Tag: Freddy Campbell

Monstah

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Monstah Mike is so fucking big and solid, he’s got the gravitational pull of planet. You can tell, because from the moment he debuts for BG East in WrestleShack 31: Cash or Cum (spoiler alert: the answer isn’t cash), Freddy Campbell is either circling him or crashing into him over and over again, and just has no chance in hell of reaching escape velocity. Mike has apparently been hired to work in accounts receivable at BG East. Some weasely red-headed jobber rented out the ring room for some private time, and then tried to skip out without paying the rent. Mike was probably told the name of the jobber, but, seriously, how many weasely little red-headed jobbers could be on the BG East payroll?

Freddy is seriously confused when Mike FILLS the doorway of the shack (and then some) with his gargantuan boulder shoulders and demands that he pay up. Unbeknownst to either Mike or Freddy, the real culprit was, of course, Forrest Taylor (honestly, doesn’t that sound more like Forrest, for some reason?). Fuck, Forrest is stirring up shit when he’s not even on site! “Bossman said to collect what he’s owed from some ginger jobber. Looks about right,” he says, giving Freddy a slow, appraising once over. “So, where’s the money?”

Freddy is duly impressed with Monstah Mike. “I don’t mind a handsome guest,” he says, checking the bodybuilder out with a grin. “But you’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t owe any money.” Future opponents take note: Monstah Mike doesn’t take “no” for an answer. A forearm smash across the chest (and, seriously, look at the size of that fucking forearm!?!?) knocks Freddy into the back wall of the shack.

The whole time, Freddy is protesting his innocence, and not for one second does it matter to the hired gun. Mike is going to beat the money out of him, and, by the looks of it, Mike enjoys his work. He tosses Freddy around like a rag doll. He repeated slams the wrong ginger jobber to the mat, and into the walls, and into his own rock hard body. Holy fuck, that’s hot! Mind you, Freddy has been putting on muscle in his last several matches. BG East has him listed at 185 pounds. But he might as well be 142-pound Forrest, for all it matters, with a fucking AVALANCHE of exquisite, gargantuan muscle pounding down on him and flattening him like a pancake.

It’s all overwhelming muscle and power in this match, and everything about it is absolutely convincing and incredibly hot. Early on, Freddy lashes out with some punches at those huge targets that are Mike’s pecs and I’m pretty sure the blows hurt Freddy a lot more than Mike. The debt collector folds Freddy like origami, wrapping him up in a small package and then, delightfully, showing just how much he enjoys his work by kneading and biting the ginger’s ass and stroking Freddy’s crotch. “Wasn’t expecting to have this much fun,” Mike mutters, good-naturedly, as he’s streamrolling and possessing Freddy at will.

The sexiest moments for me happen when Freddy finally finds the right button to push (a solid jab to Mike’s balls) to get some revenge on the strongman. When Freddy slides the debt collector between his legs to lock on body scissors, the ginger complains, “Fuck, I can barely get my legs around you!” And, indeed, fuck. Mike is just that fucking huge, every ounce of it solid, succulent muscle, to make it nearly impossible for Freddy to really lock down those scissors. Freddy makes the most of the moment, though. He gets a standing ovation from me for yanking on those ultra briefs Mike is wearing and wedgying the most muscly ass I’ve seen bared in a long time.

It’s Freddy’s spladle on Monstah Mike, though, that leaves me dizzy. Fuck, fuck, AND fuck, all that luxurious muscle ripped open wide. I’d bet cash Mike can crack walnuts with those glutes, but in that spladle, ass in the air, he’s whining and crying like a bitch. Mike SELLS that suffering, which makes the contrast between all that dazzling muscle and his complete helplessness sensationally epic. And Freddy is every fucking one of us, taunting the bodybuilder and clawing the fuck out of Mike’s balls.

Lest we blow past even my infamously adept ability to suspend disbelief, rest assured that Mike turns the tables back upright. And the hired muscle is now pissed. He snaps shut the beartrap of his monstah thighs around Freddy’s head and threatens to pop his skull like a grape. Mike picks him up and pins him against the shack wall, Freddy’s feet nowhere near the ground. He makes Freddy lick, suck, and kiss his massive muscles, wringing all the humiliation he wants out of the naughty boy for that embarrassingly sexy spladle a few moments earlier. Barehanded chokes and endlessly punishing bearhugs crush the wrongly-accused ginger like a beer can.

And speaking of beer cans… fuck, when Monstah Mike tugs his briefs down his sequoia thighs, out springs a cock to match the rest of Mike’s massively developed body. He gets himself even harder by pounding his un/lucky opponent’s face senseless with it. Naked, he sits on Freddy’s face and smothers the lucky ginger with those gargantuan muscle glutes. I go back and forth about how to describe Mike here, but I’m just going to say it. He’s fucking amazingly pretty. I mean, I don’t know how someone selling alpha dog muscle enforcer like he does would feel about that adjective. And it’s not like there’s anything delicate or demure about Mike. But nevertheless, I think he’s just astonishingly pretty, in that 5’10, 230-pound, sculpted muscle and early-80’s biker stash way he has about him. If it was a braver and better world we lived in, there’d be young homoerotic wrestling fans with posters of Monstah Mike hanging over their beds. I hope that IRL he’s got some adoringly infatuated boyfriend bringing him flowers and telling him he’s gorgeous every day, because as big and bad and intimidating as he is, he’s just fucking pretty. I can’t think of a better way to put it.

As incredibly impressive Monstah Mike is ALL over, there’s one super impressive muscle on Freddy that puts even the debt collector to shame. If you’ve watched many of Freddy’s matches, you know what I’m talking about. Even Mike’s impressed, admiring the school bus as he presses one of his hugely peaked biceps across Freddy’s throat and smothers the ginger with Mike’s sweaty briefs. Like me, Freddy doesn’t last long after that point. “Damn, boy,” Monstah Mike marvels, “you’ve been holding a lot in there! Good job!”

Freddy is a wasted pool of sweat and cum by the end. Mike looks like he’s super proud of his work, and hungry for another assignment from the boss man. Just as he’s finally walking out the door of the shack, he calls over his shoulder to Freddy, “You clean yourself up. And then GIVE ME THAT MONEY!”

Super fun, funny, and dizzyingly sexy encounter in WrestleShack 31. Freddy NEEDS to settle up accounts with Forrest somehow, and Monstah Mike needs to just keep doing whatever the fuck he wants with whoever the fuck he wants whenever the fuck he wants… as long as the cameras are rolling.

Artistic Liberties

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Mickey Knoxx is asking for it. I mean, just showing up on the mats, looking like does, that body, those eyes, that ass squeezed into sensationally tight gear… fuck, he’s asking for a seriously hungry fight. But more than just subtext, he shows up in BG East’s X-Fights 60 to pick a fight. Mickey’s an artist (not just a kayfabe gimmick… I’ve seen his sketches on social media and the dude is fucking amazingly talented!). He offered to focus his talented eye on the seductive form of Freddy Campbell in repose. I guess Freddy follows him on social media, too, because he jumped at the chance to be the subject of a Knoxx pen-and-paper original. Energizer-bunny-earnest Freddy jumps up with excitement when Mickey finally puts down his pen and lets Freddy finally take a look at his masterpiece. “Um, this is not a picture of me posing,” Freddy says, suddenly a lot less excited. “This is a picture of you giving me a wedgie.”

“Well, you know,” Mickey says with a sly smirk. “I took some artistic liberties.” See what I mean? Mickey fucking wants a fight!

The chemistry between Freddy and Mickey in this match fascinates me. Just physically speaking, the two of them, squaring off, is a pretty dramatic story. BG East claims that Freddy is 3 inches taller and 25 pounds heavier than Mickey, and I bet that’s pretty accurate, but somehow the contrast seems even more stark to me. Freddy fucking dwarfs Mickey, on the one hand. But on the other hand, Mickey reads more dangerous to me. He’s got this savvy, sexy chill about him that makes me think he’s a heavy equipment operator, skilled at pushing buttons and pulling levers to make big guys do what he wants.

The action is instantly fucking mean! I mean, the opening offense is Freddy grabbing the artist by the balls and dragging him around the mat room by them. Yanking the living fuck out of each other’s testicles is a delightfully recurring theme throughout, and it’s coldly vicious and relentless. Sometimes, homoerotic wrestlers abuse each other’s balls and it’s sort of tentative, you know? Like they’re a little hesitant to seriously crank on those raw nerve endings with gusto. Freddy fucking goes AT it like Mickey’s balls are a fun pack of silly putty. And Mickey returns the favor with some extra muscle and a twist of the wrist. I don’t know if all that vicious heat comes from Freddy’s insulted artistic sensibilities, or if back-hoe operator Mickey is just over there punching buttons and getting things down and dirty like he likes it.

Mickey got squashed in his debut match against Chase Addams in Jobberpaloozer 22, and I have to say, it’s really delightful to see him dish out some sweet, sweaty punishment here on the mats against Freddy. In a sensationally erotic case of life imitating art, he grabs the back of Freddy’s low-cut red singlet and wedgies the hell out of Freddy’s famously round ass. Fuck, Mickey’s hot body working hard, his biceps flexing as he rips the fucking seams of Freddy’s gear apart, is intoxicating to watch! His sweaty dragon sleeper on the veteran babyface is lush, pounding the trapped stud’s spine across his knee, clawing his balls, wringing him out, and smothering Freddy buried deep up his armpit.

Mickey collapses like a house of cards, though, when Freddy goes back to his bread-and-butter offense in this match: his padlock ball claw. I don’t know if it’s this fucking hot because of Freddy’s adorably innocent-looking babybabybaby face contrasted with his sadistic sneer and vicious low blows, or if it’s this hot because or Mickey’s hot, muscled bod quivering and quaking in agony as he writhes and screams. Okay, of course the answer is both.

Freddy reads my mind when he rips Mickey’s singlet off and steps back to admire that scorching hot bod. “So much muscle, and nowhere to go,” he says, with the big, bad babyface bruiser mounted on top of him in a schoolboy, pinning Mickey’s wrists to the mat under Freddy’s knees. When he’s really working up a head of steam, yanking so hard on Mickey’s super brief trunks that he can nearly stretch the back of them over Mickey’s head, the real star of the show for me comes into focus. At one point Freddy has Mickey’s arms tied behind his back, and Freddy just dives in and kneads the Canadian stunner’s dazzlingly sexy glutes, and again, I’m pretty sure Freddy is reading my mind.

Mickey is precisely as vicious in turn, mind you. He literally rips Freddy’s gear apart at the seams, getting it off of him. When he’s returning the favor of that nasty schoolboy pin bullying earlier, Mickey grabs Freddy by the wrists and forces the trapped hunk’s hands to rub all over Mickey’s bronzed, beautiful torso. Yeah, nobody (not Freddy, not Mickey, not me) is hating that moment.

The “winner” shoots his load, but honestly, I’ve lost mine way, way earlier… like somewhere around the time that Freddy is ripping Mickey in two in that crotch pillow foldover spladle (<–my name for it, trademark pending). I’m pretty sure a trained eye should be able to certify a prostate exam just from watching the video, but fuck, Mickey’s magical ass (I mean, seriously, 7th year Hogwarts advanced standing wizardry has gone into making that ass that fucking gorgeous!!!) makes me swoon. His screeching, whimpering, toe-curling sell sends me there, too, of course.

And if I hadn’t already lost my load on Mickey’s ass in the spladle (hmmm, let me just let that image linger a little…), by the time that Freddy yanks the snarky, sexy, hot bodied beauty up in a bearhug, I’ve definitely lost it (to be honest, lost it again… like, at least the third time by that point in the match). It’s a stroke of genius on Freddy’s part, the way he yanks on that wedgie and bounces Mickey’s clenched cheeks for days until the snarky, bad ass visual and performance artist screams his submission.

Fuck, this match is intense! I love the ferocity. I love how these boys are holding nothing back. I hope someone has framed that Mickey Knoxx original sketch, and while they’re at it, framed the shredded remains of Mickey’s orange trunks. This is one of those matches where it’s rough and mean and nasty, and it seamlessly veers of the tracks of caring who’s “winning,” because wrestling like this is 100% erotic.

And Mickey’s ass needs a fucking award! Immediately!

Activating Erotic Mode

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In the newest BG East catalog there’s a little gem that is guaranteed to spark controversy. I know that Robo-Wrestler is guaranteed to spark controversy because I’ve already had an extensive debate about it with another BG East fan and friend of mine. Honestly, I think the only really controversial element to Robo-Wrestler is its very gimmick-forward stance. Forrest Taylor and Mason Brooks fucking go for it, with a seriously earnest supporting performance by Freddy Campbell. It’s sensationally sexy and astonishingly clever homoerotic wrestling packaged inside a summer jamboree skit. The text is balls-out bold: Forrest has ordered an android version of Mason Brooks (“Mason-bot” even gets his own wrestler profile, because the commitment to this gimmick as 100%) to wrestle with any time and every time he wants. He wanted a Kid Karisma-bot, but it was too expensive. “You know I’m a cheap-ass, and this is what I could afford,” Forrest snaps back at his gamer buddy Freddy who gives him a hard time for ordering off of the clearance rack. I love all three of these guys A LOT, so I’m sure that’s biased me toward being willing to suspend disbelief and roll with it. But seriously, if any one of these hunks had gone in half-assed, if they’d snickered and rolled their eyes at the gimmick, this product would have ground to a screeching halt for me. But bless their beautiful, hot asses, the boys sell it like there’s an Emmy nomination at stake.

Seriously, go along for this ride, and you will see some sensational storytelling, hot, brutal wrestling, and full-throttle naked homoerotic grappling with a couple of incredibly tasty hot bods. Fuck, Mason(-bot) looks more and more gorgeous every time I see him in something new. His nipples continue to make me swoon, and fuck, those lush, massive, gorgeous pecs of his make everything he’s in have to have “-erotic” as a suffix. He not only takes shots at his reputation at BG East, he dishes them out, acknowleding that his “model” of bot has received poor costumer reviews because “my personality is off-putting. Too real and borderline insulting.” And Forrest just keeps showing up and making me dizzy, match after match. Just sticking to the visual aesthetics, fuck… I am in lust with every inch of him, and his overall proportions. He should be naked in every fucking match, as far as I’m concerned, because, fuck, he looks STUNNING naked. And Robo-Wrestler goes there brilliantly.

I could see some wrestling fans taking issue with the execution of the narrative, that sort of pulls the curtain back on kayfabe and pops open the hood to give a glimpse at the engine underneath homoerotic pro wrestling. Mason-bot has different “challenge levels,” from jobber to competitive wrestler to heel to erotic warrior. Forrest can’t quite figure out how to switch from one challenge level to another (hilariously), and his buddy Freddy mostly makes matters worse for him by accidentally turning up the difficulty rating on Mason-bot. But this is actually the most genius piece of this product for me. Because Mason walks us all (mostly Forrest, but clearly you and me, as well) through the paces of classic jobberdom, trash talking competiveness, sadistic heeldom, and, thank the homoerotic wrestling gods, gagging-for-it homoerotic warrior. Forrest remains Forrest, mind you. He won Jobber of the Year for a reason. So it’s absolutely hilariously fascinating to watch Mason-bot’s different challenge levels bring out different elements to tried-and-true, cheap-ass Forrest. As a jobber, Mason is a ton of shallow bluster and put-on cockiness, swearing that he’ll never submit to Forrest’s (fucking hot) bodyscissors one second, and then tapping out and pleadingly submitting the next. Like a fucking jobber.

“Freddy, I’m going to kill you,” Forrest snarls, when Freddy accidentally turns on the “Grappling Mode.” Mason-bot starts to seriously resemble Mason. He legitimately out-hustles and out-muscles Forrest. He nearly chokes him out cold before Forrest can submit. He’s taunting and bullying, brutalizing the sexy little red-headed minx (with fantasyman quads and glutes). He yanks on Forrest’s beard and stretches out the brutal punishment luxuriously, as the gamer buds struggle to wrangle Mason-bot’s control app under their control. When Freddy accidentally activates “Dirty Tactics” mode, Mason-bot locks him down in a figure 4 headlock and slaps that gorgeous, alabaster ass of Forrest’s (which I STILL say ought to have won Best Butt last year). And then there’s “Kill Mode,” in which Mason-bot turns full on sadistic heel, relishing in Forrest’s screams and pleas, ignoring his submissions, hell bent on humiliating his new “owner” relentlessly. “Do you feel humiliated, Forrest?” Mason-bot asks woodenly, schoolboy pinning him and smothering him in his crotch, as Forrest writhes and screams and kicks in terror. Holy fuck, yes, I’m definitely along for the ride at this point.

When the boys finally discover how to turn on “Erotic Mode,” everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) is firing on all cylinders. Full throttle, no pretense muscle worship. “Would you like me to flex my biceps while you grab my pecs,” Mason-bot asks woodenly. Holy shit, these guys convince me completely that they’re fucking into each other, right around the time Forrest tells his buddy Freddy to get the fuck out of the matroom and let them get down to business in private. Beautiful, excited, earnest as fuck cocks come out. Mason-bot slams Forrest down into an OTK and starts to jack him off hard and fierce. When he slams him to the mat, Mason(bot) sits on Forrest’s face and pounds his own throbbing cock into the lucky, sexy-ass leprechaun’s chest.

It’s fucking hilarious. Mason, Forrest, and Freddy are fucking hilarious, and the scene is outrageously hilarious. And I get it. That could be a buzz kill, but it most certainly wasn’t for me. It was sensationally clever, telling a story that unpacks homoerotic pro wrestling tropes, turning formulaic, gimmick-free(ish) wrestling on its head, and turning up the heat with something entirely novel, self-consciously iconoclastic, and intensely erotic. I laughed. I was wildly turned on. And I got off repeatedly, all the while feeling like I understood myself and my relationship to homoerotic wrestling just a little better.

“You may be my new favorite plaything!”

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Woah. In Sexy Showdown 15, Chase Addams goes places we’ve never seen him go before! I’m clearly not the only one surprised by the… depths… Chase goes to in this match. Babyface Freddy Campbell is obviously a bit taken aback when his opponent locks on one of a dozen incapacitating armbar/wristlocks he has in his quiver. The armbar isn’t a surprise, mind you. Chase has been threatening to snap opponent’s elbows from day one with armbars, typically amended to other brutal submission holds in astonishingly innovative ways. No, the surprise comes when he starts sucking on Freddy’s trapped fingers. “What the FUCK are you doing,” Freddy cries out in surprise.

“You have one sick, twisted, pervy way of wrestling, Chase Addams, do you know that!?” Freddy is visibly freaked out and suddenly needing to reassess what he thought he knew about Chase. “Oh, I have MULTIPLE pervy ways of fighting,” Chase acknowledges proudly, and proceeds to demonstrate the truth of those words for the next 35 minutes.

I don’t know what Freddy’s boyfriend, Ash DeLeon, is feeding him, but fuck, he’s harder and sexier every match. He also executes some sweetly assertive offense that signals that Chase isn’t the only one with some new tricks up his sleeves. “There are a couple things you don’t know, Chase,” Freddy declares, stretching the sweaty, tanned sadist out in a seated surfboard. “One, I’m not so much a jobber anymore. And two, you now have very pullable hair!”

Despite Freddy showing his mean streak with hair pulls and vicious punches to Chase’s gut, I think the jury may still be out on the jobber thing. Because, fuck, he gets twisted, battered, and messed over relentlessly throughout most of this match. I curiously start to overheat when Chase is high in the saddle of a camel clutch, and he stretches his fingers around the babyface’s handsome cheeks and applies double fishhooks that look like, no shit, he might just peel Freddy’s face right off!

Things are going really, really bad for Freddy. Or, alternately, really, really fantastic for fans of absolutely brutal, screaming, wailing, weeping submission holds. I voted for this match to win Best Submission of 2022. But, Freddy’s bid to distance himself from qualifying for jobber of the year sort of evaporates when Chase ties his arms in the ropes, forcing him to watch his utter, soul crushing, body surrendering humiliation in the mirrored wall in front of him. Chase rips the trunks off of that astonishingly round ass, making me question for a half second my vote for Forrest Taylor as the Best Butt of 2022 (but, no, I still say Forrest’s ass is top shelf!). And the babyface pretty boy is helpless, as that lily white ass is getting whipped. Frustrated, Freddy pries one arm free from the ropes, and I’m thinking, for just a moment, we’re about to see a full on naked ass-kicking comback.

But then Freddy starts to jerk off! Oh, shit, Freddy, the case you were making that you aren’t “so much a jobber anymore” is seriously weakened! “Cum for me, bitch,” Chase demands, tormenting his nipples, squeezing his balls, egging him on.

Many years ago, I once discussed with Chase his prospects for translating his super intense, high class pro wrestling submission skills into fully explicit erotic combat. At the time, he was weighing his options, acknowledging that fans like me were jonesing for his hot bod and sadistic attitude and gallons of sweat to dial it up a few notches, but still working out exactly what his brand is. Well, gentleman, Chase is fucking with your preconceived notions, just like he fucked up beautiful, vulnerable Freddy Campbell and left him knocked out cold, with perhaps just a little hicky to send a message to Freddy’s rising heel boyfriend, Ash. “Tell your boyfriend that if he wants lessons, now that he’s a wannabe heel, he knows where to find me.” Fuck, pass the popcorn!

Fresh Meat

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In between the time I was last blogging with some regularity and today, a lot of shit has gone down (<- understatement of the century). As a result, there are some fresh faces (, jobbers, and heels) on the scene that I’ve not obsessed over here, though that’s certainly not to say I haven’t obsessed over. So let me, in brief, highlight some of the relatively fresh meat that is long overdue for me to adore in print. Honestly, my bandwidth has been pretty limited to BG East and indy pro available on YouTube, with a couple of glances over at HunksWrestling because they’ve been recruiting some fucking dazzling specimens lately. So, this isn’t a representative sampling of all the homoerotic potential to hit the scene in the past year and half, just where my time and attention has drawn my focus. Please feel free to add in the comments that rookies and sophomores from other companies that I’ve failed to mention.

Forrest Taylor (those fucking thighs!!!)

First of all, Forrest Taylor. Holy fuck. It felt to me like this hunk came out of nowhere to suddenly catapult to my top 5 favorite wrestlers. Honestly, he’s the perfect size for me. Compact, fit as a fiddle, and so. damn. pretty. Everything below the neck was carved by Michelangelo, and everything above the neck is porn-ready lumberjack. I didn’t know how much I was missing a red-headed, bushy-bearded, never-say-die twink scrapper, until I caught sight of Forrest. I could (and probably will, sooner or later) wax poetic about his physique, but it would be criminal not to immediately mention here that he’s got an astonishingly gorgeous ass. Like, astonishing. I nominated him for last year’s Debut of the Year. I voted for him as Debut of the Year. And he won Debut of the Year (and Jobber of the Year… he was my second choice in that category). I’ve loved his work in Wrestleshack 27, Ring Rookies 6, and most recently, Ring Singlets 1.

Lobo Gris

Lobo Gris is really seasoned fresh meat. I’ve followed him on social media well before seeing him grace the ring and mats of BG East, so he was so familiar and tantalizing from the start. He’s got a 70’s porn star body, with an effortlessly impeccable hairy torso and an irresistibly yankable bushy black coif. So fucking handsome, and an incredibly sexy, aggressive, confident persona. I know that he was unmasked in his debut masked match, but I really, really want to advocate, in the strongest possible terms, for a suspension of the masked luchador rules that say once unmasked, a wrestler doesn’t don the mask again. He turned up my temperature when I watched him wrestle Forrest in Wrestleshack 27, and made me dizzy with lust in his sweat soaked corporal lesson in cultural humility with Mason Brooks in Gear Wars 9.

Freddy Campbell (and the face he stole off of a 1950’s television puppet)

It took a little while, but Freddy Campbell as grown on me. Initially, when he was so ridiculously green, I was resenting him for riding his BF’s coattails into some prime time BG East matches. But damn it all, I keep watching him in match after match, and he keeps sending me harder and harder. He’s doesn’t have the whittled, rock hard physique of so many of the homoerotic wrestling stars, but he’s got that lush, targetable ass and that ridiculously cute (like, surreally sexy Howdy Doody) face that constantly screams for someone to pound him into a pulp. You can watch him objectively growing in confidence and skill across his BG East matches over the past many months, which is sort of intoxicating, in and of itself. I was still hating him in his Backyard Brawl 14 match, but I’ve gone back to it again, with new eyes, and new appreciation, and can’t help myself but enjoy it on repeat. I really learned to love him when he got the full-on Mason Brooks treatment in Wrestleshack 27, and Gear Wars 9 far outpaced my expectations (because I’m pretty lukewarm on soccer), in large part due to watching Freddy saddle up on offense.

Finally, for this post at least, I feel the need to mention John Wolfboy. I know he’s not new to homoerotic wrestling, having appeared for quite a while in at least a couple of other companies. So you probably already knew him, and had formed your opinions about him, long before me. But I was seriously delighted to see him show up at BG East in the past several months and pit that whipcord lean body against some of the reigning bad boys. He seems to have gleefully stepped/stomped onto the hornets nest of heel daddies and their dutiful boys/boyfriends. With the beard and wavy brown hair, he sports a hypermasculine vibe, paired evocatively with a lightweight, junior varsity physique. He has that special talent that I’ve only noticed in a couple of other wrestlers before, to look like he’s got skinny arms one moment, and then to flex, and BOOM… out of nowhere, appear these lovely, meaty, peaked biceps. What brand of devilish sorcery is this?! And does the Wolfboy do worship sessions (asking for a friend)? I first sort of felt bad for his bruising, upperclassmen beatdown (especially considered it was his BGE debut) of Freddy in Backyard Brawls 14, though watching Kayden step in and piss along the borders of his territory (burying Wolfboy under) was poignant. Watching the through-story (fuck, I love a through-story) play out, as Freddy’s BF defends his honor by taking Wolfboy on in the ring, followed by Ash’s heel mentor, Kayden showing back up for another pissing contest, was incredibly successful story telling, as far as I’m concerned. And fuck, can W-boy take, and dish out, a brutally sexy beating!

I’ve got a longer list of fresh meat to laud, but I’ll push publish now, so that I can get on with some other projects that I’m excited to share here soon. In the meantime, let me know who’s been turning your eye lately.