trapped stud.

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Drake Wild tames muscle beast Tyler St. James with a schoolboy/liplock pin in Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 10.

Measure Rusty and Kevin’s make out against fellow Can-Am colleagues Drake Wild and Tyler St. James in Pro Sex Fight 10. The catch-weight/sex fight combo is packed with astonishing moments of hotness as petite Drake persistently climbs that mountain of muscle to make Tyler is bodybuilder bitch. This particular moment of hotness captures the little man owning the moment and his muscle man with a naked, sweaty schoolboy pin and keeping the big man flat on his back with a breath-stealing make out session.

So you decide which of these Can-Am kisses is hottest, with the winner moving on to the semi-final round in this Great Homoerotic Wrestling Kiss-Off.