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.
It was great to get back to writing original homoerotic wrestling fiction a couple of months ago. Response to my posting of a fictional account of stepping into the ring again (this time as referee) with Drake Marcos was overwhelming. Reading about homoerotic wrestling, writing about homoerotic wrestling, writing homoerotic wrestling fiction, talking about homoerotic wrestling… it all turns me on. As does the image of handsome studpuppy Drake tied in the ropes, with goldenboy Trey Dixon getting (and giving) a little help from the ref to make sure Drake got a little pleasure as he went down hard to yet another wrestling opponent. As I said, the response was overwhelming, and most surprising of all was the offer to write the next chapter in that scenario from…
…Drake Marcos. That’s write, the Cheshire Cat himself insisted that he would be the one to put pen to page and compose the blogger-reckoning of what happened immediately after I had the pleasure of counting him out and over with at the hands of Trey. On the one hand, I was surprised Drake would let stand the loving attention I poured into describing his tumultuous defeat by Trey. But on the other hand, if I’ve learned nothing else about big D, I’ve learned that he really, really, really likes to have the last word.
So I promised to publish whatever Drake came up with. I’m fully anticipating this is going to be a very bumpy ride for yours truly, based on the very hard feelings (and cocks) involved in my well-documented encounter with the sensational jobber a year and a half ago (IRL). Drake’s never quite managed to put his crushing humiliation at the hands of a mere blogger behind him. He’s been promising to spank me hard in some hypothetical rematch that he never quite seem to put on his calendar. Well, Drake’s first installment of his Blogger Reckoning story is here, and as I predicted, it’s a bumpy ride. Buckle up, and I hope you enjoy this glimpse inside the twisted mind of the Cheshire Cat even half as much as I do, no matter how terribly my fictional self suffers! And just to clarify, Drake sent me the words, but I exercised the publisher’s prerogative to supply appropriate pics to illustrate them.
Blogger Reckoning – by Drake Marcos
If you’re a follower of all things BGEast you’ll undoubtedly have seen the posts about pictures leaking from within its hallowed walls from, who Bard has coined Omi: “Our Man Inside.” Now, while I was the original “deep throat,” if you will, I am not responsible for the subsequent leaks. Someone else has taken up my noble cause to let fans of the top-tier homoerotic wrestling company know what happens behind closed doors, bringing you candid shots of barely dressed wrestlers laughing it up and being themselves long after the video cameras have stopped rolling.
I fear for the safety of whoever is leaking those pics (although they’re doing an admirable job at evading exposure thus far) because I did not escape punishment. Bard’s “hopes” that I wasn’t bound up in a footlocker for smuggling behind the scenes photos past the watchful eye of the boss weren’t entirely unfounded.
I suffered many weeks of apologizing profusely, begging for mercy, and promising anything, anything to avoid punishment from those who I had so brazenly photo’d without permission. After a few thumpings (in and out of the ring) I was resigned to bitch duty such as keeping the arena neat and tidy, scrubbing the wrestling mats and the ring and it just…never quite stopped.
After some time had passed and I felt that I had regained some of the respect that I had lost, Bard came along and took for granted my charity work of making a fan’s dreams come true and blindsided me with a cheap shot, and then proceeded to plaster my body all over the Florida ring and took pictures for the whole wrestling world to see.
And it just…never quite stopped.
Here we are, over a year past the infamous day and Bard continues to post these pictures and taunt me from afar, knowing that his day of reckoning is coming. And just between you and me? I think he wants it.
Kid Leopard, as you could imagine, was not happy.
Here I was, having just crawled myself out of the muck and mire of having disappointed him the first time by leaking photos without his approval, and now here I was getting thrown around the hallowed ring by a fucking blogger who had absolutely NO wrestling experience…and the pictures were going around the web?
I got cussed out by the boss…there was a wagging finger, a wooden spoon, and a lot of Italian and Yiddish phrases that I didn’t quite understand but it all came down to the same thing… I had besmirched the good name of BG by letting myself get beaten (yes, I said it, “beaten”) by a wrestling blogger.
I tried to explain to him how Bard had cheated …how he had not won with honor and KL responded with, “A win is a win, it doesn’t matter how you get it.”
Over time, I’ve come to accept that that is true.
I shouldn’t have turned my back.
My punishment for this was being banned from the ring for a short time. Which, for a man like me, is killer. I fucking lived and thrived for this shit! This was the wrestler’s equivalent of being grounded by your parents.
But thank the gods…something happened.
A private collector wanted a custom match… a match of yours truly Drake Marcos vs Trey Dixon with Bard as a referee.
Now, I had wanted Trey Dixon for a while but time and fortune had not lined up for that match just yet, until now.
I also wanted Bard.
If there was any way to clear my name and restore my standing in the company it would be not by only destroying the gorgeous, ripped Californian goldenboy in front of the Boss…it would also be by dispatching the blogger immediately after.
KL mentioned the custom request in passing, and yes, Virginia was a good little girl for Christmas because this year, yes, there IS a Santa Claus.
A few months ago, I sent an email to Bard asking if perhaps he would like to be interviewed for his website. To see if we could get a deeper glimpse into the man who has provided us with such great blogging material since 2009. A way for him to express himself in an entirely new way – where perhaps he is not totally in control. An innocuous request, which I thought might pique Bard’s interest. It did. – AH.
AH: You have been blogging since 2009, and you’re still going strong. Congratulations! What do you think has been the secret to your success and longevity?
Bard: Thanks, AH. My focus and productivity with Neverland has waxed and waned in the nearly 6 years I’ve been blogging. I think the biggest factor in my longevity is that this is a labor of love. Homoerotic wrestling is honestly something I enjoy immensely. I’m thinking about and talking about it a lot, so putting some of those thoughts into print for the blog doesn’t feel exactly like work. I also think that I’ve kept churning out posts by switching things up every so often. From my “what turned me gay” series to “name that ass” games and wrestler interviews, I’ve tried to keep things fresh and fun for me. Hopefully that comes across to readers, and hopefully it’s fun for them, as well.
AH: You keeping your blog fresh and fun definitely comes across to me, and I hope to all your other readers as well. I have especially enjoyed when you have had polls included in your posts. Do you have a favorite recurring post that you’ve enjoyed the most?
Bard: I’m glad it’s stayed fresh for readers. Particularly early on, I really didn’t know who my audience was, and even still, I’m not always sure how my stuff is received. So it’s nice to hear when it’s clicking for folks. One of the series that I think I enjoyed more than anyone else did was the “Guess that…” games. It started with “Guess that Ass,” but there were also some “Guess that Tat” and “Guess that Cock” episodes. I love puzzles, so putting those together was probably way more fun for me than for readers. I think my other favorite recurring series was the “What Turned Me Gay” sequence I did in the first couple of years of blogging. It was autobiographical and an honest examination of what I’ve found erotic over the years, with a heavy hit of social commentary and sarcasm. If I had to sum up my blog in one sentence,that would probably be the sentence.
AH: When you are watching a match that you plan on reviewing, what is the process that you go through?
Bard: Well, first of all, I grab the lube. But, that’s probably not what you meant. I sit down with my iPad in front of me and push play. I typically watch for purely descriptive stuff to start with. What are they wearing? What’s the setting? Then I spend some time listening closely. Regular readers know what a sucker I am for compelling dialogue in the ring, so I listen for the story that the wrestlers tell when they first encounter each other. Are they appreciating each other’s physiques? Are they trash talking? How do they make sense of this familiar moment when two ripped hunks climb into a ring and throw everything they’ve got at beating and dominating one another? What’s in it for them: ego strokes, erotic attraction, an honest lust for competition? I try to take notes on the the highlights of the action, particularly the parts that impress or surprise me. But, sooner or later, inevitably, I put the iPad down and pull out that lube. It’s an extremely rare homoerotic wrestling match that doesn’t make me need to get off if I spend enough time watching it.
AH: I think I need to be invited to a viewing party at Bard’s house! I’ll bring the lube! I tend to look over pictures and see if there are moves that grab my attention. Gear is definitely a big plus in my book, too. I go back and forth on the dialogue; sometimes I think it enhances a match, sometimes I think it hinders it. Is there one type of match that is your “default” for watching, or does it depend on the mood? Seems like you’re big into the muscle worshiping and eroticism of matches more than the moves/wrestlers themselves
Bard: Fascinating that your impression is that I’m less into the moves and wrestlers and more into eroticism! I wouldn’t necessarily have said that. For example, I’m like a dog with a bone when it comes to an OTK backbreaker, or to a hot wrestler getting trapped in the ropes. A flying dropkick, relatively rare in homoerotic wrestling circles, is a sensational turn on for me. My moods swing me toward ring matches more often that mat matches, so the ring would probably be a “default” setting for me. My moods also tilt me toward matches with some back and forth momentum and at least a pretense of competitiveness about it. So, while I occasionally get a hankering for a sweet, crushing, humiliating squash, a competitive match would be my default setting for what I’m typically looking for. All that said, I get bored pretty fast on a complete diet of relatively straightforward, G-rated wrestling with no explicit and very little implicit erotic content. I can tune into mainstream pro for that. So even if it doesn’t have nudity or making out or fuck stakes involved, I’m very partial to wrestling that gives at least a nod to the homoerotic sensibilities of our audience.
AH: Perhaps my impression was on purpose, Bard….to get a rise out of you! You’ll never know! My go-to move for any match is any variation on the sleeper. Pass the lube if that occurs. You mentioned mainstream pro wrestling; to the best of my knowledge, you’ve never mentioned any pro wrestlers/pro wrestling on your blog. Is that again because of your audience, or is it because like you say in the about me portion of your blog, “devoted to contemplating in excruciating detail the world of homoerotic wrestling”?
Bard: You provocateur! I heartily approve. Early on in my blogging I talked about my complicated relationship with mainstream pro wrestling. I’ve posted about my major, youthful crush on muscle hunk Billy Jack Haynes in my “What Turned Me Gay” series. And I think I have some early posts about the classic vintage Brit pro Keith Hawarth. And, hell, the banner for Neverland is the fantasyman himself, Tommy Zenk. But I grew disenchanted with watching contemporary mainstream pro over a decade ago when it kept striking me as blatantly homophobic. Throughout most of my blogging, I’ve enjoyed reading other bloggers who keep their eyes on straight up pro, like Beefcake’s of Wrestling, Ringside at Skull Island and Inner Jobber. But I find wrestling explicitly for gay eyes to be just as entertaining, more titillating, and much less of a moral dilemma to enjoy, so I spend most of my viewing and blogging time on the more gay-forward homoerotic wrestling companies.
AH: I’m sorry. Obviously I didn’t do my research. Since you mentioned other bloggers there have many multiple blogs and bloggers on the subject of homoerotic and underground wrestling pop up in the ensuing years since 2009. How do you feel about that?
Bard: Hell, I forget half of what I’ve written, so I certainly don’t expect anyone else to have my entire 6 years of blogging memorized. I think it’s fabulous that there are a number of homoerotic wrestling blogs. The old Rants, Roids & Wrestling blog was just shutting down as I was starting up. I loved the artwork and storytelling there. Joe started Ringside at Skull Island about 6 months before my blog, and I’ve always enjoyed Joe’s take on the scene. And of course Wrestling Arsenal is a classic that’s been around forever and has a fantastic, unique voice and angle all his own. There have been times when I’ve been just about to post something when I discover someone else (usually Joe) has already reviewed it, said it, asked it. But honestly, I think it’s fantastic that there are several voices out there, a lot of different perspectives and tastes reflecting much more of the diversity of homoerotic wrestling than any one of us could by ourselves.
AH: What do you think of wrestlers having more of a Social Media presence than ever before?
Bard: I think it’s the future of entertainment of any kind, including the homoerotic wrestling business. Pro wrestling is as much driven by personality as it is by athleticism or hot bodies. We have more access to interact with and know about the people in our lives, and social media has given us the opportunity to build the illusion that public personalities are “people in our lives.” So, anonymous guys with hot bodies showing up in a ring, wrestling with more or less skill, and then disappearing from view is much less compelling these days than wrestlers turning us on in action and then populating our Twitter and Facebook feeds with photos and attitude and the illusion that their professional character is part of our social network. Wrestlers like Ty Alexander, Kayden Keller, Ethan Andrews and Cameron Matthews have done great work at the sell in and out of the ring. I know fans enjoy seeing them in social media, and I strongly suspect that those who exploit that fan experience beyond the confines of a particular wrestling product will only literally sell more products. And have you seen the number of photos that Ty posts of his ass!? Fuck, that guy is working it with a vengeance!
AH: True. There have been plenty of wrestlers, through all of the homoerotic sites that have been “one and done” – they have the great bodies, but if the personality is not there or they don’t sell for the camera and draw the audience in, they are not featured again. It does give us a kind of “behind the scenes” look at some wrestlers. However, don’t you also think that there could also be some fatigue with specific wrestlers who appear over and over again combined with their increasing online presence?
Bard: My thinking has evolved on that question over my time blogging. Early on, I was pretty harsh on wrestlers who seemed to show up everywhere at the same time. I took some swipes at Cameron Matthews and Rio Garza a few years ago when both of them were showing up in simultaneous new releases across two, sometimes three different companies, sometimes even wrestling the same opponents across promotions. I still think that repackaging the same match-ups across promotions is bad for consumers, and my hunch is that there’s probably some corporate intrigue about the choice of a producer to tape and release copycat matches at the same time. Like, what’s the wisdom of releasing at the same time Rio and Jobe wrestling each other in the ring in two different matches? But I think instant downloads and social media are sensitizing us to a faster pace of information and exposure to wrestlers. And, frankly, I’ve simply found myself charmed and titillated by popular wrestlers like Cameron, Jonny, Drake and Ethan inhabiting multiple platforms, giving us long-form text, photos, and videos alongside of snapshot status updates to construct 3-dimensional characters in and out of the ring. Getting more access to these sensational wrestling characters has actually increased my anticipation and excitement for their new releases. There may be fan-fatigue for some wrestling consumers, but these days I see multi-platform promotion for wrestlers to be compelling. Now if we could just get Drake to update his fucking blog [laughing].
AH: Haha, there you go bashing Drake again. Can’t you leave the poor guy alone? Are you trying to get fans to sympathize with poor Drake? I didn’t want to name names earlier (cough Austin/Frey cough) about showing up across different companies and multiple matches a month, but hey, he must be doing something right in the eyes of the people producing and shelling out the products. And he is not the only one. It does seem to make it harder for a rookie to get noticed and make a lasting impression, although I have to say that 2015 was a particularly strong year for them (at least for me.) with Chet, Biff, Van Skyler, etc.
Bard: I do like the increased social media presence of some of the wrestlers you mentioned, although like new releases, they are updated rather infrequently. I think that actually works in their favor, as it keeps the audience salivating until there is a new post, a new video, new pictures.
AH: Since we’re talking about wrestlers populating social media, what are your thoughts on all the bloggers talking about homoerotic wrestling
Bard: Oh, can’t forget Austin Cooper! His heel work at BG East in particular is crazy good. But regarding other bloggers, I have tons of respect and take a lot of enjoyment in all of them. There was a period where I was diligently reading everybody and intentionally cross promoting other blogs, but I just ran out of time to stay on top of that. I still visit Beefcakes of Wrestling several times a week to check the mainstream pros I ought to be looking up on Youtube. I check in on Ringside frequently, now that Joe’s back at it again, particularly for a glimpse at some of the promotions that I don’t really follow. Alex is always sensational, and his work at The Cave is a great mix of sensational writing and inspiring reviews. I think each of the bloggers with an eye on homoerotic wrestling have unique perspectives, different things that draw their attention or spark their interest. And that’s what I like about blogging as a format. It lets us step inside someone else’s head for a moment and recognize the arousing and provocative things that we may not see on our own.
AH: Seems like each blog has a corner of the homoerotic wrestling scene all to themselves. I love it when multiple bloggers discuss and dissect the same match as it leads to differing views and makes me want to watch the match again trying to hopefully see it through a new lens. Before finding all of these blogs, I never thought that all of these posts would be so arousing!! I just thought the videos and pictures would turn me on. Glad to be proven wrong. So you have your avatar on your blog that shows off that chest and gives a glimpse of your abs. You’ve let your audience into your mind – but you have left the rest of your body and self, vague. Is that intentional on your part?
Bard: When I started blogging, I didn’t have a clear picture of exactly what I wanted the blog to be. But I did feel committed to make it relatively confessional as a gay man strongly turned on by wrestling. With an interest in a frank discussion of eroticism, I decided that I’d feel freer to be blunt and honest about my sexual turn-ons if I were relatively anonymous otherwise. One of the greatest things about blogging has been hearing from guys who say, “I’ve had the same experiences, but thought I must be the only one!” But I don’t know if I’d ever have had the balls to dig down to those moments of homoerotic confessional truth, to talk about some of those things that many of us experience but may seldom discuss with friends and family that don’t get it, if I thought that my mom or my boss might stumble across my words. These days, I think of that avatar I use like a wrestling mask in the pro ring. There’s something that it hides, but there’s something that it frees to be seen, to be more open and passionately me as well. And, quite honestly, over time I’ve discovered that there are some relatively unhinged people in the webosphere who take all of this way, way too seriously, who I really wouldn’t want to know me in any more detail than what I share on the blog.
AH: Very well said. I was quite late to the game in finding homoerotic wrestling sites and blogs dedicated to it. But once I did, I had that “Aha” moment, where I was like I am not the only one who likes this stuff! And we thank you for digging down deep, through your anonymity, to bring us your fresh take on these subjects that so strongly turn you on. I hope this interview does not provoke any unhinged people out there to search either of us out.
Bard: Some guys are extremely… passionate… about their opinions about homoerotic wrestling. It’s a fine line between passionate/playful and unhinged, but there is a line, I think.
AH:Rock Hard dabbled in luche style masks I believe once in their history (although it was obvious who the combatants were) and BG East has had masked wrestlers as well. Do you ever watch lucha wrestling videos on youtbube or know that history, or were you just using the wrestling mask as a metaphor to prove your point?
Bard: I am familiar with lucha wrestling and some of the standard parts of the lucha mystique as it relates to masks and unmasking. Mostly, I was speaking metaphorically, though.
AH: So, 2016 is a momentous year. We have a Presidential election as well as the Olympics. Who would you put on the Mount Rushmore of homoerotic wrestling?
Bard: Yowza, that’s a challenging question. Coincidentally I traveled to Mr. Rushmore just last summer. I found it oddly underwhelming. But if I were to select 4 faces to get carved into stone as pivotal people in homoerotic history, I’d definitely start with Kid Leopard. I think BG East has been uniquely shaped by his vision and commitment to homoerotic wrestling, and I think BG East has, in turn, uniquely shaped the entire industry. Honestly, I think if anyone else’s face was carved next to him, Kid Leopard’s visage would pummel him. Who else is as iconic? Maybe Ron Sexton of Can-Am. I have no idea what he looks like, though, so I’m not sure if anyone would recognize him. But I think of him as, perhaps more than anyone else, bringing together the two worlds of wrestling and porn in ways that completely laid the groundwork for the likes of Naked Kombat. If pressed, I think perhaps a third face to carve into the Mr. Rushmore of homoerotic wrestling might be Steve Sterling. Bodybuilders in homoerotic wrestling are a mainstay these days, but I think of Steve as one of the first, if not the first, legitimate, incredibly muscled, competition bodybuilders to bring serious, aesthetic, massive physiques into the homoerotic wrestling fan’s immediate gaze. As for a fourth “founding father,” I’m sort of stumped. I think I’ll put Scott Williams’ face in that final spot. Not because he fundamentally shaped the industry at all. Just because I think he’s fucking handsome as hell, and I’d pay the price of admission to get to see that sensational jawline literally carved in stone.
AH: Shit, I am getting into my car and driving directly to your Mt Rushmore of homoerotic wrestling! Where do you think this art form goes from here? There has definitely been an evolution, one you know better than me, about homoerotic wrestling. Now, you don’t need to wait a period of time for that “package” to arrive in the mail – you can instantly stream/download a match from just about any wrestler, any promotion, at any moment (and get a shock when you get your credit card statement too). Mr. Firestorm has dabbled in newer matches (with the google-glasses bird’s eye view, and his choose your own adventure style match against your personal friend Drake); do you think that is the way to go – where it seems the audience has more of a say in what goes on in matches, or should we leave it to the people behind the scenes who have crafted gold into our memories for so long
Bard: I think there’s value added in both consumer directed products as well as the fare that established wrestling producers know how to put together so well. The custom and fan-choice matches scratch that great, postmodern itch of breaking down some of the barriers between viewers and the action, which I think is sensational. It’s also why I love behind the scenes glimpses and the online presence of some homoerotic wrestling personalities these days. It pokes holes in that wall that divides the passive viewing fan from the extremely active, intense, visceral nature of wrestling. However, 9 times out of 10, I’d let Kid Leopard pick a sexy hot pairing for a sweaty, high flying, low down ring match drama and be confident I’d be 100% entertained. I love the unexpected. I love to be surprised and shocked by how a match turns or by the depths to which wrestlers will go to dominate. So I certainly wouldn’t want everything to be a Chinese menu of homoerotic wrestling choices. Some producers have a fantastic eye and taste for this that takes me places I’d never know that I need to go.
AH: Once again Bard, fantastic analysis; That’s the great thing about this subject and others like it – it’s so open for discussion and debate. Do you have any last rumblings and grumblings you’d like to share that perhaps you haven’t yet voiced in your blog yet?
Bard: I think the only other thing I’d pontificate about today is one that many readers have heard before from me and from others. I regularly get comments to my blog with pointed, often personal, frequently crass criticisms of wrestlers. Most often the ones that really trigger me are the personal attacks on wrestlers’ bodies, like someone is too fat, too skinny, too ugly, too whatever and so somehow deserves disrespect. On the one hand, I’m at the front of the line when it comes to loving and leaning into the fantasy of professional wrestling. When wrestlers belittle each other and heap trash talking contempt upon one another’s physiques and appearance, I can understand why fans would turn to social media and comment logs to participate in the same sort of posturing. However, as many can probably attest to, I do my best to censor those types of comments out of the comment pages on my blog. I know this pisses some readers off. But I just have to say, again here today, that this practice of trashing wrestlers with personal attacks feels a lot like me inviting a whole bunch of friends over, and having one of the guests in my own home trashing and attacking another of my guests. I know you’ve got your opinions, and I know many of you aren’t shy about expressing the highly critical ones. But no. Not in my house. Not aimed at my friends.
Because that’s what’s happened as I’ve been blogging over the years. I’ve had the great privilege of meeting many of the wrestlers who I’m completely infatuated with. And it’s a mind fuck to actually sit down and talk with a stud puppy who, perhaps just the day before, I was pounding out a screaming climax to while watching him wrestle on my screen. And while I have zero problem getting off again and again to the wrestling work of these hunks I’ve got to meet in person, I just can’t behave as if these wrestlers are somehow not real people who deserve common human decency and respect. A few of them I’m particularly privileged to count among my friends, and I take that seriously. So not liking a match they’re in, or offering the critique about something they wear, or what you wish they’d done to a particular opponent is fantastic by me. But body shaming them, or calling them losers, or questioning their intelligence, or assessing them as worthless is crossing a line.
So, like I said, readers have heard this from me before, but in closing, I’d just say it again. Keep it classy. This little corner of the world inhabited by gay guys with a particular thing for getting off on wrestling is probably bigger than most of us might have originally thought it was, but we shouldn’t take for granted the balls it takes for wrestlers to strip down, gear up, and put their bodies on the line for this community of ours. I know for a fact that there are homoerotic wrestlers who have been shamed and punished when they’ve had friends, family or coworkers discover they’ve wrestled for a gay audience. That’s shitty. But the last thing they should also face is that very audience shaming or harassing them out of petty cattiness.
Anyway, I officially step back off my soap box and thank you, AH, for turning the tables on me and interviewing me for a change. It was a fascinating experience to be on the other side of the questions!
AH: No, thank you very much, Bard. The honor was all mine, and thank you for agreeing to do this!
Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction, the product of my homoerotic wrestling imagination inspired by the sensationally sexy wrestlers Drake Marcos, Trey Dixon, and Kid Leopard Happy New Year, readers!
I might be embarrassed to admit I jerked off to nothing more than the text of that email, but I know you, dear reader, popped wood just now, too. Trying to look cool, I managed to restrain myself exactly 13 minutes before replying to Kid Leopard’s email with a concise, definitive answer: Hell, yes.
Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. If you’ve seen even half as many Kid Leopard matches as I have, you’d also be suspicious of any completely unsolicited, gratuitous, too-good-to-be-true offer of an unearned gift from the most diabolical character in homoerotic wrestling history. As we sorted out the details and travel arrangements, I nursed a thoughtful skepticism about what ulterior motives might be hidden behind this offer of a wrestling fantasy come true. But I’m pretty sure that I provide the Boss’ business one of the most prolific and enthusiastic sources of free advertising in the form of over 6 years of lovingly blogging about the sexiest homoerotic wrestling I’ve ever seen, most of which has been produced by Kid Leopard. I’ve even written a lot of the match descriptions you read of new wrestling products on the BG East website, taking nothing more than some advanced review copies of the DVDs as compensation. So sure, I knew there was much, much more than met the eye when I boarded the plane for south Florida. But of all the ways this could go terribly wrong, I honestly thought I was too much of an asset in the Boss’ business portfolio to get screwed over too much.
The last time I walked into BG East’s Florida facilities, I was all sorts of nervous about the prospect of getting schooled by a hot young pro homoerotic wrestler. This time, I was feeling significantly less pressure, but no less excitement. Drake met me in shorts and a t-shirt at the front door with nothing but a contemptuous snarl. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the ring room. I chuckled as I followed him, perversely pleased to see that our last encounter was still festering inside the Cheshire Cat. “Clean the ring!” I heard Kid Leopard bark angrily as I walked through the door. Drake seemed to sulk as he grabbed a bucket and a mop and climbed up to the ring apron, starting to sanitize the mat reluctantly, but obediently.
“Well if it isn’t Bard!” The Boss shouted, grabbing me by the hand and shaking it with uncomfortable pressure. It wasn’t the first time we’d met. I’d spent several awed hours with Kid Leopard and some of the back office boys a few years ago when I had an opportunity to make a pilgrimage to BG East’s main campus outside of Boston. “Of course, you’ve met this little punk already,” he hooked a thumb toward Drake, who was doing his best to ignore us.
We waited another half an hour for Trey to show up. According to the Boss, Trey had been showing up later and later in direct proportion to the number of fan letters he receives. Prima Donna or not, I was tongue tied and star struck when he strolled in and flashed those baby blue eyes at me briefly. Literally, I was a little weak in the knees just catching sight of one of my wrestling infatuations in street clothes. Kid Leopard gave him a cursory dressing down for his tardiness, but critical comments seemed to bounce off of the bronzed stud unnoticed. Soon enough, the Boss sent both wrestlers to the back rooms to get into ring gear and get this show on the road.
I’d received no instructions about what I ought to wear as guest referee. I can think of no more than about 3 matches that I’ve seen BG East bother with a referee, so this was sort of uncharted territory. I pulled a pair of black trousers and a white t-shirt out of my backpack and asked if Kid Leopard approved. “No,” he said with his customary bluntness. Without explanation, he left me alone in the ring room for a minute before returning with a stretch poly white and black vertically striped referee shirt in hand. “Wear this,” he said without any interest in my opinion. Not that I expected Kid Leopard to express a lot of interest in my opinion. The shirt was a size “small,” and I, dear reader, am not. “Go on, Mr. Abs,” Kid Leopard smirked, referencing my online avatar. “Squeeze those muscles in nice and tight.”
My shoulders and upper arms strained the seams, but I managed to slip into the skin tight top. It clung to my abs and molded across the expanse of my pecs. The Boss nodded approval with a smirk. I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them off with Kid Leopard watching appraisingly. Fuck, standing there in boxer briefs with the leading legend of the homoerotic wrestling industry watching me strip made my cock throb. My heart was pounding in my chest as I slipped on the tight black trousers I’d brought with me. “Mmm-hmmm,” The Boss grunted passing approval. “That’ll do just fine.”
While we waited for Drake and Trey to return, Kid Leopard filled me in on the background of this match. It was a special request match for a wealthy fan. The wrestlers were custom ordered, and, to my surprise, so was I. “He insisted,” Kid Leopard assured me. “Trey and the punk, in the ring, no-holds-barred, with blogger Bard as guest referee.” Setting aside the momentary swelling I got from the ego stroke of being in someone’s fantasy line up, I asked what, exactly, you need a referee for in a no-holds-barred wrestling match. “To declare the winner,” The Boss snapped impatiently, clearly bored by my ignorance. The match would be recorded by none other than Kid Leopard himself, for just one pair of eyes to ever see.
When Trey and Drake were ready, Kid Leopard ordered me to climb into the ring as he pulled a small handheld camera up in front of his face. “All right, kiddies, make this a good one!” he shouted. Trey strolled into the ring room first. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Kid Leopard announced from behind the camera, “arriving at 5’10” and 155 pounds, Golden Boy Trey Dixon!” My jaw dropped to the floor. Trey wore the matte yellow wrestling singlet he rocked so sensationally in Gear Wars 4. Holy fuck, it was painted on and edged into every sensationally sexy crack and crevice of his insanely fit body. Honestly, there’s not a spare ounce of anything on his shredded physique. I had to adjust my cock pressing at a painful angle in my tight trousers before Trey had even hopped up to the ring apron. He ducked underneath the top rope and turned to the camera, flexing a double bicep and pursing his lips seductively. Barefoot, bronzed, dirty blond and blue eyed, he was sexier in real life than on video, and I for one would not have been able to imagine him being any sexier than what I enjoyed of him on video. He flexed and preened as Kid Leopard zoomed in on his stunning display of muscle and beauty. When Trey finally concluded the pre-match muscle show, he turned and strolled confidently across the ring, subtly, almost too quickly for me to catch, giving me a sly wink as I openly stared at him. He hopped up and sat his muscled ass across the top turnbuckle in the next corner to the right of the one in which I stood.
Drake marched into the room with an unmistakable chip on his shoulder. He wore that sexy white singlet with blue and black trim that he sported in Mat Scraps 2, at least until Ray Naylor ripped it off of him and used it to choke him. His pale skin and hairy chest were a stark contrast with his perfectly smooth, bronzed opponent. His lightly hairy legs were noticeably thicker than when I’d felt them squeezing the air out of my lungs a year earlier. Barefoot and babyfaced, Drake’s sweet ass stretching the seat of his white singlet made my cock twitch with the tactile memory of feeling those glutes squeezed in the palm of my hands. Today, the Cheshire Cat refused to spare a half second for a flash of that handsome smile that always turns me on. He also didn’t waste a second for the camera. “And now arriving ringside,” the Boss announced, “at 5’10” and 165 pounds, the Cheshire Cat of wrestling, everyone’s favorite jobber, Drake… Marcoooos!” Drake visibly bristled at being announced as everyone’s favorite jobber. He slid underneath the bottom rope and backed warily into the corner opposite his opponent, refusing to tear his eyes away from anything other than the Golden Boy.
Frankly, I expected a pro wrestling match to be more scripted than this, but I took the bull by the balls and decided to call the competitors into the middle of the ring to give them a lay of the land. They were almost exactly the same height, about 4 inches taller than I am, bumping pecs and staring angrily into each others eyes. “This is what you’ve got to work with today,” I explained, looking up at them. “There are no fucking rules.” I said with a smirk. “Trey, you want to twist his balls off, go for it,” I said with a chuckle. “You want to pull his hair, be my guest. You want to tie him up in the ropes, and take my word for it when I say that’s fun to do with Drake, so, make it so, big boy.” Drake tore his eyes away from his opponent to stare down at me indignantly. Trey also glanced at me with a wry grin. “The winner,” I continued, “will be the first to pin his opponent’s shoulders to the mat for a count of three, or make his opponent tap out, or force a verbal submission. I’d say, ‘fight fair,’ but in this case, fighting fair is for chumps. So…,” I paused for comedic timing and stared back at Drake glowering at me, “…fight fair, Drake.”
Trey chuckled as he turned and strode back toward his corner. I backed quickly out of the way, just in time for Drake to attack his opponent from behind. He closed the distance in a sprint and swung his right knee savagely into Trey’s side, before quickly grabbing the back of his head and charging toward the corner. Trey’s beautiful face was pounded viciously into the top turnbuckle. The bronzed beauty’s knees buckling underneath him made me question if this match might just be over before it started.
Drake was like a dog with a bone. As Trey sagged to his knees, the Cheshire Cat pounded the golden boy’s face into the middle turnbuckle. When Trey collapsed flat out on the mat, Drake mounted his back and pounded his face into the mat. Holy fuck, I’d never seen Drake so vicious or in such total control.
My tradition for many years was to publish some original wrestling fiction here at neverland to ring in a happy New Year. Now, most of the wrestling fiction I’ve written has starred known homoerotic wrestlers, celebrities, male models, etc., but for my New Year’s canon I always indulged in writing myself into the narratives. Making quick work of one of my New Year’s resolutions, I’m posting a new homoerotic wrestling scenario here over the next few days in serial format. While everyone involved in this narrative is a real life hunk, let me just clarify that this is a work of fiction. Fans of any of these fine men, cut me a break. It’s all imagination and fun (for me). If your homoerotic wrestling imagination makes you picture this scenario completely differently, don’t send me your hate mail, just sit your ass down and write (and share!) your own original wrestling fiction! And most importantly, have a happy New Year, wrestling fans!
To be honest, no one was more surprised by the outcome of my wrestling match with Drake Marcos than I was. Well, Drake was obviously shocked senseless to find himself on the bitter end of an ass whooping by a mere blogger. But with precious little wrestling experience, I fully expected a homoerotic wrestling pro like Drake to take me to school. The handsome industry insider was famously tutored in the harshest realities of hardcore, low down, balls out grappling by none other than The Boss of BG East himself. Drake wears his spine tingling apprenticeship at the hands of nasty, nefarious, notorious classic heel Kid Leopard like a badge of honor. Seriously, he can’t shut up about being the protege and heir apparent to the living legend. He had me pretty well convinced that I was essentially climbing into the BG East ring with Kid Leopard himself, and as a long-time fan, I’m not ashamed to admit I was entirely intimidated and, perhaps, just a little terrified.
I’ve documented that match elsewhere, so I won’t rehash too many of the glorious details. Well, I can’t help myself but savor at least some of the details again here. Suffice it to say that the first two thirds of that late night session in the BG East ring presented me one of the steepest learning curves of my life. Full disclosure, the Cheshire Cat (as I’m fond of calling him) is significantly younger than I am. He’s also taller. And, as I mentioned, he’s more experienced. So it should be little wonder I was out-hustled and punished hard by Drake as the night wore on. Not that I wanted to be anywhere else in the world than stroking his sensational thighs as they crushed my body. He’s long and lean, but the kid’s got incredibly strong (and sexy) legs. True enough, I was choking on the pain, but reaching around and grabbing that meaty ass, staring down that shit eating grin permanently stretched across his handsome face, I was hardly disappointed with my pro wrestling ring initiation thus far.
The lid was completely blown off, however, when I managed to muscle my way free from yet another bear trap. In an upper body comparison, I’ve got the Cheshire Cat beat bad. So although it took some work, I finally broke free and slipped behind the young pro. I may not have had any significant pro wrestling experience, but when it comes to being intimately familiar with the size and scope of the BG East catalog, I’m fucking world class! I’d studied every Drake Marcos match publicly available. I watched this cocky kid going down in flames time after time, and one thing that even a casual homoerotic wrestling scout will tell you is that Drake Marcos gets off on getting choked. Slipping my big bicep across his throat, I tightened up slowly. And right then and there, I was convinced that this whole match had just taken a 180 degree turn. I knew I had the cocky pro all buttoned up the moment I saw his cock crawling up his lower abdomen, stretching the pouch of those tasty, tight pink briefs.
Once I knew just where to apply pressure, I played the Cheshire Cat like strumming a guitar. I felt the heat pulsing off of his body, straining underneath me. He was hating it. And he was loving it. He tried to pry arm away from his throat. Not that I couldn’t easily thwart him, but I swear I could feel it in the way his body sagged against me that despite himself, he didn’t want to be free. He wanted to be in my control. He wanted to get dragged to the edge of consciousness. There were spurts of reluctant fight writhing in my arms, but the writing was on the wall. Drake Marcos was all mine.
Again, the photographic evidence of the fun to be had with a barely conscious, completely crushed homoerotic pro wrestler at your mercy is available elsewhere. Hung like dirty laundry from the ring ropes and turnbuckles, I snapped pics with my phone to savor later, and to document for the homoerotic wrestling world the precipitous fall of a rising pro wrestler. Dragging his hot, sweaty body to the middle of the ring, I claimed one last trophy: a close up photo of those pink briefs ripped off his sexy body and shoved down his throat.
Again, no one should be surprised that after everything was said and done, Drake’s bruised ego desperately tried to spin his humiliating defeat. Online, he claimed my pics were photoshopped. One minute, he was trying to convince his astonished army of fans that this crowing blogger had chloroformed him. The next minute, he was arguing that his split personality betrayed him, and all my pictures were nothing more than evidence that he wasn’t in his right mind around the time he was getting tossed around and tapped out.
I admit it. Watching Drake wriggle and writhe on the line was irresistible. I didn’t need to poke him. It wasn’t necessary for me to rub it in, publicly humiliating him in front of all his wrestler buddies and adoring fans on social media. I didn’t have to have such fun at the Cheshire Cat’s expense. It was just such a fucking pleasure.
Fast forward about a year. I was actually starting to feel sorry for Drake just a little, watching him struggle to come up with some new excuse for how his sweet ass got owned by a blogger. But the biggest surprise of all was getting that email from Kid Leopard, the Boss himself, inviting me to take my infatuation with all things homoerotic wrestling to a whole new level. My besting of his protege clearly hadn’t gone unnoticed. My raging crush on yet another BG East hunk, Trey Dixon, also had not escaped the Boss’ attention. So the Boss had an offer he knew I would be completely incapable of refusing: be a “celebrity” guest referee in a no holds barred ring match between Drake and Trey.