Squash Me Just Right

Despite my explicit preference for homoerotic wrestling fare with an element of competitive suspense about it, I’ve been finding myself watching, and enjoying, quite a number of one-sided matches lately. The “squash” is a particular subgenre that I can enjoy, but, like I’ve said, I tend to prefer to see more give and take, more narrative suspense. So it’s interesting to find myself sitting in front of a whole lot of lopsided squashes. Sampling more than my typical diet of them, I’ve been reflecting on what almost always does work for me in a squash, what can but doesn’t always work, and what almost never works for me in a squash.

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Morgan squashes Joey in Back Buster 5.

First, what almost always works for me is seeing a dominant pitcher deeply delighted by the feel of mastering his opponent. This is what I’m talking about when I prattle on about “owning,” when one wrestler doesn’t just beat the other, doesn’t just make him tap out or submit, but takes visceral pleasure in controlling an outmatched contender.  Obviously, the absence of this element can make a squash a bore for me. The squash where the dominant stud seems thoroughly dismissive, so out of his opponent’s league that he can barely be bothered to pay attention to the suffering he’s causing, tends to disappoint me. I’ll feast for days off of a viscious, dominant heel who obliterates an opponent in a landslide and convinces me, one way or another, that he could very well need to rub one out soon before or soon after the camera’s are turned off, because he’s just too damned turned on. Frankly, this doesn’t even need to be entirely about sexual tension. I’m less interested in whether the winner wants to fuck his opponent’s ass in victory than I am in whether the experience of conquering, controlling, and possessing an outmatched opponent in and of itself seems capable of giving the winner erotic pleasure.  Whether he cums all over the catcher’s face on camera, or just leaves me believing that he needs a little “alone time” in the locker room to pound one out on his own, I’m buying it, if he’s selling it.

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Kid Vicious owns opponents just right, every time.

A lot of examples come to mind. Most of Kid Vicious’ catalog falls neatly into this category. If KV doesn’t bust a load all over a lamb-to-the-slaughter opponent, I feel 99% certainty that he took care of it soon afterward.  He always looks to me like he’s mentally getting off on destroying an opponent (the prettier, the harder). Kid Karisma taps this consistently as well.  His recent Undagear 23 match with reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month Marco Carlow is a perfect example. Kid K looks like he’s eating this squash up with a spoon, and when he rips Marco’s gear off, poses overtop of his fallen prey, and beats a hasty retreat from the mat room, I’m convinced it’s not just a hasty retreat he’s about to beat.  Jake Jenkins muscle mauling of it-boy Kip Sorrell in Backyard Brawls 8 is another specific example. I think of JJ as one of the most G-rated wrestlers on the scene, but his laughter, his luxuriating in Kip’s total destruction beneath him leads me to write the off camera script that has JJ needing a moment to himself to celebrate beating the living fuck out of that ridiculously pretty pin-up boy.

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Kid Karisma glistens with delight as he crushes Marco’s every luscious muscle.

There are other elements of a squash that can, but don’t always, work for me. A predator who plays with his food, for example, can sometimes turn me on, other times no. I’ve written my appreciation for trash talking taunts in the wrestling ring for ages, but in a squash, withering derision can seem more like dickishness than homoerotic tension. Personally, I find taunts more erotically provocative when the battle is close, when there’s suspense as to whose brash boasts will be born out as true, and who will be humiliated in regrets for winding up his betters with checks he couldn’t cash. In a squash, taunting trash talk and verbal humiliation are tricky for me. Sometimes I’m stoked hotter. Somtimes not.  Cathweight squash scenarios also can go either way for me.  When the opponents are so clearly, ridiculously mismatched in size, a big-beats-little squash can sometimes work for me in a big way, but at other times leave me a little bored with what turns out to be the forgone conclusion.  Competitive catchweight matches or, even, little-beats-big squashes typically float my boat big time, all else considered, but it’s a touchy thing if it’s a big-beats-little squash from the start.

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Guido walks the line muscle bullying baby-babyface Kirk Donahue.

Guido Genatto’s matches teeter back and forth with me around some of these coin toss elements. He won’t relent in physical or emotional abuse until an opponent is a pool of sweat and tears, sometimes just this side of the line for turning me on, sometimes just the other. For the big beats little squash dilemma, big Joe Robbins similarly sometimes comes up heads, sometimes tails.

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Big Joe Robbins is a big-beats-little Catch Weight veteran.

Finally, it’s a little hard to put my finger on precisely the element that almost never works for me in a squash. I know it by how I feel, rather than by the specific content of the wrestling.  When I’m left genuinely feeling sorry for the loser, when I have this impulse to call the principal’s office and report an incident of homophobic bullying in the halls, then I’m totally not on board. When it’s so one sided and the dominant stud is heaping on misogynistic insults, questioning the battered boy’s masculinity, then it touches a nerve that makes it hard to stay in the mood for. There’s a particular stripe of sadism that’s more sociopathic than homoerotic, that delights in inflicting suffering but seems more likely to end in the winner pissing on the loser than cumming across him.  That schtick is not in  my wheelhouse (no judgment implied, though if it is in yours).

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Ethan beats Jayden in the first 3 minutes, then just taunts and tortures the pretty kid for 15 more.

My most recent experience with this is the third match in Undagear 23, in which Ethan Axel Andrews fucking brutalizes delicately gorgeous Jayden Mayne. I’m not just saying this because Jayden charmed the pants off me in his interview here late last year, selling the living fuck out of being an earnest, ambitious babyface on the rise (though that, he did). And fuck, Ethan’s turned my crank more times than I can count. But then there’s this crime scene that unfolds in Undagear 23.  Ethan mauls Mr. Hollywood in such a way that I’m sort of hoping for someone on the camera crew to break this shit up. I’ve seen Ethan sell me over and over on his erotic delight in owning an opponent, but here, he just strikes me as a bully. He’s just mean, not because he’s getting off on it, or he cares if you’re getting off on it, or he secretely intends on stripping Jayden’s fine, fine ass bare and taking the spoils of victory with a Trojan on. He just comes across as enjoying hurting defenseless creatures, just because  he can. Call PETA. There’s a sicko who enjoys torturing puppies!

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Ethan just keeps fucking the kid over.

Now, I’m 100% certain that there are plenty of homoerotic wrestling fans for whom Ethan’s mugging of Jayden is pure gold.  Jayden is genuinely outmatched and outclassed from start to finish, and there’s an undeniable beauty in his spoiled masculine innocence. I’m not suggesting that anyone else does or should feel about it the way I do. I’m just musing, in my own little corner of the internet, about this thing that can take me a little by surprise: a homoerotic wrestling match that simply, essentially, fails to push my buttons. Squashes are just like that for me.

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Yes.

Sometimes they turn me on hard.

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Not as much.

Sometimes they don’t.

Beneath the Mask

Last Friday was National Coming Out Day, so consider me tardy when I say, “I’m gay.”  I know this comes as a shock to you all. Go to a support group and talk your shit out there. I’m quickly moving on to the most shocking coming out that occurred last Friday.

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Cage Thunder: iconoclast.

Cage Thunder outed himself. I mean, you’re brain dead if you know who Cage Thunder is and failed to already understand that he has an insatiable desire for hot-bodied hunks and cock. No, on Friday, Cage Thunder didn’t bust open the closet door. He, literally, ripped off the wrestling mask!

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Cage Thunder unmasked Pink Puma

I won’t post his unmasked picture here, at least not until I have explicit permission from him (go to his blog to see for yourself). But after unmasking so many other gorgeous hunks in his career, there’s something jaw dropping about seeing him strike another stunning pose and peel off his own! The masked wrestler trope sort of precludes this type of self-revelatory choice, I’d have thought. The masked wrestler is stronger, more cunning, more terrifying for the mystery concealed beneath the mask (or that’s how the device has traditionally worked), so there’s something shocking about a hunk who no one else has had the balls to unmask doing it to himself.

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Cage Thunder unmasks Goldenrod

I fucking love this, mind you. A shocking revelation to a timeless mystery is such sweet drama, and you know that I’m ALL about the drama!  In Cage’s big reveal on Friday, he says that Kid Leopard himself suggested that Cage wrestle masked, because he has too much of a jobber face to be taken seriously as a heel. I, for one, would never dare fail to take Cage Thunder 100% seriously. However, I’m dying to find out if an unmasked Cage Thunder returns to the ring, and if so, is he masked, and if not, does he strike the knee-quivering terror in his opponents that he has prior to his unmasking! Of course, all of the same elements remain: the skill, the attitude, the power, the cruelty. But would tinkering with the formula by removing the mask trip up the juggernaut of an unstoppable homoerotic wrestling heel!?

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Cage Thunder unmasks Lobolito.

While we wait to see if an unmasked Cage Thunder still has the mojo on the mats, get in line right behind me for authentic Cage Thunder wrestling fiction entitled, Going Down for the Count, out next from Bold Strokes Books. And yes, that’s stunning Mitch Colby in Cage’s clutches on the cover. And no, despite Cage Thunder’s repeated calling out and trash talking of Mitch, we have not seen these two in action, other than this cover and other released stills. And yes, I’d donate a kidney to see that match happen!

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And to answer the question Cage Thunder asks in his unmasking post, no, he’s not ugly, by a long shot,  which only increases the anticipation of what his unmasking may mean for his unquestioned dominance in the homoerotic wrestling universe.

A Taste of Things to Cum

Reading back over my recent posts (like a year or more), I think it’s safe to say I’ve been orally fixated lately.  My descriptions of wrestlers and matches as “delicious,” “tasty,” or “mouthwatering” have been my regular, go-to metaphors for my subjective experience of being turned on by choice homoerotic wrestling fare (see, there I go again).  Homoerotic wrestling just tastes so damn good!  Of course I don’t literally want to eat anyone (other than perhaps a couple of politicians I can think of… on toast), but I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity for a long, wet, lingering lick of a wrestling hunk’s body to stimulate the taste buds.  Do you know what I mean?
BG East’s Blueboy clearly knows what I’m talking about in Masked Mayhem 4, momentarily turning always dangerous masked muscle heel Enforcer into a quivering bowl of jelly in the corner of the ring with a tongue lashing of his tantalizing nipples.  Holy shit, this photo captures so much about homoerotic wrestling that defines me!

I think there’s a bit of a stroke of genius at work at NakedKombat for incentivizing face licking.  Not a lot of the kombatants I’ve seen take advantage of available points for slathering spit across the cheeks of a locked up opponent, but Gavin Waters was one hardbodied fuck machine who seemed to relish just that.  In his May 25, 2011 tag team match with partner Nikko Alexander, Gavin to advantage of his overwhelming muscle and weight advantage to lock down lean twink scrapper Matt Singer and drive him fucking nuts by dragging his tongue all over the babyface battler’s face.  Talk about a tasty little morsel!

Matt’s partner, however, was a little too much for Gavin to pull off the same maneuver… by himself, at least.  Long-time pornboy wrestling favorite of mine, Trent Diesel had Gavin’s number both in singles and tag-team competition, and the stunningly hot tattoed stunner was not as easily subdued.  However, another NakedKombat rule permits partners a few seconds of double-team advantage moments after a tag is made, during which Gavin would enjoy the chance to lick the sweat off of Trent’s brow while Nikko picked up the baton to take his place mounted on top of the muscled stud puppy.  Fuck, Trent hated his face licked!  He squirmed like craaaazy as Gavin lapped up his salty goodness.  Hell.  And yes.

Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight series has been seriously satisfying me since it debuted a couple of years ago.  The precise balance of pro ring wrestling and overt eroticism is awfully compelling.  Tongues have been regularly on the menu starting with Pro Sex Fight 1, when massive muscle star Michael Vineland slaps down a post-victory tongue lashing on the infinitely perky, hot pecs of g-g-g-gorgeous former HWOTM here at neverland, Landon Mycles.  Landon was more a kisser than a licker, which I totally respect, but fuck-fuck-fuck, Michael working over that highly responsive nip on the blond bombshell was sweet dessert after an intensely hot main course of highly erotic ring wrestling.

When another long-time favorite wrestling pornboy of mine, Rusty Stevens, got his shot at Michael in Pro Sex Fight 5, the competitive side of things was decidedly more pronounced.  However, post-match, Rusty delivered the move that I’ve been fantasizing about for years, absolutely worshipping Michael’s massive biceps with his tongue.  Rusty isn’t exactly what I’d call someone graceful in defeat… or victory… but a lustful moment of fully engaged muscle worship from the normally smart-assed, hardbodied hot head grabs me hard.

Rusty also slapped done a tongue lashing in Pro Sex Fight 4 against angelically beautiful muscle stud, Kevin Crowes.  If he hadn’t, I’d have written a letter in protest, because if there’s any word to describe Kevin, it’s “delicious.”  Rusty totally dominates the early moments of this match, stripping the rookie pornboy naked (in this case, not a moment too soon), terrorizing and torturing the bodybeautiful stunner in the ropes, on the mat, and when thrown into the corner, licks that chiseled chin slowly.

You can tell Kevin tastes delicious, because Rusty’s tongue travels slowly down the angelic pornboy’s neck and laps aggressively across the stunner’s sweaty chest, lingering long and hard on those aesthetically perfect nips.  As an aside, this also tweaks a little bit of kink I have for seeing a wrestler stripped and dominated while his opponent has managed to still hang onto his gear.  There’s just something about that inequity, that extra dose of humiliation and dominating ownership, that makes my engine rev harder.

Kevin is no shrinking violet here, though, and when the patient pornboy finally gets an opening, he makes Rusty pay back all that trash talking muscle domination with interest.  Swarming all over the stunned veteran, Kevin uses that work of art he calls a body to press Rusty to the canvas and hold him still for a taste of glory of his own.  I can feast for days on watching Rusty Stevens dominate in that soul-withering style he has of destroying an opponent psychologically as a prelude to crushing him physically.  However, watching heaven-sent pornboy Kevin work up a serious head of steam all over my long-time favorite emeritus is incredible entertainment for my dollar.

There is also another entire subgenre of muscle licking.  The forced worship submission (“Lick my bicep, bitch!”) has it’s own story, and I can read that story over and over again and never get tired of it.  Kid Vicious, looking even buffer and more beautiful than ever in Wet and Wild 4 (can I call KV beautiful and not get my ass kicked?), forces a battered Lobolito to pay homage to his gorgeous, bulging, veiny bicep.  Unlike in the stolen tastes of muscle I mentioned above, Lobolito looks like he’s been so bashed he doesn’t quite appreciate this plot twist nearly as much as I do.  Forced to lick, tongue-work in wrestling can communicate with crystal clarity that total domination by the object of oral adoration over the licker.  Forced to be licked, as described above, turns the tables and speaks perhaps even more directly to the orally fixated side of me.

I’m sure Freud would have plenty to say about all of this oral fascination.  Then again, Freud was a dumbshit when it came to sexuality and eroticism.  As another example of an element that clearly distinguishes the homoerotic from the straight-up wrestling worlds, a whole-hearted tongue lashing makes my mouth water.

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas, Santa Brought to Me…

On the first day of Christmas, Santa brought to me Kid Karisma’s picture perfect ass.

On the second day of Christmas, Santa brought to me Ben Monaco’s luscious, furry pecs.
On the third day of Christmas, Santa brought to me Steel Muscle God’s tree trunk thighs.
On the fourth day of Christmas, Santa brought to me Skip and Christian’s wrestling romance.
On the fifth day of Christmas, Santa brought to me Darius’ muscle-packed trunks.
On the sixth day of Christmas, Santa brought to me Kid Vicious’ domineering sneer.
On the seventh day of Christmas, Santa brought to me Lon Dumont’s insanely ripped back.
On the eighth day of Christmas, Santa brought to me Mason Brook’s intoxicating nipples.
On the ninth day of Christmas, Santa brought to me Cage Thunder’s mouthwatering cock.
On the tenth day of Christmas, Santa brought to me Drake Marcos’ wrestling kinked smile.
On the eleventh day of Christmas, Santa brought to me Jonny Firestorm’s gorgeously sculpted forearms.
“On the twelfth day of Christmas, Santa brought to me…”
The final wish I whispered into Santa’s ear felt like possibly the most daring fantasy of all.  I was incredibly fortunate to get to spend about half a day with a certain homoerotic wrestling god about a year and a half ago.  The master of the house, this iconic heel turned wrestling producer showered generous hospitality on me, showing me every corner of BG East headquarters where many of my fondest wrestling fantasies have taken place.  Near the end of my visit, he invited me to join him as he sat down at his computer and pulled up the unedited photos of the upcoming BG East catalog (Catalog 89).  I stood behind his chair, looking over he shoulder as he clicked through literally hundreds of pics, zipping past most, and then pausing to soak in a particularly titillating shot.  “Mmmmm,” he’d mutter appreciatively, “look at that!”  A photo of Mitch Colby’s hot muscled bod draped helplessly across the top turnbuckle, about to be battered by big Vlad Varek made my host groan and made my cock ache.  I got the first outside glimpse of masked mountain of muscle Magnus force feeding his monster cock to fellow rookie Surge, to the soundtrack of my host letting out a little gasp of pleasure as he paused on a shot from behind Magnus, dwarfing his opponent, as Surge’s hands worshipfully cupped Magnus’ massive glutes.  My host would fly through dozens of photos and then something would catch his eye, and when he paused on a shot long enough for me to soak it in, I’d see it.  A particularly sexy angle, a display of exquisitely tortured muscle, an incredibly hot grimace of agony or sadistic, sexy leer. His taste, his eye for what speaks most directly to my own homoerotic wrestling kink, was astonishing to witness, and his commentary as much as the graphics left me slightly dizzy and hard a rock.  With that memory crystal clear in my mind, I whispered to Santa, I want to see just a glimpse of what he sees.  And on the twelfth day of Christmas, Santa brought to me an entire collection of what catches the eye of the man who has pretty much defined my homoerotic wrestling kink, an astonishingly beautiful montage of moments directly from the desk of Kid Leopard.
Dawn breaks over the lake at BG East.
Skrapper rolls out of bed, ready for a day of wrestling
Drowsy Christian Taylor looks for breakfast, with pretty Pete Sharp in the background
“The irrepressible Lon Dumont” saddles up to the counter with his gorgeous recruit, pretty Pete Sharp
“Since you like bespectacled wrestlers,” the note from KL says, “here Nick Rush laces up beside a contemplative Lon Dumont prior to their match with Austin & Jake.”
Beauty, grace, power: Jake Jenkins takes to the air
Stunningly handsome and beautifully proportioned: All-American Austin Cooper

Bespectacled (thus extra hot) Lorenzo Lowe looks like the meat sandwiched between Jonny Firestorm and Kid Vicious
Lobolito watches as Drake texts illicit photos to neverland

Canadian Beef: The Boss included in his bundle of Christmas presents this never before seen (but much anticipated) preview of Ben Monaco and a new massive, hairy muscle beast due out in the next BG East catalog!
News Flash: Liam Ryan is bearded, bulked up, and ready for one of the most epic returns to BG East wrestling ever in 2013!

Did Kid Leopard’s eye for homoerotic wrestling mold my tastes, or does he simply have instinctive insight into what turns me on?  Either way, like Santa, Kid Leopard is an incredibly generous friend of neverland, and his generosity and genius continue to turn me on like nobody else can!

Living the Dream

For my final installment reflecting on Drake Marcos’ recent trip BG East’s south compound, let me start by reporting that Drake responded to my last post by pointing out that his brutal humiliation at the hands of the Boss was not what it took to “try to break into the ranks of BG East,” since he’s already broken into those ranks.  Duly noted, and I’m also noting young Drake is sounding more and more like a cocky stud with something to prove… aka, a homoerotic wrestler on the rise!  The last set of pics Drake sent capture a sense of the recurring story I’ve been picking up from BG East wrestlers through several interviews I’ve had the opportunity to conduct over the past couple of years.  As hot and bothered the action gets on camera, these boys have a wonderful time together as they make this magic happen.  I think it may have been in my interview with extraordinary classic jobber, Ken Canada, the the phrase esprit de corps was used to describe the camaraderie and sincere delight the boys of BG East share with one another as part of the creative process.  From that now-familiar ear-to-ear grin on the Cheshire Cat of homoerotic wrestling, young Drake found the behind-the-scenes moments in Florida incredibly enjoyable.  Again, thanks Drake for documenting this dream-come-true and letting us vicariously join you for this incredibly sexy journey!
Drake & Jonny Firestorm both look simply adorable
Kid Vicious looks like he’s deciding whether or not to eat Drake whole (I vote yes)
Ripped rookie hunk Ray Naylor and Drake in a sweet embrace

Drake and pro stud puppy Tim Messina look cozy!
Was it handsome Lobolito that put those bruises on Drake’s pecs!

Is being a BG East wrestler a blast?  Austin Cooper gives a thumbs up.

Living the Dream

Drake Marcos reveals a lot about what happens behind the scenes at BG East’s Florida compound 
At the end of my recent interview with BG East’s newest X-Fighter, Drake Marcos, he suddenly disclosed that at the very moment we were chatting, he was in an airport waiting for his flight to Florida to tape another session of matches with the boys at BG East.  My imagination instantly kicked into overdrive, wondering what hot homoerotic shenanigans Drake would get up on his second outing with BG East, and especially who he’d see up close, personal, and behind the scenes.  Owing to my immense powers of persuasion, Drake instantly agreed to try to smuggle some candid shots out for those of us here at neverland.  With only a little badgering afterward, the Cheshire Cat of homoerotic wrestling coughed up the goods, giving us just a hint of what he saw and did at BG East’s south campus last week.
Presumably, The Boss is checking the latest gossip at neverland…
Some of these shots have a bit of a 007 aspect to them.  They’re a little grainy, from odd angles, like Drake was snapping them with the micro-camera lapel button he snuck in.  However, ever-diligent Kid “they-don’t-call-me-the-boss-for-nothing” Leopard commented on Drake’s interview, giving us at neverland a heads up that he’d be intercepting, censoring, and giving the formal stamp of approval on absolutely anything that Drake was going to pass our way.  Fair enough.  If there’s one thing I learned during my pilgrimage to Pembroke a year and a half ago, it was that The Boss is a “hands on” (euphemism for control-freak) type of CEO.  He readily admits it, so I’m not too worried about getting my nuts crushed for saying so… no too, too worried.  So I’m just happy Drake made it out with these little tidbits to share (and with all his limbs in tact).
KL tapes goldenboy Coop’s wrists before a match
Let’s be honest, Drake managed to get quite a lot past the Boss’ careful eye, so we should be thrilled that he documented such tantalizing facts as golden boy extraordinaire, Austin Cooper,  participated in the action in Florida last week.  The longer Coop is around, the tougher he seems to get.  Facial hair, knee pads, and big red boots on this muscleboy give me a major shot of adrenaline!
Drake describes this shot: “Coop taking it to a distracted Boss”

Coop flashing some gratuitous flexing toward Kid Leopard also turns me on.  A lot.  If he wasn’t just mugging for the camera, and instead was actually throwing a punch at heel-supreme KL… ah, hell!  What a tasty, tasty treat it would be to watch the ensuing carnage!  What the HELL are they watching on television though!?  Buzz kill….

Drake tries on some (wrestling!?) gear
Buzz return!  Drake evidently got to play a little dress up last week, including this gorgeous self-portrait in his jock strap.  As to whether this is evidence that he wrestled in a jock strap, Drake wouldn’t confirm with me.  Teasing bastard….
“Yeah… Drake Marcos is wearing Aryx Quinn’s trunks… bring it!”
Similarly, Drake also snapped this shot in square cut yellow and black trunks, and what’s more, he supplied the provocative caption above!  Those just tuning in may want to revisit my interview with young Drake in which, when I asked what retired classic wrestlers would he like a fantasy match with, he included überhunk, omnipresent Aryx Quinn.
Drake checks out how “retired” Aryx’ trunks look on him
In response to Drake including him on a list for a fantasy match with a star “who’s retired from the scene,” it turns out (should you read the comments to the interview) that Aryx himself took some umbrage at being prematurely put out to pasture by the new kid.  While Aryx’ infamous ego almost certainly swelled erect with Drake’s playful stroking, the ring veteran seemed none too pleased to be counted out of the homoerotic wrestling business before his time.  We’ll have to see what happens when Aryx gets a load of this same newbie strutting around in the gear most BG East fans instantly associate with Aryx.  Drake could be playing with fire here, but ah hell, I wanna be fireside when Aryx gets his hands all over him to demonstrate that he’s not quite ready for the old-folks home yet!
Is bespectacled KV sizing up Coop for a behind-the-scenes muscle bashing? (please say yes)

There’s a lot of detail left out of Drake’s scrapbook from Florida, but enough still there to spur my lustful imagination onward.  For example, Kid Vicious and Coop side by side, “chilling” (as Drake reports) between matches… let’s just picture for a moment KV working over Coop’s luscious muscles in that way that nobody but KV can do!

Flashing so much bare muscle in front of Jonny & KV!?  Coop is just asking for it!

And/or (preferably and) let’s ponder the potential of a KV/Coop tag team partnership, as goldenboy Coop let’s that facial hair grow out in proportion to the nasty heel-lessons he learns the longer he hangs out with classic heels like KV and Jonny Firestorm!  I have to wonder how a bespectacled KV resists the temptation to just tackle barely clad Coop behind the scenes and crush all those muscles into a quivering pulp, and you know for a fact  Jonny would help hold the goldenboy down.  And while I’m on this high-speed train of free-association, can I just say, again, that wrestling hunks in glasses are insanely hot!?! YUM!

Ray Naylor and Lobolito were on hand as well

Sexy newbie Ray Naylor was also on hand in Florida last week, as was a blast from the slightly more distant past, Lobolito!  Let’s review: Lobolito has appeared exactly twice in BG East matches, first getting demasked, crushed, stripped and humiliated at the expert hands of Cage Thunder, and then repeating the rinse cycle in a Wet ‘N’ Wild version against Kid Vicious.

Lobolito cannot get enough BG East beatdown!

And Lobolito is back for more!?  Fuck me, this guy just skyrocketed in my esteem!

Drake identifies this guy aptly as “Mystery wrestler with a hot ass!”

There are, of course, more questions than answers in Drake’s scrapbook, which is, I’m sure, exactly the way KL intends it.  For example, who belongs to this stunningly hot ass approaching the sunroom mats, and where does the line start to catch that ride!?

Wow! Just. Wow!

When he’s coming this direction, he’s equally a mystery but even hotter!  Look at the pecs on this big bear of a bruiser!  A homoerotic wrestling blogger could feast for days on all of that gorgeous, massive muscle!  I’m just a little worried that young Drake might have found his way onto the same mat with his beast, because Insanity workout or no, there’s no way a muscleman this massive could do anything but snap lightweight Drake into several pieces!  Since Drake sent me the pics, I’m assuming he survived the weekend, ergo I’m guessing he didn’t have to face this bulging body in competition.  However, I can still fantasize about what Drake might have got up to with a twink-lusting muscle daddy off camera!

I do believe that’s Silver Eagle back for more after that ass-whooping he took from Morgan Cruise!

Again, I’m left desperately reading between the lines (aka, pulling this out my ass!), but I for one am titillated and delighted to see recent new masked stud, Silver Eagle, back on the mat in Florida.  This, I believe, is the unfortunate rook who faced an iconoclastic Morgan Cruise in his very first BG East appearance, in which Morgan not only crushes Silver Eagle, he gives a go at belittling and destroying the very foundation of the masked homoerotic wrestling genre!  While Eagle didn’t fare well in the end against Morgan, he put up some surprisingly tough and downright mean offense demonstrating that this slice of mouthwatering beef is no simple flat-footed, do-gooder novice.  He’s got an incredibly hot ass, and if he’s the one who had the privilege of facing off against that huge beast of a masked bruiser mentioned above, who do I need to fuck to get an advanced copy of that action!?  There are several more shots snapped by Drake that I have in my possession, enough, in fact, to post a couple more times on the contraband Drake smuggled out of the Florida compound (under the watchful eye of The Boss).  So for now, let’s just send out a word of thanks to a certain BG East newbie living the dream.  You rock, Drake!

Drake dreams of BG East action yet to come…

Diverse Tastes – Guest Contributor Cage Thunder

While there are a lot of us armchair homoerotic wrestling bloggers, I’m the first to tip my hat to a blogger like Cage Thunder, who not only writes eloquently about his tastes and twists in wrestling kink, he’s also an all-in wrestler on camera for BG East. Through a series of correspondence between me and Cage Thunder, I will dare to reveal one thing that I’ve learned about the mysterious masked heel: he’s a class act. He has a delightful sense of humor that goes well beyond his gloating, clucking delight in humiliating one all-too-pretty pretty boy after another. He also has a remarkable depth to him that leads him to contemplate the alchemy of homoerotic wrestling kink with a fervor and meticulousness that very well may surpass even my own. So when Cage Thunder agreed to give me his take on the topic of “Diverse Tastes” as part of neverland’s summer series of guest contributors, I was deeply honored. So sit back and learn from a master who knows his wrestling kink from inside out and every angle a delightfully twisted wrestling mind and body can imagine.
The Turning Point
by Cage Thunder
BG East’s Cage Thunder

There is a certain moment in every pro wrestling match that, without fail, always grabs my attention. This moment never fails to get my attention and always make my dick stand up at attention.

I call this moment the turning point.

Bulldog Barzini savors the sight of Denny Cartier
reaching “the turning point” – BG East’s Fantasymen 28

A turning point is exactly what it sounds like—that definitive moment when you know that one of the wrestlers is finished— even if he isn’t being pinned or counted out or giving in a submission, and the match might go on for a while longer (and usually does). But that’s the moment when you know for certain who the stud is who’s going to have his arms raised in complete victory at the end of the match (or fall, if it’s a best-of situation).

I love that moment.

Muscle heel Kid Karisma drags muscle twink Christian Taylor
beyond the turning point – BG East’s Wet &  Wild 5

When I was growing up, professional wrestling was my porn. It still is, to a degree—only I rarely watch it on television, I satisfy my fetish with videos these days—but when I was a kid, it was a world I desperately wanted to be a part of. I greatly enjoyed the morality plays of pro wrestling matches, the struggle between good and evil, hero versus villain, rule-breaking versus following the rules. And like life, good didn’t always triumph over evil.

Cage Thunder soaks in the sight of his handiwork –
BG East’s Masked Mayhem 6

But professional wrestling was also one of the very few places on television in those days where you could see scantily dressed men sweating and heaving, clinching and coming apart, entwining their bodies in an almost erotic dance. And while I always wanted the nasty heels to be punished for their dastardly ways, I also loved watching the gorgeous ones suffer at their hands. With the advent of cable television and Ted Turner taking WTBS national into a self-styled Super Station, every Saturday afternoon from three to five p.m. Pacific times Georgia Championship Wrestling aired—and I fell in lust with a gorgeously built mullet-wearing muscle boy named Brad Armstrong.

The muscles and the mullet – Brad Armstrong
Oh, that ass. If I hadn’t already known I was gay, Brad Armstrong’s tight trunks clinging ever so tenaciously to those perfectly formed buttocks certainly would have done the trick.
Brad Armstrong’s inspiring ass in trouble
Brad was a good wrestler—a fan favorite, obviously, with his athletic ability, sexy body, and ‘aw shucks’ attitude. But he lost his matches more frequently than he won them—and week after week, I slowly came to realize that what was really turning my crank and getting my dick hard was watching some nasty ass heel put him through the wringer—watching him suffer on the mat, one foot bouncing up and down as his back arched and that ass, that oh-so-perfect ass, with his trunks creeping up bit by bit, up in the air.

Brad’s trunks creeping up his ass as he suffers humiliatingly in the ropes

And I also came to the conclusion that I preferred watching Brad suffer rather than being dominant in a match—which made me stop and think.

Brad Armstrong where he did his best work: on his back,
feet pointed at the ceiling, and his opponent copping a feel of that rocking ass!

And I realized the truth is I wanted to fuck him—in other words, I wanted to dominate him and make him submissive to me. I wanted to beat him down, make him call me sir, and when that hard muscle ass arched up in the air, I wanted to reach down and peel those green trunks off him, lube up my cock, and ride him while he bucked and writhed and moaned.

And called me “sir.”

I’m frequently accused of being a ‘body fascist,’ and nothing could be further from the truth. I actually like all kinds of men, in all shapes and sizes—what I am actually attracted to, more than anything else, is a particular attitude that a lot of wrestlers seem to have. (This is why I generally don’t give a shit about watching gay porn—very few gay porn stars have that ‘certain something special’ that gets my dick hard, and let’s face it—if you’ve seen one fuck scene, you’ve pretty much seen them all. Ty Lebeouf is a gay porn star who is one of the exceptions—and he is exceptional, although I’d much rather watch him climb in the ring.) A wrestler can have the most gorgeous body you’ve ever seen, and a huge bulge in the front of his trunks—but if the attitude I like isn’t there, he just leaves me cold. (I won’t give examples, out of respect.)

Porn star Ty Lebeouf: Ready to Wrestle?

The wrestlers I like—the ones that make me open my wallet and spend my hard-earned money buying their videos—have that attitude. It’s not something that’s quantifiable or definable; someone either has it or they don’t. And there really isn’t a rhyme or reason to my attraction to them. They can be a muscle twink, like Christian Taylor, or a hot little muscle heel like Kid Karisma, or a stocky brute like Bulldog Barzini, or a beautiful babyface who has crazy mad ring skills but always loses—like Alexi Adamov.

Cage Thunder revels in dragging babyface Alexi Adamov
well past “the turning point” – BG East’s Masked Mayhem 2

I like heels because the only way someone can ever fuck me is if they dominate me. And I do like being dominated. I like being forced to submit, I like being forced to scream out a submission or call my foe “sir”—and if he can beat me down that way, I’m his for the taking and he can do with me as he pleases. The thought of being worked over like that by a Bob Orton or a Stan Hansen or any number of studly heels who might not have the body beautiful you’d see on the cover of a gay porn magazine turns me on as much as the thought of beating down some beautiful babyface/jobber does.

A heel who could have made Cage Thunder cry, “Sir!”

For me, that’s the answer to why people enjoy seeing pretty muscle boys just get the shit kicked out of them. Because we want to dominate them, we want to fuck them, and the wrestling match we are watching is a kind of pornographic dance of domination and submission.

Cage Thunder has his way with a puddle-on-the-mat, Jobe Zander –
BG East’s Masked Mayhem 8

And I love, love, LOVE the turning point—when the heel begins to simply toy with his opponent for our viewing pleasure.

Cage Thunder conquers, strips, and toys with Lobolito –
BG East Masked Mayhem 3

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a DVD to watch.

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Now, aren’t we all dying to know what gorgeous-bodied and huge-bulged wrestlers leave Cage Thunder limp!? Like I said, however, he’s a class act who isn’t one to crush-and-tell. For this fantastic glimpse into precisely the moment, the attitude, and the acts of domination that make his dick stand up at attention, neverland is honored to have guest contributor Cage Thunder push the pause button and share his thoughts with us!