Flash and Sparkle

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All substance, no flash.

The first couple of times I saw Flash LaCash I struggled to decide what I thought of him.  Fantastic body, of course. Handsome, sure.  The porn stash? Just retro enough to be value added for me, I think.  But I have to admit that I just couldn’t get off the fence. I think it was, in part, the name.  I don’t think it suits him.  There’s something frivolous and ostentatious about it that strikes a dissonant chord with who you see climb into the ring.  Well, in Demolition 18, Flash picked me up off the fence and shot-put me about half a city block firmly on the side of being entirely turned on and a serious fan.

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JJ sparkles in stars and stripes.

His opponent is of course the recurring infatuation of mine, lovely, lithe, limber Jake Jenkins. Jake tends to bulldoze opponents everywhere except for the ring.  All of that amateur wrestling and MMA background appears to amount to a pile of shit once the acrobatic babyface steps foot on the ring apron.  And we know his gorgeous ass is grass the second we set eyes on the doomed American flag trunks he’s wearing in Demo 18. Again. After his heroic tag team efforts in Tag Team Torture 15 with Austin Cooper ended in such devastatingly brutal, humiliating, soul-crushing failure, you’d think the über-patriotic briefs should have been retired, at least by JJ.  Has ANYONE ever one a wrestling match in those trunks?  Honestly, it’s like taping a “Hit Me” sign to the back of some Freshman dork, only this sign reads “Beat my ass, crush my body, and don’t stop until I’m writhing in a pool of my own sweat and tears.”

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Writhing in a pool of his own sweat and tears…

This is a Demolition match, so it shouldn’t be too disillusioning to reveal that JJ continues his long tradition of getting the shit beat out of him all over the BG East ring.  And I always love his sell.  He must have some acrobatic background, because he bends and twists like few wrestlers can manage, and when he really works up a head of agony, his screams and whimpers make my sternum tickle.

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Flash threatens to pop Jake’s head off

So chalk up yet another confirmation that JJ can make me weak at the knees on the receiving end.  The real story for me here is the revelation that Flash can own my lustful attention as completely as he possesses Jake’s tortured body.  There’s something intensely erotic to me to see a wrestler with pro experience calmly and systematically carve up a mouthwatering opponent like Thanksgiving turkey.  The pace is primarily high impact brutality punctuating Flash’s slow, slightly smirking savoring of JJ’s anguish.  Less sell from Jake and this would be plodding, but the combo here is spot on demolition perfection.

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The bitter edge between bending and breaking.

Flash controls every inch of Jake’s writhing body, and I can’t decide who’s ass is hotter (now that’s a problem to have!). When Flash works up a thick, shiny sweat across his tanned torso, his glistening, suction packed blue trunks give the appearance of this muscleman having just stepped out of a shower with his gear on.

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The quivering edge

Part of my well-documented infatuation with accomplished pro wrestlers in homoerotic wrestling is the obvious, intimate understanding they possess concerning the tolerances of the human body.  Flash knows exactly how to position himself and his opponent for maximum leverage, for bearing down on a particular joint, for wringing out anguish by bending limbs to the quivering edge of breaking. He doesn’t just know what hurts a man, he knows what drives a man to the edge of panicked certainty that he’s about to snapped in half. A seasoned pro in the homoerotic wrestling universe is like a professional concert cellist, stroking out a masterpiece where a fashion model or exotic dancer might merely manage to squeak out a melody.

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This is what happens when the strong man and the trapeze artist duke it out.

And in their Demolition 18 encounter, Flash and Jake convey a sense of fantasy-driven circus performers, defying disbelief and demonstrating what mere mortals best not ever try at home. When I say circus performers, of course I’m not talking clowns.  No, JJ’s barefoot toe point and gracefully tortured stretches are that of a babyface trapeze prodigy, meant to be worshipped in mid-air, make our hearts pound in horrific anticipation of his heroic body crashing to the ground. And Flash, the mustachioed hunk could be nothing other than the supremely confident, cocky, hardbodied strong man performing feats of sheer brawn that demonstrate his powerful physique totally undersells the superhuman strength residing in those muscles.

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Just right.

Like I said, I knew Jake can grab me by the balls (any day). I knew that I’d be leaking fluids at his first whimper of panicked anguish.  His unspoiled beauty sparkling with youthful earnestness about to be trampled underfoot is always pure gold. I just didn’t know how provoked I would be by big, bad Flash LaCash.  He gets just the right amount of bemused pleasure by crushing JJ’s throat under his knee as he flexes victoriously over him.  He manages to look both barely winded by his devastating feats of strength, and glistening, dripping even with sweat. His mastery of the pro wrestling ring and his completely dominating size and strength over the lightweight Boy Scout is pitch perfect. Awesome pairing of wrestlers in order to tell a profoundly compelling homoerotic wrestling narrative.

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Utterly demolished.

Making a Meal Out of Flash LaCash

Offline demands have left me with an incredibly long cue in my list of homoerotic wrestling matches to see next. I’m coming for for air today, so I’m also binging on some of the wrestling that has been calling my name for the past two weeks.  First up, let me take some time to break down the mystery and sensuality of one of the new crop of releases directed and produced by “King Cameron” Matthews and made available directly through his website. Cameron calls this 30 minute juicy tidbit “Vampire Scene.

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Like a side of beef on display at the butcher’s.

The scene opens with a sound track homage to a classic B&W Nosferatu, the video in sepia tone, a mysterious view of a trap door revealed in a wooden floor.  The camera descends the steps into the darkness to find Flash LaCash in tight black trunks, kneepads, boots, and nothing else but his hot porn stash.  He’s chained to an overhead pipe, slowly waking from one nightmare into another.  Enter Ethan “Count Dracula” Axel Andrews (that’s a lot of names!), looking so fucking hungry he could eat a… well, Flash LaCash!  Ethan is always pale (he’s from Wisconsin, isn’t he?), but he looks like he’s been hiding under a rock for a couple of years, alabaster skin contrasting with his black trunks packed in that particular way that Ethan manages like few others.  His face is darkly shadowed, making his well-known visage appear emaciated, haunting, and just that much hungrier.  Flash appears not to know how he got here, what’s happening, who the FUCK this lean, shirtless stud emanating danger is.  A quick punch to the gut from his captor, and Flash pretty quickly begins to get the picture.

This isn’t the vampire’s first dance.  He drags Flash to a nearby coffin and shows what he’s already done to Flash’s friend.  We glimpse a lifeless body in wrestling trunks inside the coffin.  Ethan promises to give the same special treatment to Flash. The pornstash stud is getting seriously freaked out.  When Ethan slams Flash’s handsome face into a corner post of the nearby wrestling ring, the shit starts to get real.

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Flash is tanned and pumped, full of life, just ripe for pale, lean Ethan to suck him dry.

The bright lights come on the moment that Ethan tosses his prey into the ring.  The scenario turns decidedly pro wrestling squash, but Ethan’s perennial “dangerousness” keeps the hot vampire narrative on the surface, along with periodic punctuations of blood sucking. He beats the fuck out of terrified Flash, chaining him helplessly into a corner, forcing his legs spreadeagled over the middle ropes, punching, clawing, ripping apart Flash’s meat from the bone.  He lands a crippling kick to the hot stud’s vulnerable balls.  And finally he swoops in to take his first taste of blood from the muscle hunk’s neck.

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The vampire drama is wedded nicely to high quality wrestling.

Flash suffers so sweetly, I’ve been sent running to his back catalog to take a closer look at this hot commodity with such a provocative look. He wails and begs with an earnestness that sells the sexy jeopardy.  “Who are you!?” the sputtering stud chokes pleadingly, trying to make sense of the subhuman drama enveloping him. “I”m the person that’s going to make a meal of you!” his tormentor taunts, doing nothing to disturb the thick veil of terrifying mystery that backdrops the full-on muscle bashing drama. Ethan leads the stunning stud around the ring by a collar, humiliating, playing with him like he’s making mountains out of the mashed potatoes on his plate. When Flash starts crawling for the ropes, dragging his hot carcass toward escape, his captor watches him a while, smirking, before swooping in and dragging him back into the pit of despair. Ethan literally gnaws on Flash’s hot, bulging bicep.  Crippling leg locks, ball bashing, rope torture, endless chokes and trampling.  Big, powerful Flash is whittled down, one shaving at a time, as Ethan beats the fight out of his muscles and sucks the blood from his veins with hardcore sadistic pleasure.

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Ethan plays with his food.

When Ethan finally drags the muscle stud from the ring, it’s only to truss him up again hanging from a pipe, locking on the leather collar and chains again.  “That’s right, struggle, struggle,” Ethan mutters.  “It’s very much a turn on.” And with that, the credits roll and the subtext of every vampire story ever told climaxes.  The vampire narrative is about sex, about domination, about the terror of being consumed by the physical and psychological dominance of a sexy as hell, completely in charge captor who knows how this story is going to end for you from the start.  Hot wrestling kink married skillfully and conscientiously with a classic melodrama, served up just in time for the month of frights and horrors, tricks and hot, homoerotic wrestling treats.

BTW, my thanks to Cameron Matthews for giving me permission to post these photos and welcoming this review.  Keep an eye on Cameron’s website for more self-produced homoerotic wrestling fare from the margins.  He’s got an eye for telling a story and holding onto the erotic tension in a wrestling match with both hands!