ESPN would fairly frequently broadcast bodybuilding contests back in the day when I was a kid. Massively muscled men, glistening with baby oil from head to toe, wearing posing trunks that just barely contained their cock and balls, and there I’d be, glued to the screen, hoping no one noticed my raging erection as I nursed fantasies of a fight breaking out between these muscle beasts. It’s still at the heart of my long running affinity for muscle worship, I’m certain. These gorgeous, almost inhumanly constructed specimens, cocky, strutting out on stage, flexing in silent command to be adored for their physical perfection.
Little wonder that, when I met Dakota Skye for the first time at Wrestlefest NYC a couple of years ago, I needed to pinch myself. Fuck, that man is hot! And by all accounts, he’s a legit competitive bodybuilder. He’s got to have an off season, but I’ve never seen him in anything but perfected condition, bronzed to the edge of deep caramel, absolutely carved out of marble with zero body fat anywhere to be seen. He’s got this boyishly handsome face that melts effortlessly into an indulgent smile that contrasts poignantly with his brutally disciplined physique.
JJ Allen pushes a different set of buttons in me. JJ’s got this handsome, beefy jock vibe that transports me back to secretly crushing on the best looking guys on my high school football team. Have you seen JJ’s thighs? Holy fuck! I saw him in a singlet a year ago at the Wrestlefest NYC kick off party and had to physically stuff my drooling tongue back inside mouth. There’s something unselfconscious about JJ that I find extremely attractive. I mean, clearly he takes care of himself, and he’s not shy about posting hot selfies showing off his luscious muscles. But he gives off this impression of someone who navigates the world not quite fully aware of just how much of an intimidating hunk he is, which makes him both adorable and irresistible.
The contrasts between Dakota and JJ in their ring match from almost a year ago is instantly rich with drama. They’re about the same height, but apart from that, they couldn’t look much different. The pairing has that feel of the powerlifter squaring off against the physique artist. JJ just dwarfs Dakota. I have a hard time estimating either of their ages, but hairlines and trash talk situate it squarely in the man vs. boy genre. Dakota is tanned next to JJ’s alabaster pale complexion. JJ sells as a luscious, beefy bully just discovering he likes to make men hurt, while Dakota is the seasoned heel with a taste for shattering baby-bully egos.
The match description says this was recorded at Wrestlefest NYC last year. There are some onlookers in the gym adding occasional applause and shouts of encouragement. It has the feel of a wrestlefest pick-up match, not exactly polished or always pretty, but fierce and earnest and fun (which should probably be the tag line to every wrestlefest). The 13 minutes of action are back and forth, showcasing JJ’s dominating size and devastating legs contrasting with Dakota’s aggressiveness and pro-meets-submission punishing holds.
JJ outmuscles the ripped-to-shreds bodybuilder again and again, and he clearly delights in showing off what those superhuman quads can do, but he doesn’t milk the suffering out of Dakota quite like he’s savoring the taste of it. JJ’s best beats include the body scissors that look like he very well might be able to snap his rock hard opponent in half. JJ’s fireman’s carry gets a rise out of the onlookers and the camera man, and when he starts doing deep squats with his bodybuilder barbell pinned across his shoulders, he most definitely gets a rise out of me.
But even toting his furiously helpless opponent around like a backpack, JJ throws him down too quickly to really inflict serious damage to Dakota’s dazzlingly fit physique or unassailable ego. JJ’s best show at milking the suffering out of his sculpted opponent is his standing full nelson, absolutely defying the bodybuilder’s enraged efforts to leverage all those contest-ready muscles to break free. “It’s over,” JJ announces like a boss, and holy fuck, he hoists Dakota’s boots off the ring and shows off every one of the muscle man’s straining 8-pack abs.
Like I said, it’s back and forth, though. JJ just doesn’t press his advantages nearly enough, and Dakota is coiled and prepared to strike the instant the power lifter pauses to catch his breath. The aggressive bodybuilder whips JJ corner to corner, using his rock hard physique like a torpedo drilling into his stunned, young opponent. All that weight advantage JJ has looks like an illusion when Dakota delivers snapmare after snapmare, pounding him into the center of the ring all set up for more brutal punishment. My favorite, juiciest moment of pro wrestling drama in the match is when Dakota drags JJ to his feet by his chin, and in a no-playing show of exactly what those bodybuilder muscles are good far, just scoops JJ up with raw, brute force, and slams the big boy down with absolute authority. “Smile for the camera, boy,” Dakota snarls like the sculpted comic book supervillain he looks like, when he’s wrapping his bulging right bicep across JJ’s throat and threatening to knock him out cold.
This match is so fucking earnest. It absolutely tastes like a wrestlefest, eager and intense, right at the fine line between playful and fucking mean. I’m determined not to spoil this one for you, but I’ll let you guess which side of these stunning contrasts comes out on top with the hard earned victory. Is your money on the tight end power lifter baby muscle bull with the tree trunk thighs, or the bronzed, rock hard physique artist, hungry to teach this babyface-bully-wannabe a lesson?
Sidelineland 