Am I the only one who doubled down on leg day after reading Scott Williams’ response to my recent post about scissors? Of course, I’d get insta-hard just listening to Scott reading from the phone book (do they still make those?). So just imagine what it does to me when he waxes poetic about the raw details of a recent “session” he had with a guy who was particularly passionate and adept at applying punishing head scissors. Read between the lines, and it’s apparent that it was Scott’s head that got punished relentlessly until his opponent was sure Scott was wrecked. Scott concludes the account by simply exclaiming, “Ahhhhhhh.” That’s seven “h’s.” I counted them. And I think that they mean that Scott found getting his cranium crushed in his own signature hold a turn on. And now, I’ve never had quite this much motivation to not skip leg day. Honestly, I’ve been furiously blitzing my legs with squats and lunges, and biking around 20 miles on the other days. I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again: all Scott has to do is ask, and I’m ready to deliver. And if there’s ever a chance that someday I can slide his head between my quads, I’m determined to be ready to pack on enough pounds per square inch to make the man of my dreams gasp out at least 10 h’s.
In the mean time, all of this attention on crushing quads has sent me hunting for homoerotic wrestlers paying homage to sensationally sexy, dangerously powerful legs. Who knows, maybe one day when social distancing is a bad memory, my quads can earn Scott’s respect like this. If getting wrung out to dry can get Scott off, I feel certain we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement!
[Note: The following post is addressed specifically to BG East classic, Scott Williams, in response to his comment specifying what blog topics he would, personally, find entertaining. If you are not Scott Williams, you may feel free to continue to read, but just know that this is really all about pleasing the man of my dreams!]
Honestly, Scott, yours are the headscissors by which I judge all others. I love the way you milk them with waves of contracting muscle. It’s supposed to be a static hold, but you bear down ever tighter, shifting the angle, fine tuning the pressure. Other wrestlers try to make it look effortless, propped nonchalant on one elbow, smiling, pedestrian, pointedly not breaking a sweat. I grant you, that element of facile control can be super sexy, but then I think of that grimace of concentration on your face as you squeeze, light grunts of your effort punctuated by gasping agony of your prey. Every lovely muscle in your body is coiled, strung taut, actively crushing an opponent’s skull trapped between your relentless legs. Of course, I’m not telling you anything you didn’t already know, so let me turn my attention to surveying other “punishing quads” that epitomize both the brute force and the subtle artistry of sensationally sexy headscissors.
I have to confess, working on this has become a labor of love, and my list of killer quads to vet for you here just keeps growing. I’ve given up on attempting a definitive list in one post. Consider these 4 fine specimens as merely my first installment in paying you back for inspiring so much pleasure and so many homoerotic wrestling fantasies.
The first wrestler that sprang to my mind is Mitch Colby, and not just because I’m almost as big a fan of him as I am of you. Have you wrestled Mitch? I would imagine you and he would be well-matched in skill and temperament. Not only does he pretty invariably clamp on headscissors in almost every match, but he has this sensationally sexy way of locking on and then bearing down on them that reminds me a lot of you. He likes them super snug. He’ll often grab a fist full of hair and yank his opponent’s head as high as possible between this thighs for the extra pressure, and his pleasure. He’ll twist his hips to the side, really working it, crushing his opponent’s skull and cranking on his neck. When he’s firing on all cylinders, and he’s been squeezing a while, his eyes close. His face goes slack, and his head rolls backward. Now, I don’t know if he’s ever literally climaxed with some lucky fucker’s head crushed between his long, powerful thighs, but I feel pretty certain that’s what his face looks like when he cums.
My next set of punishing legs for your consideration, Scott, belong to Logan Vaughn.
You’re the expert, of course, Scott, so tell me if I’m wrong when I say that the most punishing quads aren’t always the thickest. However, when I think scissors, I think of the thickest thighs I’ve ever seen on a wrestler: the lovely legs of Logan Vaughn. Logan’s sojourn with BGE was tragically short, but his work elsewhere had all ready caught my eye by the time I saw him in exploiting his gargantuan quads to perfection in Florida Fights 5. Have you seen that match, Scott? Holy fuck, it’s a leg lover’s dream match. Logan’s inner thighs are like a black hole, irresistibly sucking Trey Dixon in, over and over. There are a dozen or more scissor variations, and every one of them completely incapacitates lucky Trey. Logan’s head scissors are the sweetest for my tastes, though. Trey’s head looks like a golf ball, completely dwarfed between the sequoias swallowing him. Logan is one of those hunks who make scissors look effortless, but seriously, if he earnestly bore down on them, Trey’s skull would have surely cracked. There’s seamless, totally convincing worship that breaks out, only when Logan permits it. This match is on my most-played list, mostly for the 8th Modern Wonder of the World that is Logan’s superhuman legs and the absolute perfect use he puts them to.
Correct me if I’m wrong, Scott, but I feel certain I’ve seen you trash talking with Kayden Keller on social media, alluding to having faced the hot, young heel in person. If so, you know better than I can imagine just how punishing Kayden’s quads are.
I have to include him in my list, however, because his legs make me swoon. Literally. Like, when I was fortunate enough to be able to conduct interviews at BG East a couple of years ago during a weekend of taping, I sat down with Kayden and commented on his stunning, sexy, strong thighs. And he flexed them, just smiling at me as I was instantly light-headed. I bravely attempted to continue the interview, but he just tugged his shorts up higher and flexed his quads some more, and I struggled to string together a coherent sentence. I’ve adoringly tracked his career over the years, from fierce heel pup to, now, the multi-award winning reigning Heel Champ of BG East. He’s grown up good, Scott! I don’t know when you may have faced him last, but I’d love to know if Kayden’s quads are as devastatingly powerful as they look, or as dizzingly sexy when they’re clamped across your skull like a vise.
I’ve got a list of twice this many names, but in order not to sabotage myself, I’m going to give you just one more for today. It’s a wild card. I don’t know how you might feel about competition bodybuilders and fun-and-games frat wrestling, but I’d like to draw your attention to Thunder’s Arena’s Loki.
I feel like you might not track someone like Loki because he dabbles in wrestling, and you’re, clearly, serious as a heart attack. But hear me out. This muscle kid is absolutely draped in luxurious, thick, aesthetic muscle. And when he hits the mats, 9 times out of 10, he’s going to shove an opponent’s skull between those gargantuan, competition-ready quads. So, sure, he may not be really on the same scene, but you’ve got to admire him for his ready impulse to crack craniums with his quads. Often, his fratboy opponents can’t help themselves but grab hold (in awe, I’m certain). To his credit, he just lets them. If they try to pry him apart, he just holds them by the wrist, keeping them close enough to touch, but not break the hold. The flashing of his flexing quads as his opponents face’s go 2-dimensional is pure gold. Judging by the look of exquisite ecstasy as they’re crushed in the vise, I don’t think it takes a lot of effort from him to make opponents see stars.
I’ll take a break now, because I’m a bit dehydrated, Scott. I hope this has given you a little entertainment and perhaps a little provocation. I’ll be back at a future date to explore the most punishing quads in wrestling some more, along with your other wish list item, some focused attention on Dirty Daddy!
We’re at an even 150 votes cast after 5 days of open polls, so I’m calling it. The reader’s choice for BG East’s best legs in 2016 is none other than Logan Vaughn.
To be fair, this was incredibly close. Logan pumped out a victory of only 3 votes over big, beautiful, buff, bulging, blue-eyed beefcake Biff Farrell. Further fine print has to acknowledge that this is neverland readers’ choice, and there’s no telling who might have reigned victorious if BG East included a Best Legs category in their end-of-year Bestie Awards. It’s also true that the slate of candidates was entirely based on my own tastes and preferences, and in actual Bestie polling, there could have been someone entirely unrepresented in my poll who could have clamped their massive quads around the category and crushed out a victory. Even with all of those qualifications noted, however, I have to say I heartily approve. Logan Vaughn’s massive legs have been featured in my fondest wrestling fantasies before I ever actually saw him wrestle.
When I first learned that Logan was going to wrestle for BG East, I screamed like a girl. He was grossly underused in JetSet Men’s Ultimate Top. His appearance in Naked Kombat was disappointing for me, because we never real saw those legs dominate the way they should. I have enjoyed seeing a couple of his Thunder’s Arena appearances, as they play more to the fantasyman that Logan so clearly is. But this beast and his monster quads were built for exactly one thing, as far as I’m concerned: fantasy pro.
I have Logan’s most recent new release, Catch Weight 7, in my cue, but what I always, always long to see is Logan in the pro wrestling ring crushing an opponent every which way with those tree trunks before bending and breaking his foe into an openly awed, slack jawed, zealous convert to the absolutely devoted worship of Logan’s quads. In other words, I cue up Florida Fights 5.
In addition to Biff Farrell having an insanely passionate fan base, I also know for a fact that Kid Karisma is particularly proud of his legs and more than willing to put them up against anyone in the ring. And, of course, Chace LaChance was the Best Body winner last year, so it’s got to smart getting slapped down to third place for legs. And fuck, have you SEEN newbie Ramy Khoury’s huge, hairy thighs? That magnificent specimen deserves a much more competitive sophomore match up at BG East than his debut, and I would pay good money to see what he could do in this tournament of champions.
But even still, as much as I am passionately devoted in my following of Kid Karisma, as much as I adore Chace and swoon for big Biff, line them up side by side and give me just one pair of legs to get on my knees and worship, just one set of monster quads to oil down and frot fuck, one muscle god with twin towers to bury my face in and beg to get scissored, and I have to confess, I’m with the plurality on this one.
We’re so close to award season and nostalgic retrospectives of the year in review that I can taste it. Remember 2016, back in more innocent times? After Obergefell, but before Emperor Palpatine was elected as Supreme Chancellor by the gullible representatives of the Galactic Republic? I think I’ll always look back on 2016 as good old days. But as we prepare our hearts and minds for the supremely sobering task of registering our votes for homoerotic wrestling favorites in this era when winners and losers all admit that democracy is a sham, I want to offer a send up to a category that we seem to never get to vote on. Best legs.
I sort of assume I’m one of about 4 gay wrestling fans who seriously get off on hot, powerful legs. This assumption is based on several pieces of evidence. For one, as I mentioned, there’s never a category in the year-end polls for legs. Asses, sure, but anything at lower altitude is always neglected. Further, scanning the “muscle” section of BG East’s Arena galleries, I find that there are literally 21 galleries devoted to abdominal muscles, more than 15 galleries highlighting arms (and most of the generic galleries are all about biceps), and at least 10 galleries specifically about pectoral muscles. Look closely for legs, and I can find 2 galleries, and most of the pics don’t even include full length looks at wrestlers’ legs. I have to deduce that there simply is not a raging market obsessed with wrestlers’ legs the way that I am, because otherwise, the industry would pay much more attention to hot, sexy legs.
I’ve bitched before about the way that cameras consistently dissect wrestlers at mid-thigh or higher, as if the only objects of erotic lust exist north of there. There are billions of close-up pics of pumped, peaked biceps filling the camera frame. Side chest poses and most muscular poses draw the gaze irresistibly to big, bulging, pumped torsos, but 9 times out of 10, those pin-up beefcake shots crop out 75% of a wrestler’s legs (there’s lots of math there, sorry). So I concede that I must be a rare breed who swoons like a Victorian at the sight of full, powerful, pumped quads and thick, broad calves. When we’re treated to hot shots of scissors and leg chokes, apparently the rest of you are fixated on some element other than those sexy as fuck legs pulsing with punishing power. Clearly, I must be the only one with a running fantasy (starring an ever revolving cast for the male lead) of having my erect cock squeezed to climax between the rock hard quads of a wrestler with killer lower body credentials.
Of course, as with everything, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Personally, I like legs strong, which means that hot legs can come in different proportions and sizes and still check my box. This also means that the degree to which a pair of legs may turn me on is likely (and I’m sure often is) enhanced by the sell of their opponent. But as for sheer aesthetics, I can’t get enough of big, thick quads with massive, low hanging tear drops. I particularly key off on legs with monster quads and multi-headed, shapely calves stacking up a rock hard foundation.
For the 12 or so of us who would, if offered, lap up more focus on hot, sexy legs in this business, I thought I’d offer a send up to the homoerotic wrestling legs that grabbed my attention in 2016. Just for kicks, I’m including a poll on the BG East contenders highlighted below. Someone is going to bitch about the whole thing being rigged. Probably it’ll be the winner. What the fuck ever. Who did I miss?
So let’s take a look at the BG East boys whose legs made me do a double take and whip out my notepad. In alphabetical order. Vote below.
I hope everyone had a shocking Halloween. I’m also hoping to get another photo report from our favorite homoerotic wrestlers who delight in dressing up and showing us their costumes. In the mean time, I was mulling over a topic I’ve touched upon tangentially in the past, that seems particularly relevant this time of year: terror.
I should confess I’m a terror movie junkie. I tend toward the mind-fuck variety of horror flicks, particularly the sacrilegious, but the raw, mass body count movies are also on my list. I like the extra heavy heart pump they inspire. Even when I know the outcome, I can feel the blood pulse harder through my veins when I’m watching good, terror inducing entertainment
So it’s a short hop to thinking about the element of terror in homoerotic wrestling entertainment. Just like in a good horror flick, terror is a delicate ingredient. You can’t throw in too much, too soon, or the escalating adrenaline drops from habituation. On the other hand, too infrequent, too improbable (hello, Paranormal franchise, I’m looking at you) and the heat doesn’t have time to reach a boil. And under or over sold, and the whole suspension of disbelief comes crashing down in a heap.
But in homoerotic wrestling, when done right, it’s incredible value added for my tastes. When a brave, cocky, impenetrable stud throws himself into the fray, gets outmatched, gets convinced that he could very well get broken, broken into, or crippled for life, the unfolding drama is sensationally arousing to me. He’s got to believe he’s going to make a respectable showing to start with. And then, incrementally, he’s got to be dragged to the despairing, horrifying truth that he’s getting owned, and his opponent is just nasty enough to seriously jeopardize life and limb. And then, that juicy, potent psychodrama has to play out on his face, in his eyes, in the rising octaves of his screams and choking sobs.
When done right, I get that same adrenaline pump I do when I’m watching fine horror. That, paired with hot, hard bodies and the inherent eroticism of grinding, crushing, dominating wrestling, and I’ll swing for the fences every time.
Interestingly (for me, at least), I occasionally stumble across this ethical dilemma in seeking out terror-rich homoerotic wrestling fare, when I come across the implicit threat of rape. On the one hand, rape is not sexy. In real life, it’s vile and destroys lives. I don’t enjoy it, and don’t get aroused by it in gay porn. Frankly, it creeps me out. On the other hand, in addition to being terrorized by threats to life and limb, homoerotic wrestling terror at least occasionally drifts into the psychodrama of sexual violence. Threats that revolve around “what I’m going to do to you when I’ve beaten you to a pulp,” start down that path. Hell, every so often there’s the pretty explicit dialogue about how a victor will fuck his cowed conquest like the spoils of war. And, all that I just said on the first hand notwithstanding, I fucking get off on that.
Of course Naked Kombat pretty much is all about sexual domination as the spoils of erotic wrestling. But there’s an implicit contract in the fighter’s opening introductions. They’re signing up for this. They know the stakes are win or be fucked, so it’s more like high stakes gambling than actual rape. The loser my not enjoy it, but the bitterness and brutality are mostly about the humiliation of the loss, not about being involuntarily fucked. And the more recent post-match testimonials almost always make explicit that the everyone involved had a grand old time.
Can-Am has come pretty close to explicitly centering a narrative on wrestling as pretense for sexual assault. Their Wrestle Bait release made me check my political correctness credentials a few times, for example. The plot, as I remember, is that a sadistic jail guard (Jobe Zander) gets his psychojollies off on forcing inmates to wrestle for fuckstakes and freedom. Jobe literally holds a gun to their heads and coerces them to strip, beat the shit out of each other, and then have the winner force fuck the loser. If they don’t fight hard enough, he threatens to shoot them. So, guns turn me off. The threat of watching someone get shot turns me way off. The implication that the losers in each Wrestle Bait match are getting fucked against their will tugs at my conscience. But despite myself, even as I question my moral compass, I’ve pounded out dozens of times to that shit. In my defense, it was the first time I ever saw Rusty Stevens or David Taylor.
But I don’t have to have boundaries crossed for the terror ingredient to spice up my favorite homoerotic wrestling fare. It’s the terror itself, rather than any questionable-consensual sex act, that’s the common thread. So when it dawns on one gasping hunk that he’s got no shot of winning, and in fact has a very good shot at spending a few nights in the hospital, and that recognition visibly washes across his face… fuck. When a sniveling pretty boy literally tries to flee the scene, crawling on his hands and knees in a primal effort to distance himself from his natural predator, I’m so sold. When he chokes and quivers on the fear, when he weeps and begs, abandoning all pretense to dignity, when he out and out screams because he’s certain he’s about to break for real, that will top me off every time.
So today, I salute the homoerotic wrestling scream queens who toy with my moral compass and somehow shove their hands right down my pants by selling out and out terror as a device for propelling a wrestling match to a screaming, pleading, magnificent conclusion.
Taking a brief break from the heavy diet of reviews I’ve been dishing out, today I’m lingering a bit on that supremely homoerotic wrestling hold, face-to-crotch headscissors.
I’m sure I’ve mused about this hold before, but I’m too lazy to look it up. So I’ll probably repeat myself when I say that my heart pumps harder in my chest when a straight forward pro wrestling story suddenly introduces face-to-crotch scissors. If you buy that all of pro wrestling can easily be read as an extended homoerotic innuendo, face-to-crotch sort of slaps down the implied erotic subtext and steps at least one toe over the line into straight up homoerotic text.
How wrestlers carry it off, of course, can significantly add to eroticism. I suppose it’s possible to snap your thighs around another man’s head with that up close look at your balls in his face and it be solely about punishment and wrestling victory. But I love watching a wrestler snap shut that bear trap and then enjoy it, openly, luxuriantly, expansively. When someone on the delivery side of this hold pumps his glutes and shoves his hips forward with a little enthusiasm, when he milks the moment with pulsing flexed muscles beating out a morse code of agony from the gasping grunts of his opponent, when he stares down his own hot body and smiles at the sight of his opponent owned and getting primed for sucking cock, when he closes his eyes and leans his head way, way back and that look of an impending orgasm washes across his face, there’s nothing coded about this. This is hot, homoerotic wrestling gold.
The catcher can certainly connect the dots as well. Regardless of who ends up on top after all is said and done, I love it when a captured hunk’s eyes roam hungrily up and down his captors body above him. He doesn’t need to, but if he stretches his hands up and strokes those crushing thighs, the rippling abs, stretching so far as to palm the bulging pecs of his tormentor, it conveys what I’m silently thinking deep inside at that moment. A smothered grappler doesn’t have to, but if he’s man enough to nuzzle the balls bearing down on his face, fuck, maybe even open wide and give the trickster’s treats a hearty lick, it just puts the exclamation point on what this hold conveys from the start: wrestling persistently implies homoerotic intimacy.
When the camera angles and storytelling are just right, face-to-crotch headscissors shine a spotlight on one man’s bulging package, bringing his entire, tasty physique into the mix, making even that swelling muscle of passion a part of the corporal domination of another man. For me, it isn’t even so much about the oral sexual implications, as much as it signals that every magnificent inch of a wrestler’s hot body is engaged in dominating his opponent. Hell, when wrestling companies choose to transition from explicit wrestling to explicit sex, I typically push rewind. Because what’s getting me off is the homoeroticism of the wrestling, not the wrestling as foreplay for sex.
I suppose it isn’t such a far distance between why I’m such a fan of face-to-crotch headscissors as I am a fanatic for my favorite pro wrestling hold, the over-the-knee backbreaker. Both draw my eye to one wrestler’s bulging package. Both center the frame on the outline of a bulging cock and the ballast of balls. Both seem ripe with the erotic potential marrying gay sensibilities and a pro wrestling kink. Both make my pulse pound in anticipation of what happens next to, or with, or on behalf of one wrestler’s swollen pipe.
I sometimes find it ironic that this blog attracts so many visitors thanks to the still frames I include, because it’s the story in and around any one captured slice of time in a wrestling match that tantalizes and titillates me. It’s not any one frozen image that becomes the perfect muse to my erotic imagination, but the drama played out in motion, the slow contraction of muscles, the arching agony in a lower back, the quivering pouch, the writhing feet futilely kicking the mat. I’ve lately talked in terms of “the moneyshot,” meaning that moment in a match at which point I’m likely to climax, but that moment is about the 1,600 seconds before that led up to that moment, the deepening jeopardy of one man, the swelling confidence of another, the bodies growing wet with sweat over time, the veins swelling and pumping harder with blood from the effort and the adrenaline of competition. I get off plenty to face-to-crotch headscissors, but I’m never just getting off to face-to-crotch headscissors.
If there is one valuable analog of face-to-crotch headscissors, I think its the comfort a wrestling company has with the homoerotic eye of their gay audience. In scanning for face-to-crotch headscissors images across several platforms for this post, I found them concentrated in just a couple producers’ catalogs. And I think they play a part in direct proportion to how explicitly companies market to those of us in the audience tuning in and ponying up because we are sexually turned on by wrestling. Of course, face-to-crotch headscissors aren’t the only way of crossing the line from homoerotic subtext to homoerotic text. Hell, they probably aren’t even the best way. But from a strictly correlational perspective, I think they show up in proportion to how much I (at least) perceive of a producer as appreciative of and comfortable with me, as a gay man, watching their wrestling products as a means of sexual gratification.
So probably a close second as my favorite wrestling hold is face-to-crotch headscissors, because when they’re done wrong, they can reveal a whole host of troubled self-hatred bubbling beneath a veneer of nohomo bravado, but when they’re done right, I feel respected as a gay wrestling fan, drawn into the intimacy of homoerotic combat, and turned on hard.
Time’s a wasting, so if anyone is going to still benefit from seeing side by side (or top to bottom) comparisons of the nominees for BG East Bestie awards before polls close at midnight tomorrow night, I’d better get on it.
The Best Body category is an enigmatic one for me. Taking in the whole of a wrestler’s physique speaks to different tastes and attention. How the academy narrowed the field down to these six specimens, I can’t imagine, but it’s a very, very hot field to choose from.
Competition for Best Bulge is probably equally as subjective, but when we zoom in on the crotch, I have to think that size matters. In this case, these are the boys with the heft and volume to get nominations from the academy.
Nominees for Top Heel somehow seems like one of the clearest categories in the poll. The pro wrestling heel is an iconic role, and at BG East, it’s inhabited by some of the hottest, most merciless and vicious bad asses on the planet. Defending Top Heel of 2014, Kid Karisma, didn’t even make the cut this year, but this year’s field is incredibly competitive.
Hopefully we’ll have an opportunity to vote on the BG East year end Bestie awards soon. In the mean time, I made my own selections of the wrestlers that grabbed me hardest month by month (I skipped a couple months because life just keeps me from it every so often). My homoerotic wrestler of the month title is a difficult call to make most months. I’m turned on by so much of the fine new releases that I enjoy on a regular basis. But of the matches I’ve seen, the HWOTM title gives me a short list of the wrestlers I enjoyed most over the year.
Not that these are necessarily my top picks of the year. There’s probably some way to do a statistical analysis on the between group versus within group variances (Jose can probably tell us). Some months may present a tighter, higher caliber field than others to choose from, so a “loser” on any given month might have beat the fuck out of a winner in a different month. But I think my top wrestler in a new release in 2015 is guaranteed to be among the 10 HWOTM I called out this year, even if the runner-up might not be.
Anyhow, statistics and logic problems aside, before I can talk about the 10 HWOTM title holders in 2015, I need to anoint a December title holder. It’s a day early, but I’m going ahead and calling the competition for which wrestler turned me on hardest in a December new release. The last piece of the puzzle and the reigning HWOTM as we move into the new year is…
Frankly, it was a very close call as to whether it was Biff or his opponent, the titular character in The Comeback 2: Joe Mazetti, who turned me on hardest. Joe gets the nostalgia vote, and he sensationally sells the story of a classic heel who can’t, despite his best intentions, turn over the new leaf he so much longs to. Just the thrill of getting to see Joe looking so fucking huge, fit, and fierce is incredibly satisfying, much less getting to see Joe wrestle like he never left the ring in the first place.
But Biff narrowly rips the title out of Joe’s hands the moment he drops the heel daddy with a sucker shot to the gut and lords it all over a writhing, wriggling Joe, laughing and sneering with Joe’s nogging crushed like a tin can between Biff’s gargantuan thighs. This is a whole new Biff. This is a hungry, brutal, vicious Biff, with a big, bulging sadistic button sticking out and snarling Joe punching that button with abandon.
Biff is such an impressive hunk of man. It’s a joy, and just a little relief, to see his personality come through as 3-D as his bulging, beautiful muscles do. True, the Comeback king puts the buff kid out cold before all is said and done, but it’s that contemptuous, sadistic streak shining through in Biff’s riding time that makes me take a 2nd, 3rd, and 4th look at him as officially graduating from the ranks of the rookies. He plays with and plays off Joe’s larger than life delivery. Gorgeous as fuck, built like a brick house, and now with character complexity and suspense, Biff came on way, way strong to finish 2015.
So somewhere in the pack of my 2015 HWOTM winners, there must be a homoerotic wrestler of the year (HWOTY). I know these are my picks, and it’s all about who turned me on month to month, but seriously, I want to know. Who do you think should be neverland’s HWOTY? Just to warm up for the BG East Besties, vote below for the neverland homoerotic wrestler of the year.
With 2015 coming to a close, it’s time to reminisce. I published 100 posts this year, and readers added up an astonishing 493,000 page views in 2015. Most readers (by far) find their way to the home page of neverland, tracking the most recently published posts from day to day. Fascinatingly, the second most viewed page was the About neverland page, which sort of warms my heart because it’s text intensive (so you weren’t just chasing pics) and, well, all about me and my philosophy of blogging. By far the most popular pic clicked on this year was of hot, hairy chested Damien Rush crunching out a most-muscular pose with his masked undoing hovering ominously in the background.
Readers also clicked most on my review of the Gazebo Grapplers 17 match pitting jungle boy Lorenzo Lowe against hot jobber Tim Messina. You also seemed to be as infatuated with the pulse pounding 2015 debut of big, bulging, beautiful, blond, blue-eyed beefcake Biff Farrell, clicking directly through to my adoring review of his introduction to the homoerotic wrestling audience in Lon Dumont’s Wrestler Spotlight DVD. Of course, these stats are systematically biased toward older posts (you’ve had less time to rack up clicks on December posts, for example). Which makes me think that my September review of Hunkbash 15, although only the 3rd most viewed blog post of the year, may actually turn out to be the hotttest click over time. And I can certainly understand why. I’ve nearly worn out my DVD of Logan Vaughn’s divine, titanic thighs squeezing every ounce of resistance out of every inch of supplicant-in-training Trey Dixon. There are tastes du jour and then there are exquisite, timeless dishes that we’ll be savoring for years to come, and I have to believe that Trey crushed into sweaty, slack jawed worship at the bare feet of Logan is going to be a keeper.
Neverland readers originate from across the globe. English-speaking United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada are, in order, the top ranking origins of the most readers. Germany comes in fourth place with over 13,000 page views, edging out Australia. France, Japan and Mexico round out the top 8 countries of origin of homoerotic wrestling fans checking out the latest here at neverland.
Those of you using search engines to find your way to these pages typically know what you’re looking for, most of the time using keywords “sidelineland” or “neverland wrestling.” Fascinating me to no end, the next most common search engine keyword earning a click to neverland is “David Muir shirtless.” Google it, and sure enough, neverland is ranked #1. Again, consider my heart strangely warmed by the newsboy love that clearly many of you share with me. Those of you searching for a particular wrestling crush sending you this way were most likely to be seeking out Lane Hartley or Lon Dumont.
As for my favorite moments of 2015, one of the most fabulous reveals that I celebrated on the pages of this blog was my current top newsboy crush, Gio Benitez, coming out to his adoring public via Instagram photos of sunning his magnificent muscles next to his then-boyfriend Tommy DiDario. When he then documented his Paris marriage proposal via social media, getting down on one knee (Tommy said yes, of course!), a newsboy homoerotic wrestling lover champion tag team was born in my imagination. Every time I see Gio’s gargantuan biceps straining the seams of his suit coats as he reports on GMA, I no longer need to imagine what those hot, bulging muscles look like shirtless, thanks to Gio sharing the wealth and proudly showing off his, and his fiancee’s fabulous muscles in 2015. I’m still waiting for my wedding invitation.
One of those little moments that probably blew right past most readers but tickled my crotch just right this year was a snarky little exchange I had with none other than BG East Boss himself, Kid Leopard back in February. In my relentless pouring over and critiquing the nominees for BG East’s 2014 Bestie Awards, I adamantly announced that Kirk Donahue did not deserve to be in the running for Best Ass. You know what a smart ass I am, so of course I poured it on thick, speculating that the eventual winner of the category ought to bend Kirk over his knee and spank that adorable, yet not outstanding ass until he confesses who he fucked to get the nomination. Well, my smart assedness earned me a firm, slighty chiding message from Kid Leopard, who I assume is nominator in chief, explaining that I was completely off base in my disregard of Kirk’s award worthy butt. Getting a virtual slap on the wrist from the Boss both tickled and aroused me so much that I promptly published a public service announcement clarifying that, with additional persuasive evidence offered by the Boss, Kirk’s ass is totally nominatible. Of course, I was still a smart ass. And I still say Kirk’s ass is sensationally fuckable, but nowhere near deserving of a top 5 ranking in the exceedingly hot field of BG East butts. But anytime Kid Leopard calls me into his office to slap me around a bit, it’s going to be on my list of favorite moments.
My third favorite moment of 2015 was a little self-generated pride and joy I felt in getting my ass back to what really started neverland in the first place: writing homoerotic wrestling fiction. In August I took the flimsy excuse of Details Magazine identifying their top 31 male models, to write up a first round of homoerotic pretty boy wrestling fiction. I have yet to complete the tournament, though Sean O’Pry, John Halls, and Jarrod Scott more than ably earned their way into the semi-finals. What may not have been as apparent on your side of the screen was the pleasure I had in getting back to exercising my homoerotic wrestling imagination. I’ve gotten back to the keyboard several times this fall, and I anticipate 2016 getting me back to the online homoerotic wrestling fiction publishing business again. I’ll keep you updated.
My second most favorite moment in blogging this year was the feast of homoerotic wrestler Halloween costumes I got to enjoy, and share, in early November. Ty Alexander, Kayden Keller and Drake “Don’t-Call-Me-Jobber” Marcos partied hearty on Halloween this year and gifted you and me some hot shots of their sensationally sexy superhero costumes. By way of introducing himself to me, and by extension, you, adorably hot red-headed rookie twink Charlie Evans also sent some shots my way of his Iceman costume for Halloween this year. As soon as homoerotic wrestling studs send me unsolicited (or at least, lightly solicited) photos of themselves roaming the real world, I’m aroused and the moment is indelibly etched onto the list of most memorable moments.
My top, very most favorite moment in blogging for 2015 took place in the comments section. Casual readers may not think to check the comments, but you do so at the risk of missing hot gems every so often. Such was the case when I posted one of my long, adoring, full throttle fanboy infatuation pieces on my long-time homoerotic wrestler crush, Scott Williams. Scott shared his appreciation that his fans are still gagging for it, assuring us that he is “still keeping in shape and wrestling privately here in Boston and when I travel…always will love it and will always make you proud on the mats or in the ring!” He signed his comment “Sending bearhugs – Scott Williams.” I have since seen glimpses and snippets of evidence (follow the likes of Ty Alexander on FB, and you’ll see what I mean) that Scott is, indeed, still climbing into the ring, and he remains incredibly, profoundly, astonishingly sexy fit still today. I think it’s a crime against homoerotic wrestling fandom that Scott is keeping his wrestling work out of the publicly consumable sphere these days, and I think you should, at this very moment, send an email to BG East pleading with them to convince this classic hunk to cum out in a new release in 2016. In the meantime, that virtual bearhug from one of my longest running wrestling crushes still keeps me warm at night.
So, 2016. I’m hoping it’s a year for getting back to what has been the most fun for me over the past 6 years. Be it resolved that I will publish homoerotic wrestling fiction in the coming year. Be it also resolved that I will snag some fresh new wrestler interviews, because the lack of interviews in 2015 was, in retrospect, tragic from my perspective. I’ve also been not-so-subtly angling for an opportunity to be your Every-Joe-Fan at an honest-to-the-homoerotic-wrestling-gods taping of a match, and I see no reason why 2016 shouldn’t be the year that that invitation doesn’t show up in my mailbox. Those are a few of my hopes and dreams for the New Year. Hope yours is hot, sweaty, and includes some OTK backbreakers.
So much to blog, so little time. The last quarter final match of the Hottest of the Hottest competition will have to wait, because I’m even more tardy in announcing a reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month to pluck the crown from last month’s winner Ty Alexander. So many long time infatuations of mine starred in August new releases, the choice was very tough. I nearly wimped out and called it a tie, just to squeeze in adoration of one more sensational wrestler. But I’m buckling down and making the tough call today, and speaking of adoration, my new reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month is…
I’ve been wanting this, longing for it even, hell, I’ve had some mystical certainty that fate would make this happen some day ever since I first saw Logan step into the ring in Jet Set’s The Ultimate Top. “The ultimate top” Logan was not, and for that matter, The Ultimate Top was also only somewhat satisfying for my wrestling kink tastes. But one thing that grabbed me hard and made my swoon was Logan’s gargantuan legs and that phenomenal ass testing out life as a homoerotic wrestler.
My recent review of Logan’s August new release appearance in BG East’s Florida Fights 5 gives away everything I really need to say regarding my rationale for shoving adorable Ty off the podium and giving a hand up to hardcore muscle pornboy Logan. The story arc between his first BG East appearance getting ground into dust by pro heel brute Lane Hartley and his Florida Fights 5 unveiling is epic. His Florida Fights opponent is 55 lbs lighter than Lane Hartley. Logan goes from a 30 pound weight disadvantage to a 35 pound advantage over erotic wrestling specialist Trey Dixon. I’m pretty sure Trey’s waist is just about exactly the circumference of one of Logan’s upper thighs. This was essentially a fork in the road for Logan’s homoerotic wrestling career (long may it live), because if Trey had conquered the pornboy, it would have been time to tattoo the word “jobber” across his amazing ass.
And while there would have been avalanches of humiliation involved, I say there’d have been no shame. I love a hot jobber. Even the ones who resent the label inhabit a time honored, essential role in pro wrestling iconography, and selling a crash and burn suffering is not something just anyone can pull off. But Logan took the way less traveled by, unleashing his monster quads in one of the most heart pumping, most satisfying matches I’ve watched in quite a while.
Full kudos to Trey for more than carrying his weight in this Greek tragedy of lustful ambition crushed, wrung out to try, and reshaped into a subservient, worshipful trophy of his new muscle god. I came so close to making him a tandem title holder, something I’ve done only once before. There’s that sizzling passion Trey embodies that, once finally bent to Logan’s will, makes me insanely jealous of his tongue. Even a shade less enthusiasm, just one square inch of Logan’s magnificent muscles left untasted, and this match would be significantly less compelling.
But then Logan smiles. He chuckles at the sound of Trey’s pitiful whimpering, muffled from deep between Logan’s hairy thighs. The pornboy flexes his quads, and those incredible columns of granite seem to swallow Trey whole, as Logan props himself up on one elbow to soak in the glory of his power milking all fight and independent thought from his opponent’s rock solid body. I continue to say his supporting player is one of the hottest in the business. But this moment I just have to give to the triumphant coming out of a muscle god ring heel.