Tag: El Favorito

BG East just dropped catalog #120, and it’s packed with favorite wrestlers of mine in what appear to be cock-blowingly sexy match-ups. I have yet to really sink my teeth into all of them yet, but I saddled up as soon as I could to take a ride on the latest installation in the Masked Mayhem franchise. To cut to the chase, let me just put it out there right away that this single-match release was deeply satisfying and very quickly worked me into a lather. It hits all of my favorite notes, including the immense value added of giving me a little more than I even knew to hope for.

First of all, I want to talk about packaging. The bodies in this match turn my crank with both hands. The self-annointed “favored one,” El Favorito, is lushly long and lanky. There’s a twink vibe about the architecture, but with a light-fur upholstery there’s also a raw, meat-eater edge to his look. The flat stomach with tight, visible abs could give the impression of a sparse, carb-deprived pretty boy desperate for the next opportunity to rip his shirt off at the club, but wait until he turns around. That ass! Fuck. That gorgeous, round ass is extravagant. Everything else about him seems honed to a fine edge for the purpose of dominating and punishing an opponent, but then that ass is just so fucking pretty. It’s like the mouthwatering hunk of cheese in a mousetrap.

And then there’s Thrash. I was a Thrash fanatic from about 5 seconds into his debut match against living Academy Award statue Trey Dixon. He’s back with that exact same look and allure in Masked Mayhem 12. There are a half dozen things that drive me crazy about Thrash, but to stick to my outline here, let me just start with the body. In an industry that seems to be increasingly infatuated with six-packs, Thrash strolls in and demands the spotlight with that sexy as fuck muscle belly. He’s solid as shit, mind you. This is a hunk who’s quite clearly, lovingly building incredibly powerful muscle mass. He’s already a frontrunner in my own personal award category of the year’s best legs at BG East. Not to be outdone by El Favorito, Thrash’s muscle packed bubble butt is of a size, proportion, and perfection that makes my jaw drop. But frankly, what I’m seriously infatuated with is that magnificent gut. When he’s all cinched up tight in his circus strong man super-tight black singlet, his gut catches my eye. But once the singlet straps come down and we get an unobstructed view of his sweat soaked midsection, I’m fucking done. That reveal alone got me off my first time watching this match. Maybe it’s some alchemy in the pairing of El Favorito’s ultra lean washboard and Thrash’s beautiful, burly muscle belly, but whatever accounts for it, I’ve got intrusive fantasies of shooting loads across both of their abdomens, preferably at the same time.

Masked Mayhem 12 also appeals to my explicit tastes for being a narrative-driven match. Mysterious hottie El Favorito is monologuing like a comic book character as the scene opens, tying tight his mask for the first time and predicting a whole new beginning for him today. Whether this is a new beginning to his BG East wrestling career or just a new beginning for some underestimated Clark Kent who’s ready to open a can of whoop ass on the villains of the world now that he’s donned a mask is initially unclear. Just to add to the superhero/supervillain vibe of the scenario, Thrash walks in wearing a cape. Seriously, a cape. It’s both an endearing nod to glam pro wrestling sensibilities of two generations ago, and a sweet homage to the larger than life comic book angle of masked men doing battle. “You’ve got to earn that mask!” Thrash snarls, quite clearly promising that if he conquers the masked newbie, there’s an unmasking in the offing.

I know not all of us are as pleased with dialogue in the ring as I am, but I’m a little surprised and incredibly turned on by the banter from both men. I don’t remember Thrash being nearly this vocal in his first match. There’s something that much more hypnotic about hearing a voice with no visible face attached to it. I’ve watched a lot of masked wrestling conducted almost entirely in silence, relying on the mysterious masks to convey all the menace. Not so Thrash, nor El Favorito. In the initial moments Thrash is building some sweet muscle momentum all over the “the favorite.” This is only the start of it!” he crows, both driving home the point that his opponent has thus far appeared impotent and promising to drag out the blue boy’s suffering long and hard. Moments later, as El Favorito pieces together a shockingly expert reversal of fortune, the masked newbie drives the badboy to the mat and smoothly rolls him into a spine-snapping Boston crab. “You said this was just the beginning, right?” El Favorito chuckles openly at Thrash’s gasps of pain. “My new beginning!” El Favorito snarls with a lusty, hungry yank on Thrash’s legs that shockingly drags a humiliated first fall submission out of the strong man.

So, we’ve covered the hot bodies, the strong storyline, and the on point vocals. That would be enough for me, but fuck, then things get seriously sexy. Thrash is the primary sexual aggressor, which I have to confess, is what tips me into announcing my loyalties as entirely behind Team Thrash about halfway through this match. El Favorito turns up the sexual innuendo heat nicely, mind you. His chuckling, “You’d better get used to this,” as he smothers Thrash with face-to-crotch headscissors is right along that line of playful/domineering. But there’s just something about Thrash’s obvious attention on his opponent’s honey trap ass that kicks this match up to that point where we most definitely would not see this action in any indy pro shop or Wal-Pro megamart. At one point he has El Favorito whimpering like a bitch in a neck wrenching full nelson. He pounds the blue masked face into a turnbuckle, before pulling him out of the corner. El Favorito is clearly knocked a little senseless, his knees buckling just a little, and he bends forward teeteringly. Thrash just holds tight onto that full nelson, saddling up firmly against the newbie’s sweet ass and letting El Favorito’s own efforts effectively grind Thrash’s swollen crotch between his cheeks. “This is the perfect place for me to be,” Thrash gloats a little breathlessly.

So the bodies are scorching hot, the story is compelling, the dialogue is value added, and it’s explicitly sexy. Like I said, I’m guaranteed to get off on this over and over again based solely on those criteria. But lastly, let me just laud Masked Mayhem 12 for being competitive. To be honest, I had my doubts in the early moments, because El Favorito gets caught flat footed and digs a deep hole for himself in the first few minutes. The four back-to-back ball claw suplexes Thrash applies are breathtaking, beautifully executed, and make my balls ache just watching them. This could’ve been a squash, heel destroys useless newbie. But it isn’t. At all. And while I’m still on Team Thrash, El Favorito’s rallies turned to all out vicious bullying have me on the edge of my seat. Both hunks came to play, and unlike some gimmick-forward wrestling, they both are seriously impressive technical wrestlers. There are stunning bursts of speed and precision mixed beautifully with long, grinding, soul sucking, punishing holds. The odds seem like they’re stacked on Thrash’s side, but El Favorito keeps promising to live up to his name with gut check reversals of fortune that test my allegiance hard. The suspense is thick and sweet, all the way up until the moment that one infinitely fuckable hunk has the other infinitely fuckable hunk trussed up in the ropes and ceremoniously unmasks him, ending his all-too-brief masked wrestling career.

I love an unmasking done with such respect for the genre, so I’ll leave you in suspense as to who is unmasked and whether the exposed mystery man is a known quantity. But I do have to say that his shameless, weeping, open begging not to be unmasked, not to be revealed for the mere mortal underneath, is satisfying as fuck. The uncontested and merciless winner literally shoves the mask down the front of his own trunks and uses is to jerk hard on his already aroused cock. The unmasking is so incredibly intimate, so intoxicating for the contrast between one man’s invincibility placed side-by-side with another man’s complete vulnerability.

The explicit narrative is that the winner leaves the ring with the loser’s mask still wrapped around his cock, soaking in the sight of his vanquished prey to play over and over again in his erotic fantasies. But I’m just saying a prayer to the homoerotic wrestling gods that these two studs were as genuinely turned on by each other as it appeared on screen, and that they fucked each other for days like the supermen they are.

This is an incredible sexy match for all of the reasons that make me such a fan of homoerotic wrestling. Both incredibly hot wrestlers tap into a ferocity and libido-driven wrestling narrative that I desperately hope we see from them both again soon. If you’re only satisfied with underwear models and bodybuilders, then I’ll understand if you give this a pass, but if what gets you off is hot, beautiful men in highly skilled pro wrestling drama, pick your favorite and tuck in. This is a magnificent masked match.