It’s #WastedWednesday, and I’m distracting myself from the 50%+ of my work week left by crushing on crushed hunks. Don’t you just want to be on the clean up crew for Wrestler4Hire, and find these sweat soaked, bruised, battered beefcakes littering the ring, used up and worn out? Is there a homoerotic wrestling angle out there of the straight heel who bulldozes the hottest slices of beef and leaves them for his gay best bro to climb in and take over? There should be.
Mark Muscle stands back and simply possesses the ring, just like he just took total possession of Blake Starr. So, in that straight-heel-does-his-gay-bro-a-favor scenario, I’d pay extra if the straight heel sticks around and watches.
I don’t know why, but anytime Ethan Andrews climbs into a wrestling ring, I’m desperate to see him ground into mush. It’s probably related to his mast flying at full staff with the likes of Mark Muscle and Zach Altovito standing over him.
This shot of Jacob Van Acker having been plowed under by Z-Man (!?!) is frame-ready work of art. The sweat, the glazed over, heavily-lidded eyes, and those astonished lips just hanging there open, gives me just the right adrenaline rush to get me through the rest of this week.
Finally, have I confessed the hard, hard crush I have on KARN before? I mean, I know if gushed about his ink, but seriously, this man can star in any one of my homoerotic wrestling fantasies any time, anywhere. Here he is after getting severely abused by Daxx Carter, who I’m positive would hang around to join in the fun with a buddy who’d like to explore every hairy inch of KARN’s wasted body.
Damn, maybe we need to brand 2016 the year of the rookie! The vote was less robust, but still decisive in selecting BG East muscleboy Calvin Haynes as having the best ink in the business in 2016.
I have to admit, I’m a bit infatuated with the peekabo anatomy chart art up and down his big, bulging, bad ass left arm. I think it does precisely what fine body art should. Namely, it accentuates and draws attention to what is so impressive and attractive about Calvin’s bulging muscles, and it gives me a serious passion for getting a lot closer and studying every illustrated inch of him. Preferably coated in baby oil (purely for the aesthetics, of course).
The hunky blond beauty had a sizzling hot last quarter of the year, debuting in a sensationally sexy lust fest against Christian Taylor and then getting a magnificent pro beatdown in the ring like only Jonny Firestorm can deliver. He’s still an enigma as far as what lunch table he’ll be sitting at over the long haul. He has similar raw ingredients to be a beautiful beefsteak whipping boy like big, bulging, beautiful Biff Farrell. But he’s already making a name in the erotic end of the pool, demonstrating a carnal lust driven by the heat of wrestling competition that you just can’t fake. Like Sexiest Nipples winner, Chase Addams, the future looks pretty wide open for illustrated Calvin, and I hope the fan appreciation for his ink only contributes toward propelling him toward a sensationally successful 2017.
While I love Calvin’s ink (and pretty much everything else about him), he was not my personal choice for Best Ink of 2016. Of my top five favorites, my choice for the singular Best Ink was, actually, KARN.
Fuck, this beast fascinates me. I’ve been intrigued by him in still frame for a couple of years, but it was sinking my teeth into Wrestler4Hire this year that really made me into a full on fan. I love his intense, pro personality. I love his cocky, smirking, taunting humor in the ring. But damn, I am seriously passionate about his body, and, in particular, the extensive art on both arms and shoulders.
I’m pretty sure the color palette puts KARN over the top for me. Color, in and of itself, isn’t always going to make for superior ink. But in KARN’s case, oh fuck, yes. I am incredibly frustrated that the promotions he wrestles for (Wrestle4Hire and Can-Am, both, I’m pretty sure, via Cameron Matthews) do not provide some fan fueling, high def photos of him. Like a shooting star, I’ve only been able to admire him from some distance, most often less than crisp or detailed video captures, blurred by motion and implying even more magnificent beauty than can be actually seen with the naked eye. Please, oh please, homoerotic gods, put KARN in front of a professional quality digital camera, preferably in super briefs and nothing else (well, or less), and let me study this work of art in fanatical detail, please!
And since I’m lifting up my year end prayers to the homoerotic wrestling gods, I’ll just say that an autographed beefcake shot of KARN would help make this chilly, depressing end of 2016 turn significantly brighter in the new year.
My recent forays into Cameron Matthews underground site Wrestler4Hire gave me a hard, hard case of the hots for both Alex Oliver and KARN. So I decided two great tastes like that surely had to taste great together, and sat down for a look at a high art concept showdown between these two fantasy men.
I feel like I need to start by saying what an insanely sexy mother fucker KARN is. He isn’t as ripped as he was in his match against Flash LaCash, but he’s sensationally gorgeous. He stood a fraction of an inch closer to the razor this morning, and the clearer view of his square jaw confirms my suspicion that he’s even more handsome than I originally estimated. In black trunks and boots, he’s a stunning vision of a pro bad boy, with lightly hairy legs and high end ink up and down both arms. His legs are not as developed as his upper body, which is, of course, the cliche mistake of countless young hunks before him. Someone’s got to exploit that weakness at some point. But I’ve got quite a fan crush on the big man, I’m not ashamed to say.
I feel like I need to start with adoring KARN because once again, despite my sincere efforts to not let it happen, Alex Oliver’s ass steals the show for me. Alex is bronzed and silky smooth. He has a fratboy-in-over-his-head vibe about him, primal, barefoot, and talking such sensational trash. He’s not nearly as heavily muscled as KARN. He’s got to be giving away 30 pounds. The W4H roster doesn’t list KARN’s weight, and it says Alex is 205 pounds, which is simply implausible. He does, however, have sensational, thick, smooth legs that honestly put KARN’s wheels to shame. His brief blue trunks stretch at the seams around his round, beautiful ass cheeks. And there I am again, infatuated with the aesthetic marvel of Alex Oliver’s ass. I keep promoting the hashtag #AlexOliversAssforPresident, and I think if more people tuned in to his wrestling, it would really have a serious chance of picking up popularity.
Their confrontation is not quite what I was expecting. Based really, really loosely on Irving Berlin’s “Anything you Can Do” show tune, KARN and Alex do a dramatic reading of the opening lyrics. Alex looks like he’s eating shit as he does it, feeling embarrassed at the cheese factor. KARN fucking sells it like a pro. With just that much context, they decide they need to square off in a series of manly competitions to determine which of them can do anything better than the other, which I’m not sure speaks to an inherent underlying homophobia at quoting show tunes, or a hardcore homoeroticism at being so motivated by a Broadway musical.
It’s an open faced flex off to start the salvo. Alex faces the camera and flexes his guns. Sweet, appetizer size meat. I’d lick him like a popsicle, given the opportunity. But then KARN steps in front of him and, ka-boom, flexes his huge, tatted, worship-ready biceps. They show off tris, most musculars, etc., etc. Judging by Alex’ sour grapes trash talk, I think he comes to the same conclusion I do, that KARN definitely did that better. If Alex had merely insisted on comparing lower body development, I contend it could have been a different story. If they’d just turned the fuck around and showed off their asses, this would have been an instant check in Alex’ column. But no. In the display of upper body muscle development, KARN owns it.
There are a series of increasing-contact feats of masculinity and virility. Push ups. Sit ups. Arm wrestling. I’ll cut to the chase and slap down the spoiler that KARN continues to fucking own it. He’s just too fucking big and brawny for this to have gone otherwise.
It’s a little plodding for this wrestling fan, mind you. The heat is at low simmer with insufficient character motivation to really sell me hard. However, what does sell me hard as a rock is the sound track. Holy shit. The trash talk is edgy and nasty. If they’d competed over who trash talks the best, Alex would have been the shocking upset victor in that competition. He repeatedly calls KARN a pussy and a little bitch. There’s a relentlessness about his verbal assaults that legitimately steals the wind out of KARN’s sails each time he demonstrates his physical superiority. But the real cock stroker here, besides my fixed gaze on each and every view of Alex sensationally fuckable ass, is the non-verbal audio. When they flex off, they’re fucking working so hard that they grunt like gym bunnies pounding out that last rep. There’s deep, nourishing heavy breathing as both beefcakes apply pressure to each test of strength. I may have to make the groaning, grunting, and gasping for every last ounce of advantage my new ring tone. It’s probably the most directly erotic element of this match, which may sound like an undersell, but seriously, close your eyes and listen and I swear to the wrestling gods you’ll picture KARN ripping off Alex trunks and riding that executive level ass like a scene from Looking.
The real wrestling fetish fuel starts with the bearhug challenge. It’s Alex’ idea, which blows my mind just a bit. After getting outmuscled every fucking which way, he thinks of the bright idea of seeing which of them can wring out the most bearhug submissions within five minutes. Have you not seen the artillery KARN is packing in his upper arms, Alex!? I’m staring to think Alex is a masochist. And, frankly, that thought turns me on. A lot.
The bearhugs are pretty lush and juicy. Those porn grunts and groans and gasps of what could easily be either/both pain or pleasure sell them like pros. Both studs look incredible from behind. I probably don’t need to it say again, but I will, that Alex’ quivering cheeks are pure platinum as he’s sucking on the agony, getting flung from side to side in KARN’s gargantuan bearhug. But it makes me gasp when Alex latches on the same hold and actually hoists the big, big muscle beast up on his feet. KARN’s bulging, muscled back is about 5 miles wide, and when all that muscle is suspended there, his knees digging into Alex’ waist to try to take the edge off, and Alex laughs like an evil little mother fucker… Shwow.
KARN is an indy pro wrestler, however. So he turns the tide and then crashes down again and again all over Alex’ lovely, lithe body. The final bearhug count is 4 to 1 for KARN. “What do you know, I win again,” KARN crows, flexing and strutting. “I guess I can do anything better than you.”
Finally, Alex starts to innovate the theme in a way that wrestling skill and superior muscle mass won’t be quite as decisive. “I bet your pussy brain can’t go for oxygen longer than I can!” he snarls. And just like that, we’ve got the choking game going on (kids, do NOT try this at home!). Since Alex has been such a loser so far, KARN lets him take the first shot. He sits on the mat, letting Alex wind his right arm across the front of his throat. There’s something incredibly sexy about the open willingness to let himself be vulnerable. Alex powers up. KARN’s arms pump upward in the air defiantly, but soon enough (50 seconds, to be precise, since they use their iPhone stopwatch), KARN’s huge, hot, illustrated muscles sag and go limp. Out cold. Sweet Jeebus, I have a fleeting moment of hope that Alex will drop the pretense and just rip KARN’s trunks off and use the opportunity to school the muscle head pro for the rest of the 10 minutes left in this match.
But. No love. KARN rouses, shakes out the cobwebs, and takes his turn on the now compliant fratboy with the golden ass. Like the pro he is, KARN pulls Alex off his ass, letting him hang there in the sleeper, using gravity to exponentiate the pressure across the kid’s carotid. 46 seconds later, Alex is limp and in a heap. And, not that I really expected it, but just to confirm, KARN does not take the opportunity to rip Alex’ trunks off and fulfill my fan fantasy of seeing those sweet cheeks bare and raw.
So, just to review, KARN has won everything. He has demonstrated in over half a dozen ways that he can, in fact, do anything better than a frustrated, potty mouthed Alex Oliver. So what does he do? He offers to go all or nothing for one final competition. Nut shots.
What the fuck, KARN!? I mean, sure, it’s super sexy how cocky and confident you are. I admit to being charmed by your playfulness, determined to keep Alex in the game to torture him a little longer for my pleasure. But all or nothing? And based on that impossible-to-predict quality of tolerating ball torture?! You are one sensationally pretty, manly, meaty muscle head, but I also suspect you are a compulsive gambler. Because you just gave away the farm on total chance.
The final 10 minutes or so are a pro wrestling duel to the finish, each hunk spreading his legs wide, sucking down the anticipation, and taking really, really nasty shots to the testicles. Suddenly, the salesman of the month becomes Alex. I swear to the wrestling gods, when KARN place kicks his balls like kicking a 50 yard field goal, I buy every fucking last second of it. Alex does that choking, half laughing thing you do when it hurts so bad that it’s almost funny how desperately you’re sucking on it. He’s in the fetal position, choking and writhing on the mat. He rolls over onto his knees, but because his hands are still clutching his jewels, he’s resting on his face. That’s right, his ass is in the air, and I’m writing in #AlexOliversAssforPresident on my ballot.
“OH, my God!” Alex shouts when he’s able to breath in a lungful of air again. “Holy shit! I think they’re fucking stuck inside me!” His running commentary on the damage that’s just been done to him is so, so fucking hot. “Are you fucking kidding me? A kick!?” he complains like a bitch. “That’s a TKO to my fucking nut sack!” KARN laughs genuinely. My read of this entire moment is that Alex seriously took a nasty shot to the balls, and they rolled with it, letting us see Alex actually throbbing, bitter, and bitching. And I think the depth of misery from the fratboy with the golden ass truly tickles his pro wrestler tormentor, because this is not a stage laugh. KARN is genuinely amused, perhaps a little embarrassed for delivering the legitimate bump.
So the boys go back and forth with the nut shot competition until one of them can’t get up again. Victory is declared. Irving Berlin is paraphrased once again. It’s a little more like a performance art piece than a wrestling match, but there’s enough there, and the performances are sufficiently compelling, and the bodies are rocking my world just right so that even a highly predictable erotic wrestling fan like me gets enough to put me over the top. If you’re looking for a straightforward pro wrestling vibe, this match may not be it. If you’re looking for speed and wrestling holds (other than tests of strength, sleepers, and bearhugs), be forewarned that the repertoire is limited and the pacing is more like frat house hijinks than a fully committed pro wrestling narrative. But if you like the bodies and personalities of KARN and/or Alex Oliver, if you like some sweet improv and heart wrenching sells, and if you get off to the more subtle delights, like genuine gasps, agonized grunts, and big, hot hunks yelling “Spread ’em,” to each other (and being obeyed), saddle right up.
And if there were ever ass cheeks more in desperate need of being bared than Alex Oliver’s, I’ve never seen them.