In the early days of writing this blog, I was more prone to be critical of a wrestler or a particular match than I am these days. For example, I was a bit bitchy about Z-Man, way back when he’d only appeared on Thunder’s Arena, because I thought he was too campy, too self-conscious and oversold. He always looked like he was on the brink of busting out laughing in a way that was a buzz kill. He’s always had that gorgeous bod in perpetually magnificent condition, but it really was only when he migrated to BG East that I fully got on board the Z-Train. Wrestling for BGE managed to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face and let us seriously enjoy that that pretty boy with the body of an Adonis seriously suffering. I eventually even crowned Z-Man as one of my homoerotic wrestlers-of-the-month back in the day when I was doing that. So when I learned, moments before stepping into the ring to announce at Wrestlefest Live in NYC this past February, that Kirk Donahue’s mystery opponent was none other than Z-Man, I was as shocked and excited as everyone else.
Well, everyone except Kirk. Kirk was instantly upstaged, and he was immediately bitter about it. Speaking of me having a history of giving wrestlers a hard time, I also have a bit of a history here at Sidelineland with Kirk. He debuted for BG East late in 2014, ironically against Z-Man in Babyface Brawl 3, and with just one match under his belt, he received what I thought was a suspicious nomination for best butt that year. I mean, he has a nice ass, but it sure seemed to me like he jumped in line in front of a lot of impeccable, fan favorite, tried-and-true wrestling asses. Sharing that opinion here on the blog actually got me an email from the BGE back office not quite, but almost, ordering me to cease and desist. I’ve continue to razz Kirk over the years, mostly because it seems to me like he asks for it. He’s too fucking cute. Those freckled cheeks are just too fucking pinchable, and he knows it, and somehow that makes me ache to see him get that suspiciously nominated ass of his beat bad.
I don’t know if Kirk has ever read my reviews, so I can’t say for sure if him ripping the microphone out of my hand and monologuing like a Gotham villain was at all personal. Quietly, I sort of hope so. But BG East’s sponsored match at Wrestlefest Live this year in NYC was most definitely not about me. It was about two seasoned veterans returning for a rare rematch, both of them now in full possession of an army of fans and devotees, about to put on a rafter-rattling match that had everyone on their feet. And as it played out, it was a gorgeous example of classic pro wrestling drama, with a dazzling and popular babyface hero (who, last I heard, was recovering from a serious accident that knocked off him off the scene a few years back), and a petulant, dirty-dealing heel, and a suspiciously notorious even-more-dirty-dealing heel referee.
I don’t know if anyone else other than me was wondering if Z-Man would be recuperated and back in shape enough for a serious beatdown, but both Kirk and Z-Man put any such speculation to rest almost immediately. Kirk jumps him from behind while Z-Man is still acknowledging the roaring crowd, and within seconds he’s slammed Z down and is stomping the living fuck out of him relentlessly. “What do you think of that jobber bitch now, huh?,” Kirk taunts the crowd for lining up behind Z-Man so instantly and unapologetically. “What do you have to say for your boy now!?”
In fact, the action is fucking intense! Their mutual contempt for one another is palpable in Kirk’s savage chest chops and disrespectful slaps to Z-Man’s handsome-as-fuck face. Z-Man pounds Kirk’s suspiciously lauded ass hard in a suplex and goes for Kirk’s ridiculously freckled face with nasty elbow strikes. The momentum stays with Kirk most of the time, though, and it’s looking like Z may just not have what it takes to go toe-to-toe the cocky heel at this point in their careers. Kirk kicks him in the balls when referee Jonny Firestorm isn’t looking, and there’s a feel of inevitability as Kirk’s dirty tricks and snarling contempt crash down on Z-Man again and again, making Z-Man’s stubborn kick-outs and rallies seem increasingly futile.
But don’t you fucking dare count Z-Man out, in general, or in this match! It’s like he’s got a direct picc line from the roaring crowd, pumping gallons of adrenaline and tenacity directly into his veins. When I’m pretty sure diabolical Kirk has rung Z-Man’s bell too many times, from somewhere deep inside, on sheer nerve and reckless stubbornness, Z-Man keeps teetering on the brink of what looks like just might be the epic upset that every fan watching was screaming for.
As with all of the WF Live NYC matches, I was a bit too distracted to really appreciate the drama and athleticism and storytelling of this match in the moment, but watching it on video now, I’m absolutely in awe of what these guys pulled off. It was punchy and suspenseful every second of the way to, and then somehow even after, the climactic end. It felt a bit like history in the making when I was there, and it seems even more so watching the match again on video.
For the record, Z-Man sells like a fucking champion, taking some blows that even made me cringe with sympathy pains. And, yeah, yeah, Kirk Donahue has a well-above average ass. That freckle-faced fucker needs to respect his ring announcer better, but there’s no question, he’s one super talented and super hot wrestler.
As I mentioned in my last post, this year at Wrestlefest NYC I enjoyed (and was only slightly terrified of) getting to experience what it was like being behind the camera, recording some incredibly hot homoerotic wrestling content. I’ve been a consumer of homoerotic wrestling for so long that being literally behind the camera put me through some fascinating mental gymnastics that made me think about my relationship to homoerotic wrestling content in a new way. Not to get too existential here, but being the one pointing the camera has made me think about myself and my relationship to what turns me on about wrestling just a little differently.
Last Year’s Hottie Ring Announcer for Wrestlefest Live 2025
If recording homoerotic wrestling content was an exercise in mental gymnastics, Wrestlefest Live this year was nothing short of a mindfuck for me. In a good way. Probably. Mostly. Wrestlefest maven Scooter approached me a couple of months ago to feel out if I might be up for being ring announcer. My almost immediate answer was yes, and then a couple of hours later, I was suddenly questioning what the fuck I’d just gotten myself into. I mean, I’ve watched enough wrestling to be familiar with the role of a ring announcer. But, then again, have I ever actually, really paid attention to what a ring announcer does? Honestly, when a ring announcer is doing his thing, I’m mostly just cranking up my horny heat in anticipation of the match to come, right? Fuck, I should’ve paid more attention! I snapped a dozen pics of last year’s ring announcer at Wrestlefest Live 2025, so you’d think I was paying attention then. But no, I was just crushing on the hot ring announcer.
My only other time doing anything remotely like this was co-hosting the Gay Wrestling History panel event at Wrestlefest two years. That time, I had the legendary Bob Wood to lean on as co-host, though, and it was mostly moderating a lot of talking and reminiscing, rather than hyping up a hungry crowd. For Live this year, I had an outline of the matches from the event organizer, KC Ryder. I had the list of who’s wrestling in which matches. I had a few announcements to make at the beginning, a few people to thank at the end. It sounds straightforward, right?
Holy fuck, it was barely contained chaos! I was chatting with BG East’s Kid Vicious afterward who assured me that putting on a show like this is always this wild and improvised with a thousand last second details to wrangle into one event narrative. And that’s definitely what this was like. An hour before the event started, I was in the dressing room with all of the wrestlers trying to take down details of exactly how they’d like to be introduced, finding out if there were any important beats to plan for. Holy fuck, just try to imagine me, one of the most notorious homoerotic wrestling-infatuated people you’ve ever read, trying to stay on task surrounded by about 25 smoking hot wrestlers in various states of undress. I’m still not sure if that’s my idea of heaven or hell. There was one classic moment where I was trying to write down information on how Beau Jordan and Ben Monaco preferred me to introduce them before their match. I’m assuming I was probably staring, glassy-eyed, at Beau’s bare, luscious pecs, because he abruptly grabbed my pen, took my paper, and wrote it down himself. I mean, he wasn’t being a dick about it. At all. It had more the feel of “Oh, you poor, completely overwhelmed walking hard-on, let me help you out.”
Beau Jordan knows I’m not looking at his eyes
Actually, the spirit of pitching in and helping out was everywhere. Of course, this room was packed with massive muscles and even bigger egos that were going to climb into the ring later that evening and tear into one another in a bid to come out victorious, but there was a whole fucking lot of cooperation and collaboration required by everyone to just get to that stage in the first place. Like, when I was getting down the details to introduce Kayden Keller’s handicap match against both TK Wu and Freddy Campbell… I could be misremembering, but I think it was Kayden’s suggestion to announce the team of TK and Freddy by both their combined weight and combined height, which was almost certainly my funniest line in the ring that night. Everyone was pitching in ideas to put a little polish on this very underground event in order to make it shine. There was just a ton of earnest respect for professional wrestling in that dressing room. Everyone was there, fit as fuck, and even with some occasional pre-show nerves in evidence, absolutely everyone focused like a laser on putting on a phenomenal event to entertain an appreciative audience.
Being ring announcer made this completely different from my experience of attending Wrestlefest Live the previous two years. For one thing, I didn’t get to enjoy the wrestling itself nearly as much. As soon as one match started, I was checking my notes about what happens next in the show. Not that I didn’t get to watch some. I’ve absolutely got to download these matches the minute they hit Watchfighters, because what I did get to watch, it was hot and intense and all-in entertaining. But I dialed in absolutely every ounce of my attention just for that minute or so before each match when I was in the ring, trying read my scrawled handwriting to get the intros right, trying not to look like as nervous as I felt, trying to remember when to wait for each wrestler’s ring entrance. And just when I would think I’ve got a grip on this thing, someone improvises or plans change. Kirk Donahue (that sexy bastard) rips the microphone out of my hand before I can introduce his opponent. Sir Dark grabs me by the face and plants a kiss on my mouth as he and Rick Roma are pumping up the crowd before their tag team match. KC Ryder pulls me to the side to give me a surprise announcement to make just before intermission. Sir Dark grabs me by the face an plants a kiss on my mouth. Did I mention that one already? Fuck!
There’s no way I can try to do justice to the hot wrestling, so I’ll save a full set of reviews for when I can watch the matches once they’re released. But I can share some blurry, impressionistic flashes of what I experienced when I was tearing my eyes away from my notes to watch the show. Like, in the opening four-way match (Ty Alexander vs Pup Leopard vs Sid Shaw vs Spenser Locke), the choreography of four fierce men tearing into each other and in the din and chaos, crafting these unmistakable characters for absolutely everyone to read. I mean, Ty Alexander was Ty, right? Self-obsessed almost to the point of comical if it weren’t for him delivering some of the biggest hits on opponents of the evening. Spenser Locke was the overly earnest football jock punch-drunk on adrenaline and getting his bell rung. Pup Leopard somehow was immediately the babyface hero holding the entire audience in the palm of his paw. And Sadistic Sid Shaw was that fucking mountain of intensity and muscle that always looks like he’s about to bulldoze everyone and bury them under 10 inches of asphalt.
The wrestling got really homoerotic!
I probably saw more of the second match than any of the others, because it was legitimately a rip-n-strip match that went all the way and, most importantly for my tastes, kept going! I announced the rules, of course (thanks to Beau patiently writing them down for me), so I knew someone was going to be naked and defeated before this one was over with. But intellectually knowing that’s coming is just a whole different experience than watching the gear come off and these two gorgeous beefcakes suddenly wearing nothing but boots and the magnificent muscles the homoerotic wrestling gods blessed them with. Like, even I didn’t really know if this was just a tease. Hell, Ben came out interrupting me when I introduced him, in street clothes, saying he’d thought better of the match stipulations and was backing out. But what I loved even more than that these guys literally just put it all right out there for everyone to see, was that they kept wrestling! The brutal pro wrestling punishment continued, indulgently naked and unselfconscious. The fact that the ref, who was last year’s ring announcer who I crushed on, also lost his shirt and got into the action only made me love this match even more.
A lot of us got a mouthful of Sir Dark
There was some super fun tinkering with tropes in the tag team match between Sir Dark/Rick Roma and Rocko Mortis/Dash Halley. Have I mentioned Sir Dark planted a kiss on me at the beginning of that match? Honestly, quite a bit after that was a haze for me, but I absolutely loved the storytelling. “From Italy (Sir Dark) and Little Italy (Rick Roma) and weighing in at exactly the right amount of marinara sauce….” The surprise babyface heroes in this match were fucking on fire. Give me a bold type and underline babyface who pounds his crotch into his opponent’s dazed face, and I’m completely sold! Rocko and Dash as goth baseball playing zombies made for a pitch perfect contrast with their crowd-pleasing opponents, and the tension in that divide between Team Vendetta and The Gothletes was sensationally ripe for homoerotic pro wrestling melodrama done right.
Wild Man Dick Clayton punished The Handsome Strangler hard
The match just before intermission was sponsored by Cole Cassidy and his Weekend Wrestling operation, pitting Wild Man Dick Clayton against the legendary erotic scamp, the Handsome Strangler. Fuck, trying not to eye fuck those two guys in the dressing room was nothing short of torture. So, I happily eye fucked the fuck out of them along with everyone in the audience when they climbed into the ring for their match. But it was the special guest referee for this match that took my breath away: Elite Eliot. I have obsessed over Eliot for years. His live match against Zip Zarella for BG East’s first Wrestling with Pride has gotten me off more times that I could possibly count. I think the wrestling was hot and beautifully executed, but no shit, I couldn’t say definitively for exactly three reasons. One: Wild Man Dick Clayton’s ass in that loin cloth. Two: Handsome Strangler’s mouthwatering pecs. And, three: Elite Eliot hog-tied in the middle of the ring, left for fans (and a ring announcer) to take selfies with at intermission.
I was first in line during the intermission to take a selfie with hog tied hottie Elite Eliot
After the intermission there came my funniest line of the night introducing TK Wu and Freddy Campbell squaring off against Kayden Keller. That vibe of the terminator taking out two out-matched pretty boys landed beautifully. There was a lot of painting outside the lines throughout most of the matches, but the adrenaline rush of watching mighty Kayden go on a rampage and tombstone fucking everyone, including the ref (MPJ) had this sensational off-the-rails feel to it. In fact, I wasn’t really sure how to handle my ring announcer duties at the end of this one, with the ring littered with knocked out wrestlers several minutes after the bell had been rung.
Kayden owning TK Wu
The penultimate match of the show was such a fucking crowd pleaser. The promotional material for the BG East sponsored match had been teasing Kirk Donahue taking on a “mystery opponent’ for months. The posters just showed a silhouette of hot muscle hunk next to Kirk’s smirking double bicep. I heard so much talk about this in the weeks leading up to the event! I heard more than a few fans grousing about the gimmick being overdone. Why the mystery? And of course, every one of those conversations was an answer to that very question. I had fans swear to me that they had the inside scoop on who the mystery opponent was, and, for the record, everyone who shared their theory about who he was was incorrect. So, I had the distinct honor of getting to be the one to put the mystery to rest when I introduced the triumphant return to the ring of none other than Z-Man! A lot of us have followed on social media news of Z-Man having been seriously injured in an accident a while back. He’s got some seriously impressive scars that hint at the hell he’s been through. But holy fuck, that man is never in anything but pristine and perfected condition! He is so fucking gorgeous and in such phenomenal shape. I don’t actually know what the extent of his injuries were, but I was cheering him on along with absolutely everyone in the place as he went toe-to-toe with dastardly Kirk Donahue. Fuck, the drama was breathtaking. You could hear the collective gasps and tense holding of everyone’s breath as Z-Man and Kirk battled back and forth. And when Z-Man absolutely clawed his way to victory on nothing but his drop dead gorgeous looks, stubbornness, and the flood of good will pouring down on him from this roaring and appreciative audience, the rafters were shaking with excitement.
The triumphant return of Z-Man!
The final match of the evening was a 7-man elimination match for the Wrestlefest Live championship belt, and it nearly broke me. I mean, it was designed to be barely contained chaos, so what was delivered was exactly as ordered. But my responsibilities as ring announcer for this particular match only actually made sense to me about 10 minutes before the match started. I had seven staggered ring introductions to make, starting with the stunning Chase Addams squaring off against perennial favorite Ethan Axel Andrews. Straightforward enough. I think I nailed that part. But then, it got way more complex. Not to pull back the curtain too much on the production side of things, let me just say that it was solely up to me to start the countdown every couple of minutes (or so) before announcing the next entrant. I know I fucked up Leon Cyrus’ entrance, damn it. I forgot to actually announce his sensational moniker, “the Swiss Menace.” I think I got the rest of the intros right. I’m pretty sure I announced at least one elimination in error, but despite the ref arguing with me, somehow I had the final word. Fuck, if I’d known earlier the power I held! I absolutely loved how this match played out, with some of my very favorite people in homoerotic wrestling (Lobo Gris, Tarz Lando, Mickey Knoxx, and Bobby Carter) commanding the spotlight to the extremely climactic end. Also, a quick shout out to referee Chris Collins for seeming almost as overwhelmed as I felt, while looking sexy as fuck… and for single-handedly being responsible for illegally eliminating one of the final three competitors. Fuck, I love pro wrestling melodrama!
The final three!
Again, this post is all about me. Please stay tuned for a more full-throated send up of the sensational matches that went down at Wrestlefest Live 2026 once they’re available for us all to enjoy on video. But just one last observation from my extremely subjective perspective: as phenomenal as the wrestlers were, and as much work was put into putting on this incredibly fun show behind the scenes, a key ingredient that was absolutely essential to making it work was the fantastic audience. I don’t just mean this as a cliché. Genuinely, it takes an audience of earnest wrestling fans like this to land this plane as spectacularly as this one landed. These wrestlers literally bared it all, they put their bodies and egos and dignity on the line, and there wasn’t a cynical snark the entire three hours. They poured a ton of love and respect onto absolutely everyone, and the sum total of the event was so much more than any one incredible match, more than any particularly impressive move, more than all of the hot bodies combined, even. It wasn’t just fun wrestling. It was an event, and everyone showed up for it, and that made it fucking fantastic.
I think that’s a bit of what I’m taking away from this experience… none of us are “just” seat warmers in this homoerotic wrestling community. We’re all participants. We’re all co-creating the edges and the heart of what it means to be passionate about homoerotic wrestling, as wrestlers, as content creators, holding the cameras, producing events, buying hot products, cheering for our favorites, and, yes, even ring announcing. Homoerotic wrestling isn’t something just happening on the other side of our screens, or only inside the ring with us merely spectators on the sidelines. We are, all of us, creating this community, this economy, and this fraternity out of our shared passion and investment of ourselves in all our varied ways. Keep up the amazing work, my friends!
“No rush or anything, I’m just facing some bitch, Kirk.”
“Hey, we didn’t ask for a deep tissue massage, buddy,” Leroy Blaze complains when his masseur starts digging in a little deep. “You can lighten up. No rush, or anything. I’m just facing that bitch Kirk.” What Leroy doesn’t realize is that Kirk Donahue just showed up and silently interrupted his massage, paying off the masseur (fuck, $100 is the going bribe?!?), and taking over the job(ber) himself. Unbeknownst to the jobber, Kirk silently claws at Leroy’s hot, lean muscles. He digs his knuckles and his elbows into the muscle fibers, grinding and crushing in a way that probably isn’t all the “therapeutic,” really. Kirk suddenly hammerlock’s Leroy’s right arm behind his back and claws the fuck out of his shoulders. Pretense aside, Leroy looks up to realize he’s in a world of danger. Kirk wraps Leroy’s towel around the jobber’s throat and drags him through the facilities to deposit him in the ring.
The risks of double-booking
It’s that fucking attitude of Leroy’s the just keeps getting him into trouble. He’s double-booked the start of his match with Kirk and his last 30 minutes of his massage. With astonishing contempt for his opponent (astonishing, considering the way Leroy’s been steamrolled thus far in his BG East career), he just keeps asking for it. And holy fuck, BG East heels see this jobber’s long, lean, ripped physique and tuck into him like he’s a Thanksgiving turkey. The rising champ of over-the-top snark, Leroy bitches about not having “paid for deep tissue massage” even as Kirk is carving into him. Oh, fuck yeah, he’s deserving every relentlessly vicious, crippling attack he gets. “You’re just mad you weren’t the one getting a massage,” Leroy snarks unwisely between getting stomped and trampled like the mudroom rug. Fuck. Would Kirk be the sadistic dick of a heel he is if Leroy wasn’t such a smart ass? Trust me. We’ll never know the answer to that question for sure (because Leroy is SUCH a fucking smart ass).
Maybe next time get that massage after the match?
I mean, fuck, yeah, Leroy looks tasty. Those shiny silver trunks accentuate his skinny-boy-perky-booty nicely. He’s an illustration from a college anatomy and physiology textbook, every fucking muscle in crystal clear relief as every long inch of him is being stretched out and tortured. Once again, he has that barefoot babyface vibe, a mix of equal parts ambition, earnestness, athleticism, and naivete. When he’s getting slammed inches into the ring again and again, you can see the bolts of agony arcing their way through the length of his long limbs. His legs twisting and writhing, kicking uselessly behind him as he’s tapping out to a chin lock and knee to the back, is a compellingly steamy vision of hot jock suffering.
“Go ahead. Tap the mat.”
This match is apparently the Kirk-as-heel side of “The Two Sides of Kirk,” and coming off of watching him get upset by sultry lightweight Mason Broder, I can’t help but read his bitterness toward Leroy as classic transference. I mean, sure, Leroy’s disrespectful double-booking deserves the heat. But it’s like Kirk is earning back self-respect from some deficit far deeper than just being left waiting in the ring while Leroy gets his shiatsu in. Next to Leroy (and Mason, for that matter), Kirk looks like the seriously beefy heel on the rampage. His (disputed… only by me) award-winning butt looks tasty even to me, squeezed into those lime green trunks. And he’s mean to the core. At one point, he offers to let Leroy submit as soon as the jobber taps the mat… and then locks Leroy’s arms behind his back not letting his digits anywhere near the mat. “Who gets a massage before a wrestling match,” he demands to know, rhetorically, because Leroy’s choking on the pain as Kirk’s boot crushes his spine. “You’re going to need physical therapy after this one!”
Deep tissue (and bone, and gristle)
It’s pro-quality punishment dished out onto a punishment sponge, so there’s an organic feel to the pairing of these two. Kirk fights vicious and dirty in a way that seems in keeping with an indy pro veteran let loose on a jobber without a ref anywhere in sight. He yanks on Leroy’s hair. He chokes him in the ropes. He does everything and anything to royally fuck up Leroy’s back and destroy any good qi the jobber was storing up from his interrupted massage.
Every jobber has his day!
I enjoy seeing flashes of brilliant offense from Leroy when Kirk sinks a fraction too deep into his narcissistic self-worship. Leroy leapfrogs out of the corner he’s thrown into at one point, does a (ragged but respectable) cartwheel, and then catches the heel across the neck with a superhero-quality flying lariat. But then, of course, he loses every shred of humility he ought to have been saving up from the first 15 minutes of the match. Leroy gets cocky, strutting and snarking and gloating over every flinch and grunt from Kirk. Like the postmodern babyface he is, he chokes his opponent in the ropes and slaps him in the face just to add insult to injury. He flicks his sweat in Kirk’s face. He flies high, pushing the seasoned heel hard, taking a gloating, no-effort, foot-on-the-chest pinfall from the rocked indy pro stud. Holy FUCK he takes out such an impossibly huge line of credit, he’s going to be paying that back for the next 20 years.
Kirk’s feeling proud of his work
Kirk puts a stop to that shit decisively and in an instant. There are countless high impact OTKs (hello, made to order for a certain blogger?!). Leroy’s anatomy chart body twisted and tortured in the ropes is stunning. The final 13 minutes of the match are just the first installment on Leroy’s payment plan to try to make a dent in the interest he’s already accrued on that line of credit he just took out gloating and strutting. Kirk uses every inch of the ring to catapult and pummel and pound the hot jobber. He twist-ties Leroy’s once relaxed back around the ring post. Will Leroy walk away from this beating a little wiser? Maybe a little more circumspect? A little less cocky? Will he take Kirk’s parting advice, “Next time, be ready!?” Will he throw fewer punch lines at a vicious heel’s expense? Watching him writhe and choke on his humiliation and anguish, my head tells me that surely Leroy’s learned his lesson. But my heart tells me that we haven’t seen the last of his long, lean, hardbodied smart assness.
Dio Characi’s journey into BG East has fascinated me. Of course, I’m infatuated with Dio for a dozen reasons, and, if I’m being totally honest, the intrigues of his match history aren’t at the top of that list. Technically speaking. Knowing me, I’m sure I’ll mention the other reasons I’m infatuated with Dio soon enough, but let me start by just musing about his most recent BG East release, StripStakes 6.
There’s a “buyer beware” in the online match description for this match, letting you know that lovely, multiple award-winning Dio loses, but is spared having his last scrap of fabric stripped off his smoking hot body. That said, I get why this is a strip stakes match, though, because, fuck, vicious little pit bull Kirk Donahue relishes prying every last scrap other than that sweat-soaked pink thong off of Dio’s body. I love the simmering rage Dio serves up when he’s submitted. Fuck, EVERYBODY needs some sexy hunk glaring holes into them, the way that Dio smolders angrily at Kirk over and over again.
And, somehow, I fucking despise Kirk even more than I did when this match started. I mean, fuck, he’s incredible, and FUCK he’s sensational as a vile heel. Like, VILE. And I admit that I’ve been hating on him from nearly the first time I saw him climb into the BG East ring, often unfairly. But hating on Kirk now feels like a habit that I just don’t know that I can break, and based on his despicable, contemptuous, nasty attitude as he lowers the hammer on Dio, I’m not about to turn over a new leaf anytime soon. “Something tells me you belong flat on your back in the middle of this ring,” he snarls at doe-eyed Dio, dragging the fierce little Brazilian terrier all over the ring. At one point, Dio openly admires the size of Kirk’s biceps, which seems to be a calling card of Dio’s. He’s not afraid to slap down open admiration, and 9 times out of 10, open praise from a hunk as hot as Dio makes an opponent stop in his tracks and admire himself. But Kirk? Fuck, no. Kirk swats down the compliment and does not return the favor. There. Right there. Fuck, I despise Kirk for that. At no point in this entire match does he seem to appreciate the ggggorgeous hunk of beef that he’s tenderizing. Oh, Kirk says he’s having fun, but he doesn’t look like he’s having fun. Not the way someone who’s got Dio-fucking-Characi at his mercy should be enjoying himself. (Just one blogger’s opinion, mind you).
Dio sends me every time I watch him wrestle, and StripStakes 6 is no exception. He gets pretty much squashed into oblivion, but he never loses that bitter rage, and ferocity bubbling just below the surface. Way, way early, the savvy indy pro heel has Dio’s back stretched over the ropes with the Brazilian’s handsome face wedged up hard and tight in a dragon sleeper. And then, when he’s thrown to the mat, he looks like he wants to take a bite out of Kirk’s throat. Kirk viciously stomps the living shit out of Dio’s shins and ankles, his ridiculously hot body bouncing and writhing and squirming, a bundle of raw nerves and fear of being maimed. The indy pro applies an expert ankle lock and literally drags Dio’s unbelievably hot ass around the ring, whimpering. And when he submits in panic, and then gets his pink trunks ripped off, leaving him in nothing but boots, kneepads, and that entirely inadequate pink thong, Dio could start a fucking forest fire with the laser beams he pins onto Kirk’s smirking face. Fuck, I love that!
Having followed (not stalked, mind you, just very, very, very casually followed) Dio on social media, I know our cherubic babyface beefcake has got a seriously sadistic and kinky side. But other than his lopsided beatdown on notorious jobber Rocky Sparks (hello, 2023’s Best Abs!), the Brazilian hunk never quite unleashed that smirking, snarling, spitting, eye-fluttering sadism in his BG East journey. Thus far.
So, that intrigues me and keeps me up at night. Maybe not as much as Dio’s luscious pecs and mouthwatering ass do, of course. I’m not quite as infatuated with it as I am with, say, his thick, hairy thighs and superhuman proportions. Or his adorable baby-baby-baby face. Or the giggle of his pouch. Or the boatload of sweat that makes the Best Body of 2023 glisten in the overhead lights. But still, I seriously long to see that simmering rage come to a full boil!
AR is genuinely low-key genius when it comes to his eye for homoerotic wrestling. One of the unexpectedly fun aspects of my recent collaboration with him, co-creating with me my first illustrated homoerotic wrestling fiction, was the particular give and take of the creative process. At times, I’d take the lead with some text, describing the scene, detailing a hold, scripting the dialogue. Then, like half a day later, AR would have created a 3D image in astonishing detail of that moment that had, just hours earlier, only existed in my mind’s eye. At other times, he would craft an image of a hold or a plot point, and then I’d write the text through the middle of the lane markers that he so skillfully generated for the story. It was a very cool creative process that we’re already investing in replicating.
One of the coolest moments in the creative process of putting together the Focus Group homoerotic wrestling match, featuring Ryan Gosling and Timothée Chalamet, was near the end of our work, when AR asked if we were missing a beat in the narrative. We built this moment in the plot when one hot, hard hunk is at the brink of despair, and AR asked the perfect question, of whether the action we’d constructed sufficiently and convincingly shoved the poor, gorgeous fucker over that edge. It was AR’s idea to add one more hold to fully justify the way the story unfolds, and he was the one who suggested that we use the Will Breaker.
I know this hold from Charming Chase Addams’ matches, and from having enjoyed the opportunity in the past to hear Chase talk about the development of the hold, and his creative process in coming up with the name for it. Chase is an innovator, and a passionately devoted student of the science and art of pro wrestling. The range of holds in his arsenal is pretty fucking incredible, particularly when I think about how ridiculously young and pretty he is. (Not that being pretty has anything to do with it. I just wanted to mention how pretty Chase is.)
Kirk Donahue in the Will Breaker in Florida Fights 7, winner of 2018 Best Submission!
I don’t think I really fully appreciated the complexity and beauty of the Will Breaker until it came time for me to try to describe, in words, one homoerotic wrestler applying the hold to another. Like, fuck, the words fail me! I watch him do it, mind you. It’s not like some mystery that happens behind a curtain somewhere. The spotlight over the ring allows no slight of hand or smoke and mirrors. I watch him do it, and even still, it’s fucking complex and nuanced and mysterious!
AR suggested something similar in his creative process of constructing a 3D render of the hold. He mentioned needing to painstakingly place each limb and joint, because there are no software shortcuts to create something like that. It’s not a position the human body was meant to easily slip into, or to endure for very long, so shaping a 3D rendering was, as I understand it, a significant challenge. And, thus, I repeat myself when I say that AR is a low-key genius. As soon as I publish this post, I’m going to get an email from him, humbly insisting on a disclaimer from my praise, but don’t believe him. He’s fucking brilliant.
Chase is, obviously, brilliant at what he does, as well. He’s not low-key about it, though. Chase knows his own genius, and he strips down to nearly nothing, climbs into a wrestling ring in front of a room full of cameras and microphones, and does magic like this that makes me gasp.
Christian Taylor gets the Will Breaker in Chase’s debut, in Tag Team Torture 19, Best Ring Match and Best Overall Match of 2016!
Anyway, I’m appreciating today these two young geniuses with such a passion for the science and art of homoerotic wrestling, of one fierce hunk taking possession of another, crushing one man’s hopes and dignity, and handing his body entirely over to his opponent. In their own ways, AR and Chase both get it, so deeply and fully!
Richie Douglas reaches Will Breaker perfection in Ring Wars 32, Best Ring Match and Best Submission of 2019 (see a pattern!?)
It’s been a long time since I composed a post devoted solely to admiring a particular wrestling hold. I’ve been recently obsessing once again over my favorite wrestling hold, the over-the-knee backbreaker.
It’s such a massively dominating move. The pitcher often literally cradles the catcher like a child in his arms, clutching him across his chest, and then drops to one knee, pounding his opponent’s back across his thigh. I love the geography of this hold. The victim splayed out, his vulnerable core stretched wide, legs and upper body pressed backward such that he can’t assume the instinctive duck and cover defensive position to protect his internal organs.
I catch myself gasping in awe at high impact OTKs. There’s a raw, primal, intensely arousing aspect to watching a dominant hunk seriously pound his opponent down with authority, his knee driving viciously into the helpless stud’s spine. It’s magnificent drama when he scoops him directly back up across his chest, standing tall and hoisting the victim high to repeat the move again. And again. Total domination.
I also also love an OTK punisher with big, bulging pecs flexing powerfully, his face hovering so close to his opponent’s muscled torso and quivering crotch. Stretched out on his back, the victim of an OTK is flattened, the topography of his physique stretched out and impotent, in contrast to the flaring shoulders and pumped pecs of his tormentor.
Then there are the subtle variations and innovations that dial up the inherent eroticism of this hold in a homoerotic context. The stolen moments to take advantage of the victim’s helplessness, sadistically brutalizing muscled abs and pecs. Not content to just torture his spine, the man in charge pounds fists, drives in elbows, perhaps digs his finger tips into defenseless muscle and wear him out from every angle.
Ace Aarons handles Richie’s rocks
Richie’s balls demand Mason’s attention as well.
An OTK seems paradigmatically gay (or at least bicurious) when the dominant hunk pays serious attention to that tempting bulge at the apex of his opponent’s bridge. Frankly it doesn’t often go there even in homoerotic wrestling, but every OTK seems like a head nod to those sensational moments when a wrestler leans forward and sucks his opponent’s nipple, seductively slides the palm of his hand possessively across his lower abs, and appreciatively throttles and fondles his arching cock. That’s the heart of homoerotic wrestling for me, with the purpose of the battle to determine who gets to take possession of whose body.
Calvin’s muscle melt
Mitch stiff and in agony
I’m fascinated watching muscled hunks sell this hold. Clearly some wrestlers are built a lot more for strength than flexibility. A stiff, tabletop OTK actually works for me because it looks like it hurts just that much more. When a muscle laden stud doesn’t really have much of a lower back arch to bend across his opponent’s thigh, it also just seems that much more humiliating. But there’s nothing quite as arousing as watching a flexible hunk melt into the hold, bridging dramatically, as if his muscles are draped across a hanger. The submissiveness, the giving himself over blindly to man who’s claimed his body, is golden.
My gratitude to all of the homoerotic wrestlers who have recently fed my craving for OTK hotness. For those moments when you’ve reached through your opponents legs and cupped his beefy ass in the palm of your hand, I salute you. For your graceful bridge and packed, quivering bulge gasping in anticipation of whatever is to come at the mercy of your opponent, I applaud you. I realize this hold is not exactly intuitive to pull off, and for many of you it’s downright awkward as fuck to sell, so I appreciate the gorgeous erotic art of your human sculpture just that much more.
You only have to be casually familiar with this blog to know that I’m a major Chase Addams fan. I literally sponsored his first custom, signature trunks. It makes me feel a little like a part-owner of his hot ass when he wears the tight, gun-metal gear with the words “Charming as Fuck” stitched across his backside. I didn’t contribute to the shiny purple version of those same trunks that he wears in his new match for Florida Fights 7: Pride-Aftershow, but I still feel like I’ve got a proprietary claim on his derriere.
Someone has GOT to dick slap that grin right off of Kirk’s face!
Regular readers also know of my strong feelings about Kirk Donahue, Chase’s opponent in Florida Fights 7. I hate that guy. I mean, he’s also a sexy little fucker with incredible wrestling chops that I respect the hell out of. But there’s just something about his heavy lidded, smirky, smart ass, saccharine-sweet earnestness that leaves me with an insatiable desire to watch him get thumped and plowed under hard, again and again. Happily for me, BGE wrestlers keep delivering that sweet dish over and over, smacking the cutesy off of Kirk’s freckled face and making the cocky indy pro weep like a little bitch.
Trevor Read, how the FUCK did you blow this!?!
And then, somehow, Kirk pulled off a stunning upset victory in front of the live audience at Wrestling with Pride. I don’t know Trevor Read, but I’d like to. So sexy. Gorgeous to look at, but the bitter edged, fiercely confident heel attitude he wore in his match with Kirk was what really made me want to slap one of those front row fans to the curb to get an up close look at him. He looked like he was on his way to delivering the public humiliation that Kirk so abundantly begs for. But then, what the fuck, Trevor choked to that annoying little stud puppy! Fuck, Trevor. Just… fuck.
Hands full
So apparently riding high on that shocking babyface victory, Kirk accepted a challenge from Chase Addams that same weekend back at BGE central. The stakes were high when I tucked into this Florida Fights match. Because if this was signaling Kirk’s ascension, if his freckled face and gargantuan bulge are going to start racking up serious victories over the likes of my boy Chase, then I am going to be SO pissed.
Chase tested hard
Honestly, I wondered if Chase might be biting off more than he could chew. He’s shared his origin story with me in different contexts over the past couple of years, but the narrative remains the same. Chase is, largely, a self-taught pro wrestling prodigy. He transitioned from fan to competitor by perfecting submission holds on the lucky son-of-a-bitch friends who would let him tie them up in knots, and then later on in the underground gay wrestling scene in St. Louis. Don’t get me wrong, Chase regularly leaves me awestruck and tongue tied by the vicious, gravity defying stunts he pulls at the expense of his opponents. He’s serious as a heart attack. But testing out his moves against a seasoned pro like Kirk, albeit a perennial jobber, seemed risky to me. If Howdy Doody has, in fact, turned over a new leaf, I could certainly see things going south big time for the Charming One.
Kirk having his way with my boy
Kirk clearly has wind in his sails as they sink their claws into each other. The action is ferocious and almost faster than the eye can follow. Kirk’s been doing this longer and much more often, and he looks annoyingly cocky as he curls his upper lip and dives in. The near-submissions fly with abandon. At one point, Kirk cinches Chase’s arms brutally behind his back and flips overtop of him, bridging high and grinding Chase’s handsome face into the mat viciously while attempting to rip his arms out at the shoulder. Holy fuck, that monster bulge at the apex of Kirk’s bridge defies belief.
Kirk whines like a bitch
The suspense is thick from start to finish, as they trade momentum back and forth, but I’m reading the tea leaves when Chase rakes Kirk’s eyes to escape from that bulge-tastic bridge. “You cheating son of a bitch!” Kirk whines petulantly. Right then, right there, my anxiety on behalf of my boy Chase settles down a bit. Chase is eager to show off his submission skills, but he’s also enthusiastically ready to piss on the conventional rules of sportsmanship and fair play. And Kirk is, ridiculously, shocked and irritated. The odds just tilted dramatically in my (Chase’s) favor.
You’re fucked now, Howdy Doody!
My hunch is seemingly confirmed when Chase exploits Kirk’s foot stomping, whiny little bitch moment to clamp down one of a billion arm and wrist locks he has in his quiver and wrenches Kirk’s fingers sickly backward. Fuck, Kirk’s screams of panicked agony turn me on. Howdy Doody with the monster package taps out to give Chase the first submission.
Look at those sexy as fuck legs!
They work like berserkers tearing through holds faster than the eye can follow. Despite my early intuition that this is Chase’s match to have, Kirk evens the submission count with a viciously deep Boston crab. Back and forth they trade submissions, with neither one able to pull away, until the count is 3-2. Then 4-2. Then 5-2. Kirk keeps fighting, mind you, but Chase absolutely outclasses him. The more withered Kirk gets, the meaner Chase grows. Watching his profound pleasure taking ownership of this hot bodied indy pro who thought his victory of Trevor Reed was signaling a new day for Howdy Doody is so sensationally satisfying. And by satisfying, I mean an incredible turn on.
The Will Breaker
I stand up an cheer when Chase locks down the Will Breaker and Kirk’s desperate screams echo off the warehouse walls. The self-taught phenom quite literally hangs this seasoned indy pro submission star out to dry. When Chase deigns to let him back down to the ground (after soaking in the dulcimer tones of his opponent’s countertenor screams of anguish) the Charming One lingers, crouching over top of Kirk’s wasted body. He strokes Kirk’s sweaty back possessively. Chase’s obvious admiration for his beauty makes me feel like I can admit that, sure, Kirk’s fucking hot. If Chase would just peel Kirk’s trunks down, bend him over his knee, and spank his alabaster ass fire engine red, I just might be ready to set aside my perennial enmity toward Kirk Donahue.
Chase gets ready to crawl on top and knead the dough
Sadly for everyone, I still hate that guy. This match, though, I love. Chase, seductively stroking Kirk’s tightly muscled back, I enjoy. Chase’s insanely long, smooth legs tied in crushing knots all over his opponent’s overwhelmed body, I lust for. A gut check story of a self-taught prodigy testing his mettle against a privileged, impeccably trained, abundantly seasoned pro and making Kirk his bitch, I adore.
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!
Congratulations to the winners of the BG East Besties for 2017! It was a fabulous year in homoerotic wrestling, and all of the nominees demonstrated the deep bench that BG East can rightfully boast. Some of my picks earned the most votes overall. Some didn’t. They all (but one) get nothing but respect from me. It’s certainly not the first time I’ve seen evidence that my tastes intersect and diverge with other homoerotic wrestling fans. Happily, there’s plenty for all of us to enjoy, and awards or not, my sincere thanks go out to the beautiful men in front of and behind the camera that make BG East a leader in wrestling for a gay audience.
Sexiest Match: Sexiest Match – Ty Alexander vs. Bruno LaBestia (Ringwars 28)
Bruno enjoys the taste of victory
Best Mat Battle: Austin Cooper vs. Christian Taylor (Undagear 28)
The biggest upset of the year (not a category) had to be Austin Cooper getting owned by Christian Taylor
Best Ring Match: Cole Cassidy vs. Joshua Goodman (Ringwars 26)
This hold alone is already the stuff of legend
Best Squash: Lane Hartley vs. Kirk Donahue (Demolition 22)
There were several outstanding candidates for Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month for the last month of 2017. The new releases were varied and outstandingly sexy, with notable appearances by a number to deserving hunks. Newbies and veterans alike turned my crank and made me stand up and cheer, but one hot hunk edged the fierce competition with sheer tenacity. December’s HWOTM is none other than…
Kayden knocks the stuffing out of Carter Alexander
Not every Wrestler Spotlight adds up to being HWOTM, but Kayden’s debut Wrestler Spotlight easily hands the title to him. All three matches in the collection are fabulous. Kayden digs into Carter Alexander, Kirk Donahue, and Richie Douglas with studied, personalized brutality.
Kayden is a fan pleaser
Kayden’s magnificent demolition of hot bro Carter Alexander was entertaining enough to earn my vote for Best Squash of 2017. The optics are outstanding. Kayden’s red trunks are perfection on his tall, smooth, sexy body. Carter is the rare opponent who’s tall enough to pretty much look Kayden in the eye, so the apparent evenly matched set-up is that much more titillating to watch Kayden beat the living fuck out of the pin up boy mercilessly. Everyone hits the pause button when Kayden grabs the back of Carter’s trunks and yanks them violently up the pretty boy’s ass, giving Carter fans more of what we love about him so much.
But, those legs….
During my interview with Kayden last summer, I nearly had to take a break because his legs were turning me on to distraction. So, watching those mile long beauties squeeze and crush Carter to screaming, weeping agony make a particularly potent image for me. The match as a whole is a contender because both studs are contributing maximum effort. Carter is selling like a mother fucker, and ever since he let slip to Kid Karisma in a moment of passion that he enjoys getting his hair pulled, I can’t help but picture him settling in with the remote control and a bottle of lube to get off on watching himself yanked around and cracked in half in this match.
A belly button piercing!? Fuck, I hate this guy.
Nearly as satisfying for me is the second match on Kayden’s Spotlight, in which he beats the shit out of hot little pro punk Kirk Donahue. Fuck, I hate that guy. I mean, sure, he’s got one of the sexiest middle weight bodies in wrestling. And, yeah, he’s a phenomenally talented pro wrestler. So, I confess, he ticks off every box that should make me worship his lusciously round ass. But despite all of that, the instant I see him in the ring, I’m cheering for his opponent to rip him to pieces and make him cry. Am I the only one with this much antipathy toward Kirk?
Scream, Kirk. SCREAM!
Clearly, I am not the only one, because Kayden tears him limb from limb with a certain relish that convinces me that, as is quite often the case, he and I are exactly on the same page. A clear difference between this match and Kayden’s match with Carter is how competitive this is. Kirk drives Kayden to that point that I enjoy so much, with Kayden’s high pitch screams of desperation digging him a hole that most dominant heels don’t have the ego strength to climb out of. But Kayden does, and I love watching him climb, dishing out that much more vicious punishment for the trouble. I just so love questioning if Kayden can still pull a match out, and then watch him rise to the occasion and walk away with his heel credentials completely intact (and Kirk’s balls not).
“Let me show you some legs with real power.” – Kayden Keller
Knocking that smirk off of Kirk’s face and making him scream like sniveling bitch alone would have earned Kayden the title!
Boy next door Richie Douglas puts the hurt on the big man
The final match on Kayden’s Spotlight pits him against It-Boy Richie Douglas. Richie’s stock has been skyrocketing lately, because he’s ridiculously sexy and has slowly revealed a growing appreciation for the sexy side of wrestling. The mismatch in size is stunning. Kayden towers over the boy next door. There’s a sweet give-and-take momentum to the match, however, which feeds both my desire to see Richie improve and to see Kayden have to climb out of a hole.
Kayden ties Richie in knots with his incredibly long legs
Richie’s sell is the least compelling on this DVD, which only marginally detracts from the visual artwork that is watching Kayden pry him apart at the seams. The action includes a sweet mix of rapid fire momentum flips and long, succulent, crippling submission holds. Richie is, indeed, improving in every match, and he’s just enough of a tasty challenge to hold up his end of the bargain as Kayden tells that sensational tale of getting upended and driven to the edge of despair, only to dig deeper into his bag of sadistic passion to plow an opponent under.
“Do you regret ever getting into the ring with me!?”
Kayden Keller’s Spotlight is beautifully consistent without a hint of redundancy. Each opponent brings a different set of assets and challenges that test the rising heel in unique ways. Challenge by challenge, Kayden sucks down the hard knocks and summons his inner heel to not just turn the tables, not just conquer, but to utterly defile the trio of beautiful babyfaces determined to knock him off as BGE’s hottest young heel. And maybe that day will come. But it is not this day! This day, Kayden Keller is the heel in charge and, unquestionably, homoerotic wrestler of the month.
Kayden Keller – December 2017 Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month
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 (
Sidelineland 