I’m still combing through the results of the Best of BG East 2022 awards and marveling at this cream of the latest crop of hot wrestling. As I was sending up congratulations to the winners that I’m connected to on social media, I got an intriguing, possibly even provocative reply from Lon Dumont, asking, “When’s my Hall of Fame induction?” And I’ve been obsessed with this question ever since.
Not necessarily the question of when should Lon be inducted (five years ago is the correct answer). But I’m taken by the question of celebrating the mainstays, the sensational BG East wrestlers who put their blood, sweat, and tears into showing up, stripping down, and going at it for us homoerotic wrestling fans. There isn’t a Hall of Fame, is there? I mean, I believe that at the end of Wrestlefest 2, there was “technically” an awarding of a “Lifetime Achievement” award to Doug Warren. I say “technically,” because the Boss announced it, welcomed Doug to the ring, and then locked on a kiss of death, knocking hunky Doug out cold. Kid Leopard expressed his contempt for the notion of awarding anyone else a lifetime achievement award, before he, himself had been awarded one. So, yeah… I think there’s technically the start of a Hall of Fame, that rises above the yearly awards based on new releases! Unless I’m mistaken, I think Doug is the only member of that club so far, but… yeah, I think there IS a Hall of Fame, and perhaps it IS time to celebrate some more lifetime achievements of the hunks who live on in our fondest wrestling fantasies, even though they don’t appear in new releases any longer.
Like I told Lon, I am immediately and sincerely initiating my campaign to get this train rolling now! First up, I’d like to nominate Kid Leopard. I have to agree with his bitter, withering assessment of the idea he expressed moments after he knocked Doug Warren out cold: if ANYONE deserves to be lauded for monumental, even Herculean contributions to basically building what homoerotic wrestling is today from the ground up, it’s the Boss. I still keep his matches on repeat, because, honestly, no one has ever walked that line of legitimate pro wrestling sell and dazzling, sizzling, insanely hot homoeroticism as perfectly. And his contributions to the industry in terms of recruitment, production, distribution, and championing wrestling for a gay erotic eye is simply unmatched. And, let’s face it, he’ll kick the ass of anyone else we try to nominate, until his inaugural role in the Hall of Fame is certified.
But then who? Lon, of course. Don’t even try to argue with me on this, because I will swat you down so hard you’ll wake up just in time for the voting for the 2023 BG East Besties. But when we think of the wrestlers who stuck with BG East, who put in the sweat-equity to building this industry that fuels our fantasies, who never flinched from stripping down to next-to-nothing (or nothing) and entertaining an enthusiastic audience of guys who get off to wrestling… who should be the next class of inductees. After Kid Leopard. Let’s just all agree he’s in a class by himself.
Last week there was a reckoning in pro wrestling, as victims of sexual misconduct and sexual assault stepped forward on several platforms to name the crimes and creeps they have endured for years in the pro wrestling context. While I’ve generally ignored mainstream pro wrestling for a couple of decades, for a number of reasons, I follow a few wrestlers outside of the homoerotic wrestling context, and more than a few wrestlers that straddle both worlds. Based on what I’ve read, most of the recently disclosed creepiness was perpetrated by men against women, but I’ve seen more than a few indictments of same sex assault and harassment. I don’t believe that I’m qualified or informed sufficiently to comment directly, but it does draw my attention to my lane on the road, namely wrestling produced for gay eyes.
As I’ve documented extensively on this blog, I found wrestling inherently erotic from pretty much the first time I can remember seeing it. Clearly, I’m not alone. Vintage gay beefcake pin-up boys were often portrayed grappling, perhaps as cover for the explicit tension of seeing two nearly naked men all over each other. But for me, it’s not just cover. I have access to a world of homoerotic porn today, but what seriously turns me on is homoerotic wrestling (thus, this blog). I understand that there may be companies producing content with an explicit understanding that the wrestling is pretense, that the audience is understood to primarily include gay guys who only feel comfortable getting caught with their jack-off inspiration under the bed/in their downloads if they can attempt to argue that they’re just good ole straight boys into good old straight wrestling and it has nothing to do with their dicks. I’ll come back to that in a moment, but for now, let me say that I’m most interested in self-consciously, undeniably homoerotic wrestling.
I get off on wrestling. Early in my life, it was a secret that I felt ashamed of. Mostly through blogging about it over the past 10 years, I’ve “come out” about it here, and face-to-face with some of my close friends. I still watch “family friendly” pro wrestling sometimes for the nostalgia, for the implicit connection to my young, gay self staying up late on a Saturday night, turning the volume down way, way low, and pounding a few out over the course of watching the likes of Billy Jack Haynes, the Dynamite Kid, and Steve Doll work up a sweat and put their hot bodies to the test in the ring. I realize that the producers of independent pro wrestling probably didn’t envision a whole lot of their audience consuming the product quite the way I did (though I strongly suspect producers have always known and counted on our corner of the fan base). Most of what I enjoy for the carnal enjoyment of it these days is wrestling-for-gay eyes, though, because the erotic text isn’t just the one I bring to the viewing. And in explicitly homoerotic wrestling (explicit or not), the eroticism crosses some topical boundaries (like groping, mismatched erotic desire between the combatants, aggressive kisses, gear being forcibly ripped off of each other) that are, in many ways, the very content of damning stories raised by wrestlers in mainstream pro wrestling about sexual harassment and sexual assault. But in homoerotic wrestling, it’s happening for the homoerotically-oriented wrestling audience, and it’s built on a pretense of consent. The boundary crossing is an erotic fantasy, self-consciously enacted by consenting wrestlers willingly, sometimes eagerly, rather than real-life boundary crossing perpetrated as an unwanted violation of consent.
I’ve never seen a wrestling contract from BG East or W4H or Can-Am or Naked Kombat. I’ve never sat in on labor negotiations or match planning. But as a consumer, I’m assuming a foundation of consent, that the fine, hot hunks that populate my screen have signed up for the sexy situations that they find themselves in. I’d feel like an accomplice to a crime if I actually thought that IRL Bryan Powers was put in restraints in the corner and forced to watch helplessly as his sexy little fuck buddy Liam Ryan was beaten senseless, groped relentlessly, and force-fed Shane McCall’s cock as Shane and BBW made out over top of him, turned on by their cruel domination. If all 4 of the wrestlers didn’t sign-up for, at the very least, the possibility of the erotic turns and double-teaming injustice that played out, then that match would be prosecutable. The pretense of being overpowered and forced into sexually compromised positions only works for my fantasy life if there was consent from the start.
The role of consent in my erotic fantasies has been explicitly on my mind for a long time. I remember rewriting, multiple times, one of my first homoerotic wrestling fiction stories, as I brought into focus the blurred lines of consent. The match was careening headlong into the winner fucking the unwilling loser. But as the words hit the page, I actually felt pity for the loser. Even the imaginary violation of consent was such a buzz kill, and it sent me backward into the narrative, to figure out whether the hottest telling of my fantasy would be established on clarifying the mutually agreed upon stakes, or if the match needed to head a different direction all together.
The idea of consent pops up in other ways in my blogging history. Along the way, I’ve requested, and received, permission from copyright owners to post images from homoerotic wrestling productions. Sometimes they have specific parameters within which they give me permission to post. One producer has specified that I not re-post their images that include nudity, for example. Also, in about 10 years of active blogging, there’s been about a dozen times when someone featured in an image I’ve posted has requested the image be removed. I always do, whether they are the copyright owners or not. I do my best to celebrate homoerotic wrestling and wrestlers, and the underlying consent of the hunks seems essential to demonstrating the relationship that I want to have with the genre, built on consent.
I once pressed Muscle Master Kevin at MDW on the topic of the use of gay slurs. MDW isn’t the only company that’s invoked the themes of humiliating “the sissies,” of course. MMK seemed quite honestly surprised to hear me say that I felt resentment about it. He explained that it comes from his private fans and MDW fans who specifically call for it, who demand it as a crucial component of what gets them off. I had to sit with that for a while, frankly. In the end, I decided that my job isn’t to police anyone else’s erotic fantasies. As long as everyone understands that it’s mutually negotiated, then what does it matter what my critique of internalized homophobia may be? Helpfully, MMK suggested they would do a better job of labeling their products, so that those willingly seeking out homoerotic material featuring anti-gay themes could find what they need, and the rest of us can steer clear. I’m not exactly thrilled that there’s a significant market for gay guys wanting to get off on being gay bashed (at least figuratively), but if everyone involved is consenting, what does it matter what I think?
Maybe #speakout will trickle down to homoerotic wrestling, and we’ll learn that there’s not always fully informed consent operating on camera, or that there’s harassment or assault off camera. I’ve heard rumors, but no first-hand accounts. For the record, I’m only interested in celebrating homoerotic wrestling in which what shows up on camera reflects willing consent (and hopefully eager enthusiasm) of the wrestlers involved. If there are aggressive liplocks, ripped off gear, muscle groping, cock stroking, sexual domination, erotic humiliation, humping, frottage, or full on fucking, then it should be willingly consented to by all parties involved. If it isn’t, I don’t want to watch it or promote it. If there are any hot, naive young hunks who show up on camera not knowing that the whole purpose of the product is for gay guys to jerk off to them, they should be informed. I think there’s a problem with fully informed consent, otherwise, and I don’t want to be crushing on some hot young muscle hunk who’s desperately ashamed and feeling duped to be associated with homoeroticism.
If I go to wrestling-for-gay-eyes sites and see guys feeling each other up, grabbing each other’s crotches, sucking on each other’s nipples, bumping and grinding, stripping naked, making out, getting hard, dick whipping, cock sucking, muscle worshiping, or, best of all, doing all of the above in a ring full of baby oil with a dozen other like minded, fully aroused beefcakes celebrating the homoeroticism of wrestling for kindred spirits to enjoy over and over again on an endless repeat recording, then I fully expect everyone to have willingly consented, and hopefully exuberantly endorsed the production of an erotic wrestling fantasy. If anyone in mainstream pro wrestling, underground wrestling, homoerotic wrestling, or anyone else, thinks that they’re entitled to coerce, manipulate, or physically force anyone else against their will to participate in your erotic fantasy, I think that’s creepy and should be shut down every time. If your fantasy includes coercion, enjoy the creative and inspired artists, athletes, and producers who can indulge that fantasy without anyone being harmed, dehumanized, or criminally assaulted. Otherwise, stay in your own lane, and keep the eroticism out of your wrestling lives.
I recently bumped into Ash DeLeon on social media. Ash gave me one of my last interviews I posted before my hiatus from blogging, and he graciously agreed to a follow-up interview to inaugurate my comeback. The conversation ranged from gut punching to lip locks to which upperclassmen heels he’s ready to challenge.
Bard: Thanks so much, Ash, for helping me reboot the blog with an interview!
Ash: It’s my pleasure! Glad to have you back. Missed your blogs about the underground gay wrestling world, man. You have no idea how much I thrived on those when I was just a fan of all the top wrestling companies.
Bard: So, I’ve been out of the loop for about a year and a half, with limited bandwidth to keep up with homoerotic wrestling, sadly. What have I missed?
Ash: I will say this, you missed out on quite a bit! In terms of my career in BG East, I guess the three biggest “achievements” went from wrestling in front of a live crowd in a match for Wrestling with Pride, to being called a “veteran” by BG East rookies in my most recent BG East shoot. Oh, and of course, the product I was featured in along with Kayden Keller, Nathan Sargent, and Rocky Sparks, that won best product of the year! BAM! I very much consider that my first win for the annual BG East awards. But I believe quite a few of my matches have come out since your hiatus. There have been a few particular matches that I think you may have enjoyed, including my Three-Way Thrash with Kayden Keller and Luke Reel, to my Gut Bash match with Kenny Starr, and to my latest match against Ethan Axel Andrew’s himself, in a fantasy-brought-to-life of the classic “wrestling coach versus his student” match. It’s been quite the year of growth for me.
Bard: Damn, you have been busy!
Ash: I have been! But in the best ways possible!
Bard: Tell me about Wrestling with Pride 2. It sounds like that was your first match in front of an audience of fans. What was that like?
Ash: It was my first live match. So the story was that the gentleman who was supposed to wrestle Dimitri could not make it. It was kind of last minute, too. So in the scramble of trying to find someone to fill that card, the Boss asked me if I was willing to do it. I can’t even describe the amount of anxiety I got when he asked me but…. I did get a 101 pro lesson back when I wrestled for UCW. So I remembered the fundamentals of pro matches, like how to take bumps, safely do basic moves, etc. However, pull all of those out of the attic and apply them in a live audience?! Yeah, I was nervous as hell. But I worked with Jonny and Dimitri, and they gave me a crash course on how to develop a good show for a pro match. In the end, I was told it came out pretty good! I remembered everything they taught me, and was able to apply it to the match. To me, the match went smoothly, and the crowd seemed to enjoy it. Besides injuring myself, I thought I did decent enough to put on a good show. I will say, it’s hard to explain what it’s like when you have a crowd cheer your name to get up and keep fighting. It was like, the best kind of adrenaline injected into you, from pure energy from the crowd. It was awesome!
Bard: It sounds thrilling! Were you injured bad?
Ash: I was! It was something I did to myself actually (laughing). So in the madness, I forgot to bring boots to the venue, so I had to go around and ask if anyone had spares, and the only guy who did was Tiko. Who had spare boots, but they had heels in them… so… At the end, when I was setting up the super kick and was stomping in the corner Shawn Michaels-style. The second stomp I did, I had a huge shockwave of pain fire up my leg, and I knew something went wrong (laughing). So that limping I did out of the ring? It was my leg more than anything else.
Bard: Damn, all of that Dimitri beef pounding down on you, and it’s footwear that really fucks you up? That’s unexpected!
Ash: (laughing) Ah, yes little Luke was a fiesty one. After Kayden had his fun with the boy, he wanted to present me with a “challenge.” Granted, when I first saw that Luke was the challenge, I didn’t take it seriously. I learned real quick that Kayden had tricks up his sleeve. The real challenge was getting handicapped so hard with the knee to my balls, then getting beat on by both Kayden and Luke! I’ll admit they beat me pretty bad. My abs were clearly the focus, but I knew what Kayden really wanted was for me to prove, then and there, that I could take what I can give. Boy, did they test my resolve! However, I think it was safe to say I impressed Kayden by the end of that one, and Luke clearly loved every second of my pay back. Now Kayden has essentially taken me under his wing to learn how to be a legendary heel on the BG East roster. Always been my desire, since I watched my favorite heels destroy BG East’s sexy jobbers!
Bard: Well, I sort of want a little naked Luke Reel to sit on my dashboard and wag his hot body at me on my long commutes. I’m fascinated by what it may mean to be “taken under Kayden’s wing.” Do heels foster heel-friendships? Like, do you wonder if Kayden, Mr. Top Heel himself, might string this “mentor” thing along, just to make sure he’s there to beat you back down if you rise too far?
Ash: (laughing) Well, you can see how Kayden and I worked on the same beat when we were… well, beating on little Luke (laughing). Who knows? Maybe Kayden and I will become the new (maybe the first) destructive tag team of BG East. I am keeping on my toes with him. I know, as I keep learning the ways to heel, he will take me on in a brutal 1-on-1 match. And when that time comes, I’ll be ready. Who knows? The student could surpass the master at that point.
Bard: Well, I love the drama, so however it plays out, I’ll be looking forward to it. When you speculate that you might be the first destructive heel tag team of BG East, you do realize that Kid Leopard and Kid Vicious teamed up in one of the early Tag Team Torture series, don’t you? Because if you’re calling out KV and KL to a heel-off, I’m there with popcorn!
Ash: Damn, you caught me in my BG East history lesson! I’m going to be honest, I have always wanted to step onto the mats against either, or both of them! And however that plays out, I would be quite content. It would be such a raunchy and dirty battle! Just the way I like it! Wouldn’t that be a fight for the ages?
Bard: It’d be epic, my friend! Seriously, I need a front row seat to that match! You know I’m going to be reaching out to KV and KL and telling them that you’re calling them out, just to try to stir that pot to a rolling boil!
Ash: (laughing) Go ahead man! I have taken on plenty of sadistic dudes and bruisers in my career. I won’t back down at that chance, either!
Bard: Excellent. I never tap into my inner heel quite so fully as when I’m stirring up shit between other people. I expect to see you in a Kid Leopard kiss-of-death within moments of the quarantine being lifted! I’d like to return to a topic you and I have had a couple of times in the past, if you don’t mind. It seems like your first love is really gut punching. My first love is, honestly, homoerotic wrestling itself, which obviously overlaps with gut punching extensively. But is it the same kink, do you think? What do you see as the relationship between the two?
Ash: I never mind talking about my kinks! Especially in gut punching! I will start with saying, like most did, I had a certain “fascination” with watching the hunks on WWE when I was a wee lad. So back when I was a preteen, I always knew I had this…. special kind of lust for abs. It’s obviously my favorite muscle group on a man. But, my lust for it was much deeper. Even my 12-year-old self knew that. I knew that even before I accepted that I am gay. And my favorite expression I wanted to do onto a sixpack was punch it. I felt so odd, but the wonderful World Wide Web showed me that there are many others with the same interest. As I grew up, and I surfed the web, I found 3 specific videos that…peaked my interest. First, was a legendary video clip from Gutbash 5with KV and Steve Thomas. Second, a clip of that sexy Drake being gut punched in NRW. And third, Axel versus JR, in one of UCW’s first videos. I definitely don’t think they are the same kink though, although they have many similarities, but the energies of the heel and jobber versus puncher and punchee are similar, as well. The control in those dynamics definitely turns me on.
Bard: That makes total sense. I certainly find some solid punching in the context of a match to be provocative. I think I veer toward the other side of the coin, though, if I think about the difference between a punch to the abs and an abdominal claw. I think the claw turns me on more because the contact lingers. The application of pain lingers. The punch, even a series of punches, are like punctuation marks to me, but the story is in the intimacy of the wrestling holds.
Ash: I love how you compared the ab claw and a gut punch! I will say, I think there is a way to make the gut punching sequences quite erotic, at least, in my opinion. See, it’s all about the set up to the punch, that is, teasing the abs by slowly rubbing my fist against his abs, before the hit. Sometimes distract them with groping or even a lip lock before bringing that fist into the sweet spot! I will saw I will prefer a good ol’ ball claw over an ab claw (shocking I know).
Bard: I think I get that. It’s much more than the punch itself. The prelude, the rising tension, anticipation, whether they’re anticipating what actually comes or not. I don’t think I quite got that control and domination side of gut punching!
Ash: That’s exactly what I am talking about! I’m glad I helped shed light on the dynamics! At least on my end, I am sure not every gut punch enthusiast has the same ideology on the fetish, but I hope some do!
Bard: Tell me more about what you prefer about a ball claw.
Ash: Now, I will say CBT and ball busting did grow, with a big thanks to BG East in that regard. Particularly, Ball Bash 2 with Jonny Firestorm and Reese Wells. God that was a hot match. But my attraction to ball busting is this: it’s the easiest method to get your opponent to bend to your will and make him crumble in your grasp. That’s why ball claws are one of my favorite “holds” in erotic wrestling. So as you fans may have seen from my match against Nathan Sargent, I am pretty good at ball bashing, too! Who knows, maybe I’ll be known for making a legendary ball bash match on the BG East catalog, too. I have already been told my Gut Bash against Kenny Starr was something to remember. That has also been one of my biggest BG East accomplishments, too! Along with giving Jonny Firestorm and Kid Vicious the biggest smile during a match I filmed, not too long ago, with me as the heel working over a jobber. I was so happy when I saw that… while staying in my heel character, of course (laughing).
Bard: Oh, fuck yes, Reese Wells was a revelation in Ball Bash 2! I don’t think I’d ever really thought of someone getting off on getting their balls bashed before watching little Reese’s cock so visibly rise to that occasion. Crotch Crushers 1 was a similar epiphany for me, with the added benefit of seeing Mitch Colby and Derek DaSilva so beautifully marry punishment and pleasure.
Ash: Yes, Derek Dasilva looked like a fun guy to beat on! Reese Wells has been a dream opponent of mine actually. I have quite a few of those.
Bard: You know, of course, what else I’d bet would make Kid Vicious smile during a match? It’d be you and Kayden taking some serious lessons from the masters!
Ash: I love that idea! You are thinking of Kayden and I taking on Kid Leopard and Kid Vicious?
Bard: Yep, that would be golden!
Ash: That would be a freaking treat! I bet Kayden would be more than down for that too! Even if it means we get beaten (laughing).
Bard: I offer to referee. And I’d be a totally corrupt ref, just so you know.
Ash: Oh, yeah? Something tells me you would be on their side then and get a few licks in.
Bard: I’d have an idea of how things should play out, but I’ll leave it at that. You’d have to see which side of the scales I’d have my thumb on. Anything more you can reveal about your recent heel match that made the veterans smile, without the need for a spoiler alert?
Ash: I’ll say this much. It was a match with a rookie on the roster that I brought in recently. He made a big splash at BG East already, but since he and I have already gotten acquainted prior to him joining BG East… let’s say it translated very well on film. Also I am hoping it wins best lip lock for the next annual awards, but I would say fans should expect it to be one of the most brutal, yet sensual matches I have done to date for BG East!
Bard: What a teaser! I love it. I’ll be waiting breathlessly for it to come out. You also bring up another topic I’d love to hear more from you about. Lip locks. What elements make for a perfect wrestling kiss?
Ash: I have to really think about this one because it seems so natural to me; and that might be the reason. I usually only do a lip lock when it is natural. My energy and my opponent’s energy has to be on the same level, or at least to some degree. I think the best match that has captured that from my releases so far has been in the Three-Way Thrash with both Luke and Kayden. There is a lot of power in a kiss, just as powerful as a gut punch or a ball claw; it’s just a different kind of power. I guess I would say it’s that double-edged sword effect. A good lip lock sucks the fighting energy between the two wrestlers, even if it’s for a moment. Until one of those wrestlers realizes it’s their time to either strike again, or turn the tables. There have been plenty of times where it has either worked in my favor, or allowed my opponent to get a chance to get me on my back. And honestly, regardless of the outcome of a lip lock, I can never get enough of them!
Bard: You’ve definitely convinced me that I need to get my hands on that three-way!
Ash: Glad I sold you on it! I have a feeling you will enjoy it.
Bard: Before I let you go, can you tell me what’s the sexiest thing a homoerotic wrestling fan can do with his time when the world is in quarantine from a global pandemic?
Ash: The sexiest thing a fan can do is support his favorite wrestlers/wrestling companies. Because like everyone else, we will not be able to film for some time. For example, I was actually set to film for BG East next week, but obviously that got cancelled. So supporting is sexy to me. Help keep the business you enjoy alive! I have been doing it, too!
Bard: Whatever the world looks like after we’re past the pandemic, I desperately hope there’s a vital homoerotic wrestling industry in it! I have a year’s worth of new releases to catch up on, so I’ll do my part. I hope everyone who reads this interview will renew their support by purchasing a new wrestling match to add to their collections, too. And now, more than ever, buy from the source. We’ve got to support our wrestlers and gay producers!
Ash: That’s was amazing, man, thank you so much. So happy to have you back on the scene!
It’s been about 16 months since I last posted, and I want to thank those of you who reached out to make sure I was doing okay. Indeed, I was fine, and am continuing to do fine. Circumstances of life overtook my best intentions to keep musing “aloud” with you here about our shared enjoyment of homoerotic wrestling.
Well, circumstances of life have once again overtaken me, and most of us, I’m sure. The demands of my work life have changed. Not exactly gone away, thank goodness. But changed. I’m following public health guidelines that keep me inside my home for all but essential trips out. While still employed, I suddenly no longer have the killer commute I did just a few weeks ago. Practically no social demands, which truth be told, isn’t so bad when you’re as introverted as I am. With so much time on my hands, you’d better believe I’ve been charging my engine watching homoerotic wrestling in unprecedented concentrations and quantities.
I wasn’t exactly planning a comeback here on the blog, until I received a sweet shout out in the comments from man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams, checking in on me. Just like that, I was fully erect, with my homoerotic wrestling imagination aflame, and my thoughts turned back to the value added to my erotic musings that comes from sharing them here.
Historically, what swamps me with keeping up with the blog is my complete lack of self-restraint when I start diving down the rabbit hole of one wrestling infatuation or another. Seriously, I dare not ever actually clock the time I invest in composing posts and pouring through photos to accompany them, because I think the reality might make me rethink if this is a “healthy” obsession I have. But in the interests of enjoying the ride again, and hopefully enjoying it for some time to come before burning out, I will endeavor to keep posts brief. Relatively speaking. I mean, if you’re new to the blog, you’re already thinking this post has gone on too long, but if you’ve surfed around these pages, you know the over-the-top lengths I can go to in chasing that dragon.
So this announcement of my comeback is illustrated by scenes of some of my favorite homoerotic wrestling comebacks. I pray to the homoerotic wrestling gods that good fortune will shine upon me, and my efforts will be even a fraction as sexually satisfying, as the return to wrestling glory of these magnificent stars.
There was a published gap of 6 years between the last time Joe Mazetti ripped an opponent limb from limb and when he showed up in 2015 to fuck over young buck Biff Farrell in The Comeback 2. Joe had one of the “worst” attitudes in wrestling in his storied career, but he was determined to turn over a new leaf and play it straight in his encore wrestling career. Fortunately for all of us (except Biff), Joe rediscovered his inner muscle heel, and the years did nothing but enable him to amass more mouthwatering muscle, the better to plow young Biff under. I always think of my truest self as a baby face waiting for my heel turn. Maybe this comeback of mine will see me take a brutally nasty turn to the dark side, with Joe as my patron saint.
Sometime around 2005, Christopher Bruce returned to BG East competition after a published hiatus of about 4 years. Sure, he got his ass handed to him HARD by the human buzzsaw of Cole Cassidy in Demolition 10, but what a gloriously magnificent ass it is! Yeah, he was exquisitely humiliated, but that was precisely what saved his seat in the pantheon of homoerotic wrestling gods in the first place. If global pandemics and renewed commutes and completely unreasonable work demands and my own lack of self-control make this comeback to blogging go down in flames, I hope it will be as erotically provocative and earnestly respectful of the sport and art and science that is homoerotic wrestling as Christopher Bruce’s spectacular defeat in his return to competition.
Surely the most anticipated comeback in homoerotic wrestling history was the return of legendary babyface beauty Brad Rochelle. There was a desperate drought after Brad headlined the The Contract series through it’s ninth iteration, until he showed up 7 years later to bring the bitter work stoppage to and end in The Contract 10. And what an end it was, as management and labor renegotiated their perpetually contested terms to the satisfaction of BGE fans. The reversal of fortunes made for such perfect story telling. The puppeteer boss manhandled and humiliated the handsome hunk horrifically, until the gorgeous talent battled back from the brink with, of all things, a kiss of death, using the master’s tools against him. It’s a spectacular climax to a story of epic proportions, tying up loose ends, savoring character development. There’s sweet, jaw dropping revenge as the Boss himself is abased like never before, the ultimate heel brought low by the perpetual underdog.
I can only hope my comeback is as successful at executing the long game as Brad Rochelle’s comeback was. Of course, how can I talk comebacks without extolling that of Shane McCall, or Brendan Byers, or Kieran Dunne, or… But no. I will not burn myself out just one post into my return to blogging. Thanks for reading and commenting.
The Battle to Be the Best Heel could not have turned out more competitively and suspenseful! Brooklyn Bodywrecker and Kid Leopard traded the lead in voting at least a dozen times. Every time I checked the poll, momentum had swung a different direction. BBW opened up some distance relatively early on, and I thought KL was about to be buried under all that hairy, horny muscle like all of the rest. But holy fuck, do NOT count the Boss out prematurely! It’s been two days of heavy voting, though, and I’m calling it as of this moment. With not quite 51% of the vote, there’s just one vicious son of a bitch left standing. Check out David’s blow by blow in the comments, but in the end, his version of the match equivalent of voting did not end up the way the voting did. Because nobody, but NOBODY pulls off a gut check homoerotic badass heel beatdown like The Boss, Kid Leopard.
Maybe someone can write a new blow by blow of the match equivalent of this balls out slug fest. As for me, I picture them 45-minutes into this non-stop battle, gear ripped to shreds and discarded. Both sadistic masters are soaked in sweat, exhausted, and fully erect. BBW has been exploiting his weight advantage, and he now has KL torture racked, doing laps in the ring as he wrings KL’s neck with one hand and crushes his balls with the other. KL’s big, beautiful cock is bobbing back and forth. As has happened so many times in this match, BBW locks down a finisher that’s turned every other opponent into a sniveling, begging, bitch boy ready to pledge allegiance to their new master, but KL refuses to submit, despite his dire straights. Minutes of ripping at him, slowly circling, BBW keeps growling and barking, demanding the submission, growing frustrated that his opponent just won’t acknowledge the truth that he’s helplessly conquered. BBW’s beefy legs quiver, and he suddenly stumbles over his own feet, abruptly dropping to his knees as KL rolls off of his back. BBW pounds the mat furiously, enraged, with growing self-doubt. KL writhes behind him, struggling to pull his gasping face off the mat. His gorgeous, smooth body is marked all over with angry bruises and rope burns. Just as he pulls himself up to his hands and knees, BBW is standing next to him, driving a vile place kick into his ribs that lifts KL off the mat and sends him sprawling to this back. BBW is snarling and spitting, promising to take the title, to take KL’s magnificent dancer’s ass, to take possession of his will, and to take over the homoerotic wrestling empire KL has built.
It was that last bit the make’s KL’s eyes widen, his nostrils flare, and his arm jut out and sweep BBW’s leg out from underneath him just as he’s about to drive another place kick into his opponent’s ribs. Exhausted, BBW lands hard, flat on his back. Slowly, but faster than his opponent can counter, KL slides in between BBW’s spread-eagled hairy legs. Snapping his legs around one leg and prying BBW’s other leg open wide with this shoulder, KL spladles his rival violently. BBW reaches his hands down toward his quivering inner thighs with shock on his face. “No, no, no,” he begs, a moment before KL rabbit punches him in the balls. “Let’s see how those balls of steel hold up now,” KL snarls like the villain he is. Fists rain down. Elbow strikes dig deep into BBW’s swollen testicles. At first, there’s a masochistic grin stretched across his face as he savors the ball abuse, his jackhammer swelling that much harder, stretching magnificently over his hairy lower abdomen. But as the onslaught wears on, BBW’s grin is interrupted by twangs of suffering, as even his notoriously high pain threshold is approached and then exceeded. KL throttles his sac. He twists and pries it away from BBW’s body. He crushes it in one hand, and as BBW starts groaning in pain, KL begins sliding his other hand slowly up and down BBW’s throbbing shaft. BBW’ hips rise off the mat as he approaches orgasm. His eyes roll into the back of his head as his neck arches and his mouth gapes. KL’s hand slows precipitously, eliciting a gasp of desperation from his quarry. “Oh, fuck, no,” BBW mutters. KL cranks on his shaft harder and faster again, turning his opponent’s protests into purrs. A few second later, as BBW’s lower back is arched high, his cock pulsing in anticipation, KL lets go entirely and slaps the straining, captured cock dismissively. “Fuck,” BBW mewls, reaching down to put himself over. KL swats his hands away from his cock, refusing to permit him to satisfy himself. “Who’s your fucking daddy now,” KL asks, slowly wrapping the fingers of one hand around BBW’s cock again and flicking its head with his thumb. “Who’s your daddy, punk,” KL demands, his hand perfectly still but at the ready. “Please,” BBW mutters. “Please,” he whispers. “Who’s your daddy, punk,” KL barks at him, shaking his cock violently once.
“You are, you are,” BBW whispers, self-loathing in his face. “Say it for all the boys to know, once and for all,” KL barks, slowly starting to massage his cock again. “Who is it? Who’s your daddy, punk?” BBW swallows hard, his eyes closed, his glutes flexed and his lower back arching off the mat. “It’s Kid Leopard,” BBW gasps, his voice spiking an octave. “Kid Leopard is my daddy!”
… or at least that’s how I see it. Congratulations to BBW on an incredible run, but all hail the king, the heel in charge, The Boss himself, Kid Leopard. The Best Heel.
I’m often off script. I misread babyfaces as heels. I’m distracted by the dialogue and overlook the plot. I key off on embellishments and fail to appreciate the fundamentals that make a wrestling match solid. I’m sure that’s what happened when I watched Leopard’s Lair 6.
The fundamental facts of LL6 are abundantly apparent. First of all, titular Kid Leopard makes an appearance, and nothing signals imminent danger quite like having The Boss get personally involved. KL arrives ringside to personally task Jonny Firestorm with helping Blaine Janus successfully transition from a mat wrestling standout to a serious ring wrestler. The wheels within wheels are clearly spinning. “You be nice to our nice Canadian friend here,” The Boss shoves a finger in Jonny’s face emphatically. “Show him some moves, how to take bumps, how to use the ropes, the usual corner to corner stuff.”
Blaine looks just about the prettiest I’ve ever seen him. He’s beautifully tanned and sensationally fit. The Boss picks out the perfect pair of baby blue trunks to bring out the Canadian beauty’a icy eyes. In contract, Jonny’s unfamiliarity with a razor and his bear daddy belly serve the same purpose as those magnificent baby blue trunks. Blaine is just that much prettier, that much more aesthetically perfected, his lean, smooth, coverboy torso that much hotter for the contrast to Jonny’s slipshod personal grooming and over-indulgence at Dunks. Without question, there’s a game afoot as KL gives Blaine white wrestling boots that were apparently, previously promised to go to Jonny. But then, The Boss turns to Blaine and ominously promises that Jonny will take good care of him. “Aren’t you Jonny,” KL asks his favorite choreboy, “you’re going to take real good care of him!”
So the moving parts are rife with drama and suspense. When Jonny starts to show Blaine some pro moves, the Canadian dazzler is a quick study. Too quick, perhaps. When it’s Blaine’s turn to give the moves a try, he rapidly masters them and adds a little gratuitous improv. “I seem to be a fast learner, eh?” Blaine congratulates himself for making Jonny whimper in a demonstration camel clutch. The suspense builds as we are led to anticipate the first diabolical reveal of this match: is Blaine a ringer who will deliver the shocking break-up message that I’ve long suspected The Boss has written to Jonny, or is Jonny yet again KL’s tool to crush the ego and dreams of another would-be babyface hero?
The tutorial busts out into all out brutality soon enough, which is no surprise. Blaine uses all of those sun-kissed muscles to put some sweet, uncharacteristic hurt on BGE’s recently dethroned Top Heel. The scoop slam prelude to a leg nelson pin is enough to make me believe that KL has been coaching Blaine in private in order to kick his lazy choreboy to the curb.
But alas, now on full alert, Jonny mounts a comeback and fucks Blaine over. And over. And over. Jonny’s single leg crab and ball claw chaser makes Blaine scream in submission repeatedly. Jonny is the sadistic crowd pleaser once again by ripping Blaine’s baby blue trunks off, shoving them down his throat, and then wedging the Canuck’s tight white undagear super high up his beautifully bronzed ass cheeks. Most of the match is essentially an upperclassman squash as darling Blaine is sorely abused, and disabused of the notion that he could replace Jonny as KL’s new favorite. The submissions are uncountable and largely ignored. Jonny isn’t satisfied until he’s knocked Blaine out cold with a DDT and then dragged him weeping back to consciousness with a whimpering ball claw.
The second, upfront fundamentally sensational plot point happens when The Boss arrives back at the ring room. “Jonny, what the fuck have you done? I told you to teach him, not to kill him, for Christ’s sake!” KL looks royally pissed off. Jonny looks seriously nervous. Blaine looks quietly relieved. When The Boss climbs into the ring, there’s a rising certainty that senior level violence is about to bust out, and by the look of panic in Jonny’s eyes, he’s clearly wondering if he’s finally disobeyed his master one too many times.
KL coddles Blaine, gently helping the wasted beauty up off the mat. “I hope it wasn’t too intense for you,” he consoles the Canadian’s bruised ego. Sensing his favored status in serious jeopardy, Jonny yanks on Blaine’s shocking blond hair in preparation for another beatdown, but The Boss smacks him away angrily. “Cut it out, for Christ’s sakes!” KL reprimands his unsettled choreboy. “I don’t want you to do stuff like that.” The Boss pulls Blaine away protectively.
“That’s for me to do!” KL snaps with his infamously evil grin. In a flash, he bulldogs the dazed pretty boy, knocking Blaine out cold face first into the mat. It’s so sweet. The suspense is relieved in a rush of sadistic pleasure. Jonny retains his ambivalent hold on the position of The Boss’ favorite choreboy heel. Their two twisted souls savor the delight of lording over another exposed, overly ambitious, would-be rock star broken into beautiful pieces at their feet.
That’s the story, really. And it’s lush and masterfully told. It’s paradigmatically Leopard’s Lair material. As I look back, I can only admire the sly subtleties with which they have toyed with my expectations and taunted my secret longings. But that’s not what I saw the first time I watched Leopard’s Lair 6.
Rewind the tape back to the beginning, when Kid Leopard strolls into the ring room with Blaine, barking orders at Jonny. Walking in the room behind them is, unremarked upon, Rafael Valmor, shirtless and in long shorts and a cap. When KL walks Blaine over to the corner of the room to hand pick the tastiest gear for him, Blaine playfully punches at Rafael’s washboard abs. There is, for the briefest moment, a wink and smile exchanged between Blaine and Rafael. It’s intimate and blindly trusting. Although left completely unexplained, I can see no other explanation than that at some point after Rafael scored a sensational debut upset in his Undagear 18 match with Blaine, the lingering, sweat soaked victory kiss Rafael planted on Blaine blossomed into off camera romance.
After KL has selected Blaine’s gear and instructed Jonny to take real good care of Blaine, The Boss makes his exit from the ring room mysteriously explaining, “I have my own project to attend to.” With a commanding lift of the chin toward Rafael, KL asks, “Are you ready punk?” With that sensational earnestness that has made me a Rafael fanatic from the start, he enthusiastically replies, “Yeah,” and follows the Boss out of the ring room to leave his boyfriend to contend with the bear daddy choreboy.
It’s scraps, I know. It’s barely interpretable as innuendo. I’m supplying a lion’s share of the details to connect these dots, but holy fuck, when Rafael turns his back to the camera and follows The Boss, his magnificent ass steals the show.
Push fast forward again. Jonny has brutalized Blaine. The Boss has feigned concern, only to DDT the Canuck out cold. Jonny is literally applauding Kid Leopard’s double cross (triple cross? just cross?). “Come on in here, kid,” The Boss calls to Rafael who has followed in to stand ringside. “Let me show you something,” KL beckons to him. What the fuck is going through Rafael’s head at that moment!? I’m completely infatuated with this, of all the moments in this match. The suspense-laden plot to this point fades in comparison to my anticipation of what Rafael Valmor is about to experience, as he steps into the ring to see up close what’s become of his boyfriend. Is Rafael about to be treated to the same fate? Is The Boss’ obvious lustful attention driven by how tasty Rafael’s ass is, or by KL’s insatiable hunger to fuck up pretty boys?
“You can have the honor of pinning him,” KL offers Rafael, pointing at his slumbering, defeated Prince Valiant at their feet. The bright, eager smile on Rafael’s gorgeous face makes my cock swell with excitement. He looks like he just laid eyes on the presents under the tree in the wee hours of Christmas morning.
“No!” Jonny interrupts insistently. Again, this secondary (tertiary? primary?) plot thickens with suspense as all of Jonny’s hard work appears to be handed over to a beautiful bon bon who was literally not even in the room, much less lifted a finger to earn the victory. Then, with a smile, Jonny suggests that The Boss yank the long shorts off of Rafael, and so permit his newest pet the privilege of planting that mouthwatering ass of his on his boyfriend’s face wearing nothing but lilac briefs.
Honestly, during my first read through of this match, what finally topped me off was watching Rafael drop to his knees, mounted triumphantly across his (let’s face it, former-) boyfriend’s chest, and flex his pretty little baseball biceps as Jonny slaps down a three-count pin for him. The Boss is snapping photos of the scene from every angle, capturing that delicious moment when a smolderingly sexy pretty boy betrays his hot bodied lover without hesitation.
Rafael fucking gets into it! He punches Blaine in the gut. He gets up and plants a socked foot across his ex-lover’s face humiliatingly, smiling for the camera as Jonny joins in with a boot pressing into Blaine’s crotch. “Oh,” Kid Leopard groans with pleasure from behind the camera, “you boys make me proud!”
Rafael isn’t credited as a wrestler in Leopard’s Lair 6, but fuck it all if he doesn’t, actually, score the final, decisive pin fall. He’s on camera for all of about 2 and a half minutes, but here I am, obsessing about his appearance in this tale of sick and twisted fate. I want to know what, exactly, KL was doing with Rafael during those 20 minutes that his boyfriend was getting royally fucked up by Jonny. Was is physical seduction? Were there promises made to prime Rafael to smile so brightly as he dropped his impeccable ass down across his boyfriend’s chest and sucker punched him? Based on all TWO of his matches to date (which add up to an undefeated 3-0 record at this point), I’m entirely ready to believe that Rafael Valmor could very well be as turned on as the rest of us are by the homoeroticism of wrestling, which could easily make him the perfect, imprintable, insatiable consort to the Emperor of Agony himself.
I know, I know. I’ve clearly missed the point of Leopard’s Lair 6. But the lingering thought that leaves me hard is whether or not we will get to enjoy more of this gorgeous bon bon that The Boss so suggestively refers to as “Kid.”
A few years ago, I mentioned in a post that I have a particular fondness for candid glimpses of homoerotic wrestlers. I love seeing them when they aren’t “on,” when they’re obviously just being the beautiful men they are in those moments between climbing into the ring to rip each other apart. A few wrestlers have openly shared with me their private camera rolls from wrestling shoots, but BG East (the source of most of those), officially embargoed me before that could go on for long. My sources dried up, and rumor had it that some of the wrestlers involved were sorely and corporally punished for sharing the insider information with “the press.” And then, quietly and mysteriously, I received my first batch of smuggled contraband from an anonymous source who I have come to know only as OMI, Our Man Inside.
I always wonder if my latest batch of OMI treasure will be the last, and the Boss will sniff out the mole and squash him like a bug. I take it as testimony to the size of OMI’s balls and the apparent affection he must have for me that he tempts fate by feeding my adoring obsession with peaking behind the curtain.
I’ve posted precious little about the recent live wrestling show BG East produced for the Fort Lauderdale Pride event last month because, 1) I couldn’t get off work to go down and see it in person, and 2) I’m bitter about #1. Somehow, OMI knew how envious I am of all of the social media celebrations of that event, and like manna from heaven, again I’ve been fed some dizzyingly delightful snapshots from something other than the “official” camera.
Clearly, the event was a who’s who of BG East celebrities. I have no problem with acknowledging that even the pics of these gorgeous hunks fully clothed gets me hard. The fraternal camaraderie in their playful smiles and warm embraces highlights one thing I love about BG East: the “esprit de corps” as several wrestlers I’ve talked to have named it. Even when they do their best to rip each other’s balls off in competition, once egos and bodies have been tested and placed in their proper hierarchy, most of these wrestlers clearly enjoy the community formed by what unites them, namely, a passion for wrestling.
To be honest, I can sit on OMI caches way too long because I want to obsess about every single photo in detail. In order not to fall into that trap with this incredibly tasty OMI collection from the Pride event, I’ll post most of them without comment, but not without deep appreciation and arousal. But, of course, I will comment on a few that grab me by the balls just right.
First of all, look at the assembly of hotness! Fuck, so many names, so many muscles, so many immediate associations in my mind with wrestling matches that I’ve written about and gotten off on repeatedly. There are exactly 5 faces I don’t recognize. Identify everyone in this shot and you can be queen for a day here on the blog.
These assembled shots from the Pride event raise so many summary questions. Who is the guy in the front row snapping a photo of Ty’s sweaty ass as Jonny works him over outside the ring? What sadistic, sexy machinations is Kid Vicious working there in the shadows? Where can I get a leopard print suit!?
I have no doubt that OMI knows exactly what he’s doing to me by sending me shots like this of three of the sexiest wrestlers of all time who I have unapologetically fawned over repeatedly in the pages of this blog. Seeing Scott Williams, Shane McCall, and Brad Rochelle embracing and smiling brightly blows my mind. The time since these stunning wrestlers were last seen in the ring has done nothing but make them sexier. How is there not a Daddy Division at BGE, to scratch that itch, that I know for a fact I’m not the only one who has, to see classic wrestling stars like this back in action? Shane has been quite clear in his interview with me a couple of years back, as well as ongoing comments since then, that he’s still nursing an appreciative rivalry with hot daddy Scott. How is this not a thing!? Look at Scott’s bronzed, bulging deltoid muscle there and explain how the the fuck he isn’t starring in a Returning Classics Championship tournament or, at the very least, his own muscle daddy Wrestler Spotlight!?
Refraining from commenting at length on every one of these photos is killing me, but I know this post will never get published if I start. However, the questions that come to mind in this collection include how is there not an UltraFight 2.5 (The Rematch) in production right now? Exactly how did Brad and KL manage to bury the hatchet after Brad was last seen shoving the Boss’ head in a toilet!? And can someone please tell Shane that if he’s going to build pecs like that, he is morally obligated to get his hotness back into the ring, preferably starting by settling that score he has with Scott?
I sort of think that OMI may know me better than anyone I’ve never met. Not only does he satiate my lust for classic homoerotic wrestling stars, he knows how much I also adore catching those first glimpses of hot, young, aspiring beauties. This pic of assembled youthful hunks makes me desperately hopeful that the known wrestling stars there (Kayden, Ash, Noah, Tommy, Kieran) interspersed among ridiculously pretty young faces I’m not familiar with, hints at some fresh, meaty newbies on the horizon. The backward baseball cap duo have GOT to be the most mouthwatering tag team I’ve never seen in action. Blond Ambition there on the left, the one with the lips, looks ripe for a beating. And holy fuck, Kayden , with those arms, wearing those glasses, is making me swoon. I’d like to order up a 2-on-1 battle in which Tommy and Noah team up to take on Kayden, and, for the record, I’m putting all my money on Kayden.
Again, how NOT to comment for the next 3 months about each and everyone of these hot shots? I know from the poster that Elite Eliot was on the card for the Pride event, but fuck me, those lickable legs of his make me ready to beg to see him in the BG East ring for myself (please tell me this is true!). Is it possible that Ace Aarons got his crack at rubbing the shit-eating grin off of Kirk Donahue’s face? Who in the hell are the too achingly pretty young hotties that Kirk has his arm around, and how long did it take for them to get annoyed by Kirk and double-team his better-than-mediocre ass? Why am I NEVER around to be invited to join in the sexy pool parties!?
As always, OMI, I owe you more than I will ever be able to repay. Keep the smiles, and the dimples, and the beautiful men who make homoerotic wrestling what it is, coming!
As I mentioned, on my last pilgrimage to BG East North this summer I was given the thrilling opportunity to sit down, face to face, and interview several BG East wrestlers in those moments between them taping matches. Ty Alexander seemed particularly keen to cozy up to my mic, and it is no surprise to me in the least that my interview with the Trophy Boy was long, intense, and peppered with several unexpected twists and turns. If you listen to our interview below, you’ll hear what I mean when I say that Ty is the master of the inside joke. I’ll do my best to let you in on the jokes, but honestly, with Ty, I always feel like there’s another layer of meaning I have yet to discover. It may help (or not) for you to know ahead of time that Ty has repeatedly called me out to kick my ass, and the more muscular he gets, the more actively I’ve tried to steer clear of a Trophy Boy ass kicking (judge me if you will). It also may, or may not, provide helpful context to know that a little while ago, Ty gifted me with the pair of Calvin Kleins that he and Drake fought so bitterly over in Babyface Brawl X. As with my interview with Kayden, Ty’s tightly toned body was distracting, and I don’t believe that’s by accident. Ty wore the least amount of clothing of any of my interviewees, and he drew attention to his tanned muscles repeatedly. On the one hand, if you know Ty, you know it’s always about Ty. On the other hand, I strongly suspect that there was considerable method to the Trophy Boy’s madness in showing up to his interview in his green Nike compression briefs and pretty much nothing else.
In this first portion of the interview, we learn about the ongoing evolution of Ty, both physically and his prospects to dig himself out of the deep jobber hole he’s been in. Ty discusses what fans really long to see, and what the chances may be of there ever being a Ty heel-turn. Learn about Ty’s big weakness, and his impression of how BG East is living into the age of social media.
Ty Alexander Interview – Part 1:
In the next portion of our interview, talks about his favorite classic BGE wrestlers, and exactly what it’s like to meet your gay wrestling hero in person (and get your ass kicked by him). He explores some of the differences between Ty the wrestler and Ty in the rest of his life. Hear Ty’s response to my direct question of whether he is Our Man Inside. We bond over the prototype of the wrestling nerd hunk. And as further evidence that he is the master of the inside joke, delve into the mystery of who Ty may, or may not, be roommates with.
Ty Alexander Interview – Part 2:
In the final portion of the interview, learn about the likelihood of seeing Ty naked in a future match (hint: it’s really, really high). Discover how this post got its title, and how that relates to a description of Ty covered in cum strolling around BG East after a particularly explosive match. I give a shout out to Kid Leopard for my next invitation to visit BGE (Ty is involved). Ty answers the question of which BGE wrestlers are hooking up with each other (“who isn’t!?”). And finally, listen to how this particular interview ended with Ty’s hands down my pants. No kidding.
I think I may have become too serious in the past 41 days or so. Sure, I believe the very fabric of our fundamental social contract as a modern society is unraveling. And, yeah, I have to acknowledge that I’ve been feeling happy not to have children to worry about suffering in the coming new world disorder. But there’ve got to be some reasons to smile these days. As if reading the secret thoughts of my darkest hours, a long-standing, anonymous, yet dependable friend suddenly reached out and dropped a boatload of candid, behind-the-scenes photos smuggled off the sets of BG East, starring some of the most sensationally sexy wrestlers on the planet taking a little off the cuff joy in life.
OMI (Our Man Inside) has long been aware of my pleasure at seeing candid images of the heroes, villains, and whipping boys who star in the homoerotic wrestling fantasies that I enjoy so much. Far too easily, we who are fans can forget that there are actual people behind the made-for-pro wrestling characters and storylines that we tune in for. Too often, we take our prerogatives as consumers too literally. We collapse the people who put in the time to craft their bodies for wrestling sport entertainment into the products they star in. So we too often feel free to critique not just the products, but the people. We act as if it’s our right, from the anonymity of our side of the computer screen, to trash people based on our tastes and preferences in wrestling entertainment, dismissing the people themselves as worthless if we judge their wrestling products or performances to be uninspiring. I delete comments from the pages of this blog when I think they’ve stepped over that line, because that’s not what this blog is about. People can, and do, do that anywhere and everywhere else on the internet. This blog is about celebrating the industry, promoting the best of what I enjoy in homoerotic wrestling, and encouraging producers and wrestlers alike to continue to titillate and innovate for a homoerotic wrestling sensibility.
So I particularly enjoy these candid shots that give just a glimpse of the men behind the masks (whether literal or figurative). I know that there are some who would likely prefer not to see behind the curtain. I respect that. But these rare glimpses of these hot hunks’ humanity make me love this industry even more.
We don’t have to like them all. Fuck, that’s the whole point really. Some of the hottest wrestling happens when hunky characters who I despise lie, cheat, and steal their way into contention in the ring. The rules of polite (straight) society do not apply in the homoerotic wrestling universe in which these magnificent men show up and throw down, putting bodies and egos and sometimes even their asses on the line in these Greek melodramas that we enjoy so passionately. In that world, these men can fly. They can be broken to pieces and pick themselves right back up and battle on with nothing but sheer will stitching them together. In that world, they’re devious and diabolical. They’re naive and gullible. They’re virtuous to a fault and psychologically flawed to perfection. In that world, they may or may not even be aware that we are crushing on them, debating about them, pulling for or rooting against them. They are apart from us, operating by different rules, and the distance can make us imagine that our estimation of them, in this world, also need not abide by conventions of common decency.
But in this world, they’re guys like you and me. Well, guys who probably work out more, eat better, and, if they’re any good, train to wrestle beyond what 99% of fans ever do. But in my experience, they’re just guys, most of whom are charming and complex, a patchwork of pride and insecurity, just like all of us who are afflicted by this human condition.
And in these waning days of 2016, I could probably use with more glimpses of genuine humanity. I wish every one of these smiling studs success and good fortune in the coming year. I want them to know that they are appreciated, even beyond being adored by those of us who are fans. When they’ve peeled their bruised and battered bodies off the mats, when the cameras are off and the street clothes are on, when they clock into their day jobs where people don’t even know that they are phenomenally sexy fantasymen with superhuman strength and skill when they strip their hot bodies down to supertight trunks, I hope their lives are filled with happiness. They are beautiful and brave, powerful and provocative. They’re terrifying and titillating, inspiring and inciting. They turn us on and transport us to a world in which our fantasies of gorgeous gladiators locked in erotic combat play out, live action, before our very eyes.
Wrestlers, when you’ve had your spine snapped in an OTK backbreaker and punched in the testicles until you’re a screaming, writhing mess on the mat, after you’ve gotten us off with your beauty and your might, I hope the world is kind to you in the coming year. Thanks for smiling. ~Bard
It’s atypical for Drake to be prompt in his writing, so I take it as a good sign that he’s already sent me part 2 of his sequel to my New Year’s fiction. It’s oddly provocative to read the same narrative I wrote just a couple of months ago told through the perspective of a different character in the scene. The Cheshire Cat sure seems to me to be building up a sweaty head of steam in his writing thus far, which, again, makes me suspect yours truly is going to take quite a pounding before this saga is over. Nevertheless, I’m thrilled to read Drake’s eloquent prose and committed to posting the product of his vengeful homoerotic wrestling imagination to the bitter end.
They say that the more time you spend with a person, the more you begin to understand them. It’s also believed that the more time you spend with a person, the more you begin to take on similar character traits.
That is not the case with Kid Leopard. Well, for me anyways…
I’ve known the man for years and even after spending this long working for the man I still haven’t been able to glimpse a chink in the armor. He’s completely inscrutable. I haven’t been granted a peek inside the cogs of the machinery of the massive intellect of the Big Man Upstairs of homoerotic wrestling. So when he told me about this private custom bout, part of me wanted to believe this was a test from him. A shot at redemption.
He told me that the person had commissioned a no-holds-barred match between me and Trey…what I heard was “take on Trey and wear the wiry, muscled hunk out and your prize is a nice piece of med rare blogger-jobber steak.”
I salivated at the thought.
I threw myself into the gym with everything I had in the weeks leading up to the bout guaranteeing that I would not be caught with my pants down this time. I would be ready for the fellow BG alum as well as the fawning fanboy of Yawn Dumont and the High Priestess of the Church of Kid Karisma.
The day came, I was hyped at the chance to be back in the ring and in front of the cameras for a private fan. I was boned at the thought of showing the Boss just how much I had learned from him and the other deities of BG in my downtime. I was also boned at the thought of having so much luscious muscle to sink my teeth (and hands) into.
I was ready for a rebirth. A rebranding. A Drake 2.0 (Drake Machina, if you will).
I stood in the lobby of the facility, my mind swimming with thoughts of what I would do to Trey (and then Bard…mostly Bard), stoking the fire of my hard-on. It was throbbing uncomfortably hard in my jock. I had to stop myself from nursing and teasing it too much. As much as I yearned for release, I also knew this was not the time. Nor the place (like all over Bard’s face.)
A knock dragged me rudely from my reverie as I jogged across the lobby to open the door. Who is that rapping at my chamber door?
I stopped cold… my throat went dry as I eyed the blogger that had sunk my net worth in the eyes of homoerotic fans. And then the thoughts of me doing the same thing to his stock pushed their way to the forefront. My cock throbbed as I looked him over. After a moment, I lifted my chin, rolled my eyes, and then waved him in dismissively and headed to the ring, leaving him to follow in my wake…as he should.
Not now, Drake…not yet… I cautioned myself as my nails bit into my palms from the white-knuckled clenching of my fists as I heard him chuckling behind me.
I entered the ring room and forced a smile at the Boss who greeted me with an order. My pride took a direct hit. C4 aka Clean the ring. You sunk my battleship, I thought, my shoulders slumping a bit as I filled the ring bucket with the pungent green disinfectant and climbed into the ring, scrubbing the mats to pristine, camera-ready perfection. Like I’ve done oh-so-many times before. Relax, Cinderella, I chided myself as the two jabbered like old biddies outside the ring, it’s almost time for the ball.
I finished the mats, swearing to myself that this would be someone else’s bitch job after today, and spent a while fiddling with my iPhone as we awaited the arrival of my very overrated co-star Trey Dixon. We waited.
The mats were long dry when he finally showed up. And if I know the Boss as much as I like to think that I do, I was grinning ear-to-ear, anticipating a classic Kid Leopard tongue-lashing about professionalism and wasting people’s time.
That’s it?! I thought five-seconds later when a smiling Trey escaped unscathed and entirely unbothered by the Boss’ quick scold. I seethed as I stared at Trey’s tight muscular ass and followed him to the locker room.
I stripped down and pulled my gear selection from the locker, the singlet I wore against Ray Naylor. Despite the damage that this little number took from being used as a weapon against me in my match with him, the fabric was resilient and held up quite well. I remember all too well just what transpired in that match, but I looked fucking fantastic in it.
I pulled the straps up over my shoulders and stared at the little mirror on the inside of the locker and flashed my signature smile as I fluffed my chest hair before closing the door and turning to face my opponent du juor.
Trey isn’t known for being very talkative. He is however, known for being just a little too infatuated with himself. And when I say that, I mean this is Narcissus level infatuation. (Or if mythology isn’t your thing, think Ty Alexander’s facebook wall). I found him gazing at himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, flashing his pearly whites and pursing his lips duck-style, the singlet straps dangling as he flexed his cut pecs and shredded abs and snapped selfies of himself that would no doubt end up on Instatwitter or some shit for his mentally unstable fans’ consumption.
I couldn’t help but admit to myself that he looked pretty damn good. The bright yellow of his selected singlet complemented his Socal goldenboy tan quite well. But still…I don’t see what they see in him. I patted my throbbing cock as Trey pulled his singlet straps up and threw me a wink as he bounded out the door as we heard the Boss emceeing our announcements despite not knowing (or more likely, caring) if we were even close to being ready.
I think Rachel Maddow was on that night…
I stood in the silent locker room for a moment, steeling myself for what I knew was going to be a battle for something more than just this private collector’s enjoyment.
This was a battle for the name, and dignity, of Drake fucking Marcos.