Am I the only one who doubled down on leg day after reading Scott Williams’ response to my recent post about scissors? Of course, I’d get insta-hard just listening to Scott reading from the phone book (do they still make those?). So just imagine what it does to me when he waxes poetic about the raw details of a recent “session” he had with a guy who was particularly passionate and adept at applying punishing head scissors. Read between the lines, and it’s apparent that it was Scott’s head that got punished relentlessly until his opponent was sure Scott was wrecked. Scott concludes the account by simply exclaiming, “Ahhhhhhh.” That’s seven “h’s.” I counted them. And I think that they mean that Scott found getting his cranium crushed in his own signature hold a turn on. And now, I’ve never had quite this much motivation to not skip leg day. Honestly, I’ve been furiously blitzing my legs with squats and lunges, and biking around 20 miles on the other days. I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again: all Scott has to do is ask, and I’m ready to deliver. And if there’s ever a chance that someday I can slide his head between my quads, I’m determined to be ready to pack on enough pounds per square inch to make the man of my dreams gasp out at least 10 h’s.
In the mean time, all of this attention on crushing quads has sent me hunting for homoerotic wrestlers paying homage to sensationally sexy, dangerously powerful legs. Who knows, maybe one day when social distancing is a bad memory, my quads can earn Scott’s respect like this. If getting wrung out to dry can get Scott off, I feel certain we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement!
I have my favorites. We all do. I openly admit that I sat down to savor a particular gem fully expecting a favorite of mine to grab the title as homoerotic wrestler of the month. Yet, despite myself, despite my fully confessed biases, despite my lustful adoration of my pre-chosen favorite every second of the way, it was his opponent who grabbed me by the chin, demanded eye contact, and shockingly took the title with an annoying smirk and a wink. When it comes to who turned me on hardest in a new release in January, I sort of hate to say it, but it ended up being…
I got a complimentary copy of Battlespace 91 from Thunder’s with a note saying that it wasn’t selling well, and Mr. Mike wondered if I could take a look and tell why. Well, I got off on it, so clearly I enjoyed it. However, I can’t find it listed anywhere on Thunder’s any longer, not under Jake, nor Scrappy, nor in the Battlespace listings. Since I can’t find it, and can’t actually give you a link to it now, this review probably won’t help sales. Sorry Mr. Mike.
However, it did grab me by the balls in entirely unexpected ways. I know that it sounds paradoxical when I say it, but I HATE Jake! Yes, he’s my pick for homoerotic wrestler of the month, but as I watch this match, I just keep mumbling to myself, “I HATE that guy!” First of all, the name. How many fucking “Jakes” are there in homoerotic wrestling, and this guy decides to go Cher on us and claim that as his one and only wrestling-as name? The fucking balls on this kid.
And, right there, is the first strong, compelling argument to explain why, despite my intense antipathy, I can’t help myself but admit that Jake turned my crank hardest. This kid’s pouch is packed and, I swear to the homoerotic wrestling gods, excited. Fuck, put him in contention for best bulge of the year, people! I tucked in to lap up Scrappy’s magnificent ass, but kept getting distracted by Jake’s mammoth bulge.
I also hate him, and, at the same time, can’t help but be turned on by him, because he’s such a fucking bully. Now I’ve complained when matches turn too much into bully-fests. When it’s so one sided, so taunting and brutal, I actually get turned off. But this is fucking Scrappy we’re talking about here. Scrappy keeps this totally legit. I don’t feel sorry for Scrappy. In fact, despite my fully avowed crush on watching Scrappy in the driver’s seat, Jake somehow turns me on that much harder watching him own the Scrap-meister. And Jake taunts and smirks. He laughs like a slightly unhinged early edition Joker. He flexes mid-hold, easily keeping Scrappy all buttoned up while Jake amuses himself and eye fucks the camera, giving us a smarmy wink and big, gap-toothed grin. He literally gives Scrappy a noogie. A fucking noogie. I so hate this son of a bitch, AND fuck it all, he’s turning me on sensationally hard demolishing one of my favorites.
Jake’s like a poor man’s Aryx Quinn. I don’t actually believe that, but I’ll say it just to piss Jake off. His body is fucking rocking, and he’s ripped and lush like Aryx on his best days, frankly. He’s not as smooth a trash talker, but he’s as enthusiastic and domineering and manages to deliver just enough strokes of Scrappy’s magnificent boy next door body to make all of his bro-down badassness (e.g., when Scrappy asks where he learned to wrestle so well, Jake smirks back, “In your mom’s bedroom”) sweetly erotic.
Have I mentioned how much I hate Jake? I suppose right there is the other most compelling argument for why he’s my new homoerotic wrestler of the month. He provokes me. A lot. I have instant and intense opinions about his character. I am no longer just rooting for Scrappy to win because I fucking love Scrappy pitching, but because I fucking ache to see Jake’s smart ass grin rubbed off his face, preferably across Scrappy’s gorgeous backside. Scrappy delivers a few tasty moments on offense. There’s a strong hit of choreography about them, like honestly, Jake could easily have fucked him over, but behind the camera they knew I would have bitched and moaned about it being too much of a bully session. But, whatever. when Scrappy hoists Jake up into a full nelson and shakes him around, making all that pendulous junk swing and bounce, I literally cheer out loud. Because I hate this fucker. Have I mentioned that?
And ultimately, that’s the sign of a fantastic pro wrestler, in my estimation. Jake provokes me. He’s a smart, gorgeous, ripped, fucking annoying villain, and the tension that brings to this relatively antiseptic garage mat match at Thunder’s is everything. Well, Scrappy suffering, selling it, is also everything. But I just had no idea that Jake had it in him to look that good, and make Scrappy look so tasty, and to crawl right up under my skin and drive me fucking nuts like that. Well played, poor man’s Aryx Quinn. Well played.