Saving Up to Give a Gift

Trey Dixon tastes the superhuman power of Logan Vaughn’s legs in Florida Fights 5.

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.

Scott must have loved this moment in his match with Brad Rochelle!

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!

Lance Jackson cops a feel of Wildcard Carter’s tree trunks in The Great Outdoors 3.
Surge grabs hold of Magnus with both hands in Wrestle Worship 3: Masked Muscle.
Calvin Haynes sizes up Beauxregard in Muscle Worship 4: Muscle Power.
Ben Monaco is understandably in awe of Chace LaChance’s quads in Wrestleshack 20.
jake kasee
Kasee is in awe of Jake’s thighs in Vegas Battles 59.
jake dom9
Jake can’t stretch both hands around Dom9’s lower quad in No Holds Barred 143.
clark duke
Clark cozies up to Duke’s mammoth quads in No Holds Barred 92.
aspen jake
Aspen can’t believe his luck, or Jake’s muscles in No Holds Barred 151.

Stay in Your Lane

Last week there was a reckoning in pro wrestling, as victims of sexual misconduct and sexual assault stepped forward on several platforms to name the crimes and creeps they have endured for years in the pro wrestling context. While I’ve generally ignored mainstream pro wrestling for a couple of decades, for a number of reasons, I follow a few wrestlers outside of the homoerotic wrestling context, and more than a few wrestlers that straddle both worlds. Based on what I’ve read, most of the recently disclosed creepiness was perpetrated by men against women, but I’ve seen more than a few indictments of same sex assault and harassment. I don’t believe that I’m qualified or informed sufficiently to comment directly, but it does draw my attention to my lane on the road, namely wrestling produced for gay eyes.


As I’ve documented extensively on this blog, I found wrestling inherently erotic from pretty much the first time I can remember seeing it. Clearly, I’m not alone. Vintage gay beefcake pin-up boys were often portrayed grappling, perhaps as cover for the explicit tension of seeing two nearly naked men all over each other. But for me, it’s not just cover. I have access to a world of homoerotic porn today, but what seriously turns me on is homoerotic wrestling (thus, this blog). I understand that there may be companies producing content with an explicit understanding that the wrestling is pretense, that the audience is understood to primarily include gay guys who only feel comfortable getting caught with their jack-off inspiration under the bed/in their downloads if they can attempt to argue that they’re just good ole straight boys into good old straight wrestling and it has nothing to do with their dicks. I’ll come back to that in a moment, but for now, let me say that I’m most interested in self-consciously, undeniably homoerotic wrestling.


I get off on wrestling. Early in my life, it was a secret that I felt ashamed of. Mostly through blogging about it over the past 10 years, I’ve “come out” about it here, and face-to-face with some of my close friends. I still watch “family friendly” pro wrestling sometimes for the nostalgia, for the implicit connection to my young, gay self staying up late on a Saturday night, turning the volume down way, way low, and pounding a few out over the course of watching the likes of Billy Jack Haynes, the Dynamite Kid, and Steve Doll work up a sweat and put their hot bodies to the test in the ring. I realize that the producers of independent pro wrestling probably didn’t envision a whole lot of their audience consuming the product quite the way I did (though I strongly suspect producers have always known and counted on our corner of the fan base). Most of what I enjoy for the carnal enjoyment of it these days is wrestling-for-gay eyes, though, because the erotic text isn’t just the one I bring to the viewing. And in explicitly homoerotic wrestling (explicit or not), the eroticism crosses some topical boundaries (like groping, mismatched erotic desire between the combatants, aggressive kisses, gear being forcibly ripped off of each other) that are, in many ways, the very content of damning stories raised by wrestlers in mainstream pro wrestling about sexual harassment and sexual assault. But in homoerotic wrestling, it’s happening for the homoerotically-oriented wrestling audience, and it’s built on a pretense of consent. The boundary crossing is an erotic fantasy, self-consciously enacted by consenting wrestlers willingly, sometimes eagerly, rather than real-life boundary crossing perpetrated as an unwanted violation of consent.


I’ve never seen a wrestling contract from BG East or W4H or Can-Am or Naked Kombat. I’ve never sat in on labor negotiations or match planning. But as a consumer, I’m assuming a foundation of consent, that the fine, hot hunks that populate my screen have signed up for the sexy situations that they find themselves in. I’d feel like an accomplice to a crime if I actually thought that IRL Bryan Powers was put in restraints in the corner and forced to watch helplessly as his sexy little fuck buddy Liam Ryan was beaten senseless, groped relentlessly, and force-fed Shane McCall’s cock as Shane and BBW made out over top of him, turned on by their cruel domination. If all 4 of the wrestlers didn’t sign-up for, at the very least, the possibility of the erotic turns and double-teaming injustice that played out, then that match would be prosecutable. The pretense of being overpowered and forced into sexually compromised positions only works for my fantasy life if there was consent from the start.


The role of consent in my erotic fantasies has been explicitly on my mind for a long time. I remember rewriting, multiple times, one of my first homoerotic wrestling fiction stories, as I brought into focus the blurred lines of consent. The match was careening headlong into the winner fucking the unwilling loser.  But as the words hit the page, I actually felt pity for the loser. Even the imaginary violation of consent was such a buzz kill, and it sent me backward into the narrative, to figure out whether the hottest telling of my fantasy would be established on clarifying the mutually agreed upon stakes, or if the match needed to head a different direction all together.


The idea of consent pops up in other ways in my blogging history. Along the way, I’ve requested, and received, permission from copyright owners to post images from homoerotic wrestling productions. Sometimes they have specific parameters within which they give me permission to post. One producer has specified that I not re-post their images that include nudity, for example. Also, in about 10 years of active blogging, there’s been about a dozen times when someone featured in an image I’ve posted has requested the image be removed. I always do, whether they are the copyright owners or not. I do my best to celebrate homoerotic wrestling and wrestlers, and the underlying consent of the hunks seems essential to demonstrating the relationship that I want to have with the genre, built on consent.


I once pressed Muscle Master Kevin at MDW on the topic of the use of gay slurs. MDW isn’t the only company that’s invoked the themes of humiliating “the sissies,” of course. MMK seemed quite honestly surprised to hear me say that I felt resentment about it. He explained that it comes from his private fans and MDW fans who specifically call for it, who demand it as a crucial component of what gets them off.  I had to sit with that for a while, frankly. In the end, I decided that my job isn’t to police anyone else’s erotic fantasies. As long as everyone understands that it’s mutually negotiated, then what does it matter what my critique of internalized homophobia may be? Helpfully, MMK suggested they would do a better job of labeling their products, so that those willingly seeking out homoerotic material featuring anti-gay themes could find what they need, and the rest of us can steer clear. I’m not exactly thrilled that there’s a significant market for gay guys wanting to get off on being gay bashed (at least figuratively), but if everyone involved is consenting, what does it matter what I think?


Maybe #speakout will trickle down to homoerotic wrestling, and we’ll learn that there’s not always fully informed consent operating on camera, or that there’s harassment or assault off camera. I’ve heard rumors, but no first-hand accounts. For the record, I’m only interested in celebrating homoerotic wrestling in which what shows up on camera reflects willing consent (and hopefully eager enthusiasm) of the wrestlers involved. If there are aggressive liplocks, ripped off gear, muscle groping, cock stroking, sexual domination, erotic humiliation, humping, frottage, or full on fucking, then it should be willingly consented to by all parties involved. If it isn’t, I don’t want to watch it or promote it. If there are any hot, naive young hunks who show up on camera not knowing that the whole purpose of the product is for gay guys to jerk off to them, they should be informed. I think there’s a problem with fully informed consent, otherwise, and I don’t want to be crushing on some hot young muscle hunk who’s desperately ashamed and feeling duped to be associated with homoeroticism.


If I go to wrestling-for-gay-eyes sites and see guys feeling each other up, grabbing each other’s crotches, sucking on each other’s nipples, bumping and grinding, stripping naked, making out, getting hard, dick whipping, cock sucking, muscle worshiping, or, best of all, doing all of the above in a ring full of baby oil with a dozen other like minded, fully aroused beefcakes celebrating the homoeroticism of wrestling for kindred spirits to enjoy over and over again on an endless repeat recording, then I fully expect everyone to have willingly consented, and hopefully exuberantly endorsed the production of an erotic wrestling fantasy. If anyone in mainstream pro wrestling, underground wrestling, homoerotic wrestling, or anyone else, thinks that they’re entitled to coerce, manipulate, or physically force anyone else against their will to participate in your erotic fantasy, I think that’s creepy and should be shut down every time. If your fantasy includes coercion, enjoy the creative and inspired artists, athletes, and producers who can indulge that fantasy without anyone being harmed, dehumanized, or criminally assaulted. Otherwise, stay in your own lane, and keep the eroticism out of your wrestling lives.


I’ve seen photos of many of you hot hunks dressed in mostly nothing, as sexy versions of just about anything for Halloween. As for me, I dressed as a TB patient for the special day. Well, actually I’ve just had a disgusting, rattling chest cold, which did not leave me feeling sexy or in the mood to party with the rest of you hotties. So I missed seeing the gay male festival of flesh and camp in peron, damn it.  Send me your sexy Halloween photos if you’re willing to let me post them here, so that I can enjoy second-hand a few tricks to go with all those leftover treats I’ve been binging on as I convalesce.

In the mean time, here are a few of the terrifying masked men who never fail to turn me on. Prizes for those of you with proof you partied as one of these hot mystery men!

Angelo Blanco is as mysterious as he is sensationally sexy!
Everyone’s hard when Die Hard Conquers Dyno-Man!
Mighty Magnus perfectly terrorized musclebaby Surge behind that mask and all that magnificent muscle.
Die Hard lays bare a terrified Steve Sterling.
Has there ever been a more unstoppable (and sexy) masked beast in the ring than The Enforcer? Maskador never had a chance!
Rock Hard Wrestling celebrated Halloween this year with Masked Mania.
Babyface heroes like Stinger are destined to get stripped and humiliated by villainous studs like Lightning and Cage Thunder!
Superhero Archangel was spoiled, plundered, and perverted into terrifying supervillain Dark Angel.
The Black Spider was ALL OVER El Mascarado Zamora!
Exile is a superhero, but that skin tight black suit, black goggles, and raging trouser snake would strike terror in any opponent!

Size Matters

Anyone who knows me knows that when it comes to men’s bodies, my tastes include a broad spectrum.  In fact, it’s not just that there are a variety of body types that turn me on, but variety itself is a turn on. I have friends, for example, that will only date guys who are over 6 feet tall, or blonds, or twinks, or Asian men, or bodybuilders. For me, each of the above is delightful, and all of the above is fantastic.
Most people who know me are also aware that I tend to have a fascination for stats. Most relevant to today’s post, I love the numerical context for the homoerotic wrestlers who arouse me. Astute readers have picked up that I tend to count things like height, weight, and matches wrestled when I contemplate wrestling hunks. Numbers can sketch out the backstory that I love so much to wrestling drama. Stats can also, without a doubt, mislead. Take, for example, wrestlers’ physical stats. Overestimating heights and weights is a notorious tendency in professional wrestling, as promoters try to paint a bigger than life picture of the gladiators battling in the ring. So with more than a grain of salt, I appreciate wrestling numbers and today reflect on the right tail of the distribution: literal giants of homoerotic wrestling.
My research project for today’s post was to try to identify the homoerotic wrestlers at least 6’4″ tall.  Who might you guess is among the skyscrapers towering that high? There were about a dozen long, tall drinks of water that I expected to make this list, but who didn’t (at least not according to their wrestling profiles). I fully expected to see on this list such BG East big men as Mitch Colby (actually listed anywhere from 6’1 – 6’3), Gareth Black (6’3″), Kid Brock (6’1″), Stan Greer aka Cage (ranging from 6′ to 6’2″), Jeff Olsen (6’2″).  I thought I’d find more to add to the list from Thunder’s Arena, who specializes in the big boys, like O’Shea (6’3″), Sampson (6’3″), or Titan (6’2″).  A few of Can-Am’s classically massive wrestlers surprised me by missing the list, like Brett Mycles (6’1″) and Jirka Kalvoda (6’0″).  Also catching me by surprise by not towering quite as high as I thought were Naked Kombat rafter cleaners Blake Daniels (6’3″) and Spencer Reed (6’1″).  Not to say that any of these guys aren’t long, lovely specimens who I’d have to get a step ladder to look in the eye. But their online profiles indicate that they aren’t quite at the most elite level of towering hunks in the business. So who is?  Well this is the list that I was able to identify…
Thunder’s Arena’s giant Boxxy rains power down on Angel.

Thunder’s Arena’s butt-tastic muscle man Boxxy is posted at a dizzying 6’4″ carrying his 240 pounds of decadent muscle. Of course, putting him on the mat opposite 5’5″ Angel only accentuates the superhuman size of the bubble-butted phenom. 
Boxxy even makes muscle man Rex look relatively small!
Side by side with fellow side of beef, 5’8″ Rex, Boxxy manages the seemingly impossible task of making the word “petite” somehow seem to stick on Rex’s powerful, pounding physique. When looking for a hit of size-fetish satisfaction, Boxxy certainly deserves to stand among the pantheon of homoerotic wrestling giants (in stature).
BG East’s Clint Morgan towers over a battered proboy Bryan.
There are a few other power hitters like Boxxy who stretch the measuring tape to 6’4″, such as BG East’s classic bully, Clint Morgan.  Clint stayed in the game long enough to earn him a Bodies Over Time post (somebody remind me).  He was such a physically dominant powerhouse, I actually figured 6’4″ was an underestimate, but the measuring tape isn’t capturing just how much his beef and personality fill up the ring.
Clint used his amazingly long legs to torture his opponents viciously.
Clint is a massive, vicious, merciless brute of man that I’d definitely want on my side of a bar fight. And once we’ve brutally won the impromptu battle, flush with adrenaline and bursting with cum, this giant is coming home with me celebrate!
Can-Am’s Brian Maxon demands to be worshipped.
Can-Am’s Brian Maxon was another 6’4″ package of vile muscle heel. “Larger than life” sort of sums up “maximum Maxon.” Every astonishing inch of his body was divine, including that perfectly proportioned python dangling so ominously between his legs. I always get the impression in a Maxon match that, like the muscle god he is, Brian is less interested in the “winning” as he is in being worshipped. 
Brian used his massive body to smother and bury his opponents in the mat.
I pictured big Brian swaggering his big, beautiful body through the homoerotic wrestling universe collecting an army of devotees who’ve been converted by being smothered between his huge pecs and pounded into painful ecstasy by his titanic cock.  He snaps his fingers and the lucky bastards who were just ground into the mat jump to their feet and follow him, wide-eyed in devoted rapture, to his next spiritual conquest.
BG East’s Magnus had to pry Surge’s face upward to meet his gaze.
So numbers can (and let’s face it, usually do) lie. Some of the hunks on this list I’m guessing have had their heights fudged upward at least a couple of inches. But I have no trouble at all believing that BG East’s recent muscle monster, Magnus, is every inch his reported 6’4″ and every ounce the 230 pounds they say he is. Talk about being ripped from the pages of a superhero comic book! I wouldn’t be surprised to hear the news that English-Hollywood superhunk Tom Hardy was mugged and beaten into a coma outside of the filming of the next Batman installment only to be replaced by his mugger, the real Bane of babyfaces everywhere, Magnus!
Surge was clearly awed by the massive presence of Magnus.
There are plenty of moments when Magnus’ muscleboy opponent, Surge (5’11”), completely disappears in the giant beast’s shadow. Sexy Surge didn’t go down without a fight, but you get the distinct impression in their battle that Surge was awestruck looking up (and up and up) at the mountain of muscle in front of him from start to finish. Like my imagining of Maxon, Magnus turns his mere mortal opponent into a quivering pile of rubble desperate to serve and service the muscled god who pins his face to the mat with his beer can (a 40 ouncer) cock.
Naked Kombat’s Rusty Stevens plowed skinny giant Ben Deep.
Look up the idiom, “The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” and surely you’ll see this image of Naked Kombat loser Ben Deep, whose 6’4″ of height were just more chump to fuck with for the infinitely “bigger” wrestler (at least his personality is bigger than just about anyone else’s), Rusty Stevens (6’0″). Personally, I can’t take my eyes off of Rusty in his NK days, so discovering that Ben was not only taller than Rusty, but 6’4″ tall was a little bit of a shock. I’ve seen this match a dozen times, and I’d swear Ben was 5’5″ when I think back on it. But that’s just because Rusty dominates so completely and keeps Ben flat on his back with his feet in the air pretty much from start to finish. But stand the jobber up, and we discover that lucky loser Ben Deep was one of the (skinniest) giants in homoerotic wrestling.
Thunder’s Arena’s Draco nearly launches Z-Man through the ceiling.
Thunder’s posts conflicting reports of their short-time wrestling stud named Draco. His “official” profile puts him at a towering 6’5″, but I’ve seen him listed in one of his products at 6’3″. I’m not entirely sure I buy the extra 2 inches, but I did catch his match with a curiously blond Z-Man (5’10”). Draco definitely makes Z-Man look juvenile, starring up the long, ripped, tanned body of the newbie.
Gorgeous Draco can’t quite fit in the frame!
In the pantheon of titanic muscle giants, Draco would be the sexy playboy. Guys this tall can have a tough time keeping their proportions aesthetic, I find, but Draco’s bronze loveliness (and gallons of hair product) are nothing short of pretty. He may not have the physically dominant presence of a Clint Morgan or a Magnus, but it’s not hard to picture him being fed by the sight of a losing opponent worshipping at his feet.
BG East’s Kevin Armstrong foolishly looked down his nose at nasty heels KL & TK. 

The tallest wrestler I could find on the BG East roster doesn’t have his own profile, but his one appearance lists Kevin Armstrong at 6’5″ and 215 pounds. Personal trainer and gym manager Kevin apparently tried to use his impressive physical presence to pour cold water on the rising tension between former tag partners Kid Leopard (5’8″) and Thom Katt (who I can’t find a height for, but he had to be shorter than KL).  As you might expect, KL and TK were impressed with the physical specimen presented to them, but hardly intimidated.

So much fun to be had with a 6’5″ personal trainer!
In fact, the two smaller men delight in bringing the big, blond Gulliver to the mat and not just beating him, not just humiliating him, but in discovering a laundry list of innovative ways to torture such an impressive expanse of body. I haven’t seen this one, but note to self: buy Kid Leopard’s Classic Spotlight!

Can-Am’s classic giant muscle man, Rob Frank

I don’t believe I’ve seen Can-Am’s Rob Frank wrestle either, but if he really was the 6’6″ height he’s listed at, he was one stunningly huge muscle man! To pack that much muscle on that big a frame seems like an astonishing feat. Further, to recruit such a specimen for wrestling for gay eyes seems even more of an amazing accomplishment.

Rob Frank hangs 5’10” Rich Money like so much laundry.

Have him wrestle naked in the ring, and I’m kicking myself wondering how I haven’t seen towering Rob Frank wrestle yet!  I’d have snarky comments to make about the mullet, if I weren’t a little scared of having a 6’6″ muscle beast take it personally. He could do some serious damage without even trying!

Thunder’s Arena’s Troy Stevens dwarfs Z-Man.

But who’s the tallest of the homoerotic wrestler giants? There’s an addendum after my answer, but for now, I’m pulling out my step ladder to crown Thunder’s Arena’s muscle freak giant, Troy Stevens, as the biggest of the sexy big men that I could find.  Whether he’s the every fraction of an inch the 6’7″ Thunder’s puts him at, he’s incredibly huge!

What the fuck was Z-Man thinking?!

Thunder’s only posted 2 matches featuring Troy, which is a shame. There’s a little bit of an Andre the Giant feel about these scenes of him destroying 5’10” playgirl muscle model, Z-Man. It’s as if these are two different species. One is a jaw-droppingly gorgeous muscle star, and the other is a classic Titan of Greek mythology.  The size difference is just astonishing, and if there’s a Zeus in the pantheon of homoerotic wrestling giant men, I’d guess it’s the superhuman musclefreak, Troy Stevens.

Thunder’s Arena’s Enforcer: Giant, yes. But homoerotic wrestler?

Addendum: Search engines on some of the homoerotic wrestling websites suck, so I very well may have missed some of the wrestlers who topped out at 6’4″ or taller. Feel free to point out where my list is lacking.  I won’t take it personally (unless your a dick about it). Also, Thunder’s Arena actually posts their wrestler, The Enforcer, at 6’10” tall, a full 3″ taller than Troy (aka Zeus). However, I’m taking the liberty (since this is my list, after all) of disqualifying The Enforcer as not having actually “wrestled.” His “match” with Z-Man, and the attempted double team with “Tristian” (aka Aryx Quinn, aka Tristan Baldwin) strikes me as all gimmick, no wrestling. The Enforcer is undeniably huge, but… well, no, I’m just saying he doesn’t fit the requirements of qualifying as a homoerotic “wrestler.”  His singular appearance with Thunder’s has much more the feel of a sideshow than of a wrestling match, or perhaps more accurately foreplay before Z-Man and Aryx got down to a legitimate tussle.

While it doesn’t take a giant over 6’4″ to get my blood pumping, this list of towering hunks proves that it doesn’t hurt, either!  Bodies this big also tend to come with accompanying vulnerabilities, like weak joints, but a massive, giant homoerotic wrestler who can pump up and pound out a hot wrestling match is a wonder that can most definitely work for me.


Thunder’s Arena’s Coupe shows off his vascularity
As I mentioned in my last post, there’s a lot about Thunder’s Arena’s Coupe that turns me on. I could go on for days about the intoxicating brew of his freakish physical development mixed with self-depracating humor and a strong chaser of insecurity. I could linger for hours at a time over the gargantuan slabs of beef that are his glutes. He sports the proportions of a superhero, ripped from the imagination of some barely suppressed gay comic book artist. But for today, I’m captured by the effect that Coupe’s vascularity has on me. The ropes of thick veins stretched across his arms and shoulders drive me nuts!
BG East’s Lon Dumont is shredded!
In Rookie Wreckers 1, Lon Dumont is in astonishing shape. His body is straight out of my college anatomy and physiology textbook. On the road to competing in several bodybuilding competitions soon after his humiliation of the beefy beauty, young Morgan Cruise, Lon had already whittled away every gram of body fat, until there was just nothing left but his gorgeous, smooth skin stretched across his skeletal muscles. With simply no padding, you can clearly see the sharp edges of his joints, the lay of the muscle fibers themselves, and the spiderweb of veins feeding his awesomely pumped muscles. With hunky Morgan tied up helplessly in the ropes and forced to watch, Lon took an opportunity to practice some of his mandatory poses. Admiring his own side chest pose, Lon marveled at the roadmap of striations and veins carved across his cut pecs. “Look at that!” he demands of Morgan, in awe at the sight of his own astonishing fitness.
Thunder’s Arena’s King Conan: built to impress (and crush)

Aussie pro bodybuilder, Conan at Thunder’s is nearly too big for my tastes. If I had a man this size inviting me to worship his physique like the god he most certainly is, I almost wouldn’t know where to start. However, I think I’d figure it out, and veiny ropes bulging just beneath the skin would hold my attention for quite some time. And speaking of holding, I’d go deep into debt to pay every penny it would be worth to have Conan lock my head between those veiny thighs in a deep, suffocating face-to-crotch scissors and have him dick whip my face.

BG East’s recent masked muscle freak discovery, Magnus, left me nearly as much in awe of him as that lucky bastard gym bunny, Surge. All that beef hanging from Magnus’ legs require thick, bulging veins to supply his quads, hamstrings and calves with the nourishment they need. Damn, that’s hot!

Can-Am’s Steve Sterling – tags and bags his opponents with
his overwhelming muscle development

Can-Am’s classic muscle beast, Steve Sterling, had a gorgeous… well, a gorgeous everything! But in the heat of competition, when he’d strain and flex and inevitably outmuscle the lambs led to slaughter in front of him, the veins in his arms would swell to the surface and bring me, like so many of his opponents, to my knees.

Thiago’s muscles look ready to explode as he counters
Jobe’s oh-so-tight rear bearhug

Can-Am’s Thiago Diaz‘ upper body is jaw-droppingly sculpted. The muscle mass he carries on his arms, shoulders and chest is almost unbelievable. I almost wonder if he’s wearing some blow-up muscle suit to explain his astonishing thickness (not to mention the muscle that’s challenging the seams of his trunks!). When Thiago flexes, straining to power out of a fiercely intimate rear bear hug by sadist cockmaster, Jobe Zander, the vascularity that flares up across his upper arms and shoulders pushes me right to the edge of self-control (and frequently right over the edge).

I’m on the record for being turned on by a diversity of bodies. It isn’t that the details don’t matter to me, but that I’m a fan of all sorts of packages for each set of sweet, provocative details they have. By no means do my wrestling turn-ons require bodybuilders to satisfy what ignites my erotic tastes. Lean meanies, beefy bruisers, tasty twinkshairy, smooth, pretty boys and ugly mugsfratboy loveliness, perfectly seasoned maturity… I’m blessed by all sorts of buttons that ignite my homoerotic wrestling fantasies. Gorgeous, bulging, pulsing veins rising to the surface of a rock hard body is right up there with some of the qualities that turn me on the most.

Hercules and the Giant Antaeus

Cage Thunder’s blog post today lays out how he envisions a match playing out between new BG East wrestler Magnus and him. Cage has some inspiring ideas of the twists and turns in the drama that would undoubtedly unfold. Even conceding 40 pounds and 5 inches in height, Cage is thinking that he’d have Magnus’ number in the end. If anyone has the experience, savvy, and skill to conquer muscle freak Magnus, I’m thinking it’s Cage Thunder.

There’s a whole lot I like about Wrestle Worship 3. First and foremost, I’m excited to see another installment in the wrestle worship franchise. I own and love WresWor 1 (mmmmmm… Rafe….) and 2, and the notion of gorgeous bodies slipping seamlessly between battle and lustful adoration is one of my favorite homoerotic wrestling scenarios of all time. When wrestlers work up a roaring head of erotic passion out of the intense physicality of a battle for domination, it strums a chord right at the heart of my wrestling kink.

6’4″, 230 pound Magnus is fucking huge. When he’s posing in the mirror in the BG East matroom before his opponent arrives, he looks freakishly massive, but it’s only when Surge walks into the room and steps in front of Magnus that it’s entirely clear that Magnus isn’t simply huge. He’s fucking huge. 5’11”, 185 pound Surge is quite the impressive muscle beast himself, but lets face it, he looks relatively juvenile dwarfed in the shadow of the gargantuan wonder.

There are two things that occur to me as I watch the beginning of their tussle. First, I’m thinking that Magnus would be his own ride in that homoerotic wrestling theme park that I fantasize about every so often. I’d wait in line a long time, with a bottle of baby oil in hand, to have a go at studying every inch and ounce of his astonishingly worship-worthy body. The second thought that occurs to me at the start of this bout is that “little” Surge is like a hero of Greek mythology. He visibly swallows the stark terror that’s got to be washing over him and then bravely demands that Magnus wrestle him. “I’m not afraid of you!” he lies.
As you might guess, Surge is completely outmuscled by Magnus. It’s not as if it’s a surprise to see the 6’4″ muscle freak pick up, throw down, toss and crush his opponent without breaking a sweat. What’s more compelling for me is the gusto with which sexy Surge keeps throwing his own beautifully muscled body at the monster in front of him. While Magnus admires his own double bicep in the mirror, Surge creeps up behind him and struggles to wrap his arms around the massive lats and traps in front of him. I mean, literally, he struggles to extend his limbs sufficiently to be able to manage a full nelson on the wide open bodybuilder. When he does finally manage it, Magnus seems to barely notice. He simply steps backward and crushes Surge against the wall behind them. Surge loses his grip and slides off as Magnus returns to the middle of the mat to flex for his own pleasure some more. Undaunted, Surge sprints across the room and launches himself into the skyscraper again, lacing his fingers behind Magnus’ neck and making the muscle freak stumble backward. Here’s where I’m fascinated most: Magnus struggles in the full nelson! He strains and stretches with the ferocious terrier latched to his back. Sure, he eventually charges backward and slams Surge into the wall again, winning his freedom. But Surge’s determination to face down these incredibly long odds makes me, despite myself, start cheering for him!
Picture Hercules wrestling the giant Antaeus. That’s what I’m seeing as I watch, inspired by the sight of beautiful muscle hunk Surge get ground into the dirt and relentlessly keep coming back for more. Surge clearly has something to prove. He’s obviously not familiar with the feeling of being overpowered, and he stubbornly keeps launching one doomed effort after another to bring the giant to his knees. For his troubles, Magnus grows progressively nastier in dishing out his punishment, slapping down the Greek hero more and more brutally. And the longer Surge refuses to stay down, the more sexually charged the contact grows between them. When the square cuts come off, Magnus somehow seems to swell even larger.  He stands like a marble statue as Surge tentatively, almost fearfully peels the yellow trunks down Magnus’ freakishly thick thighs. When thongs get stripped not long afterward, the timelessness of this battle seems that much more poignant. I think it’s incredibly astonishing (and just damn unfair!) that Magnus’ beer can cock is perfectly proportioned to the rest of freakishly huge body. Again, Surge is no slouch, but he seems somehow merely mortal as he faces down the side of beef hanging between Magnus’ legs.

I’ve already lingered quite a bit on three particular moments in the homestretch of this mat battle. First, there’s a moment when Magnus has pounded Surge to his back on the mat once again. They’re both naked, and Magnus saddles up on top of Surge’s chest, slapping down his monster cock. The proximity seems to send Surge over the edge, as he desperately stretches his neck and lips to grab hold of the giant’s feast. Magnus teases him, keeping the tip of his head just a fraction of an inch out of reach of Surge’s hungry mouth. Eventually, Magnus demands that Surge “flex those big pecs” of his (I LOVE it that Magnus acknowledges Surge’s rocking physique!). Crunching out his pecs, Surge is delighted to be treated to Magnus stroking his cock, tightly squeezed in the crevice between Surge’s thick pecs. A second intoxicating moment in the match for me is the last of a whole boatload of bearhugs that Magnus applies crushing Surge, making him scream, swinging him about like a rag doll. The last one is over relatively quickly (though it’s not hard to imagine Magnus maintaining the hold for a week and a half). Both wrestlers are naked. Surge’s sweet ass is on gorgeous display. My herculean hero thrashes, throwing his upper body in every direction to try to loosen his captors grip. The pain in his voice as he submits once more is simply sublime! And the final moment captivating me is the sight of the two warriors standing, cock-to-cock and pec-to-pec in the center of the mats. From behind, Surge nearly completely disappears behind Magnus’ hulking form. Magnus holds Surge’s face in his hands, staring down domineeringly, as Surge lustfully slides his hands around the back of Magnus’ hips, grabbing the thick and meaty glutes of the superhuman giant. Pause. Rewind. Play again.

This is an excellent new addition to the Wrestle Worship series for many reasons. Magnus is a force of nature that, I predict, would stretch even the skills of someone like Cage Thunder, which would be simply priceless to watch! And sweet, sexy Surge is irrepressible. Watching him wrestle with his own stubborn refusal to admit defeat, only to see his desire to conquer morph into a lust to worship his conquerer is over the top hot. What a combination!

What’s Been Unsaid

After nearly about a month and a half, I can finally spit out the metallic taste of blood from my mouth! When I made my pilgrimage to BG East in August, I was treated to the privilege of seeing photos from all of the catalog 89 new releases. It was a profound thrill, like being told that I, and I alone, could open all of my Christmas presents a week early. But then I couldn’t talk about it! I couldn’t write about it! I couldn’t obsess on the pages of this blog about each and every tantalizing, confidential morsel from catalog 89 that made my mouth water. I’ve been biting my tongue non-stop since August 5th, and I’m overjoyed that BG East has released catalog 89 for purchase. Let the obsessive reviewing begin (and the healing of my bitten tongue)!!!

I’m just hitting a few highlights for today, because there’s just too much that I’ve had bottled up that I’ve got to say about so many of the new releases. So in addition to nearly making want to cry to see Mitch Colby barefoot in the ring in Florida Fights 3, I’ve been aching to comment on match #1 from that same DVD. Hell and damnation! Kirby Stone can WEAR a pair of skintight shiny pink trunks! That ass has most certainly caught my attention!
Pretty much precisely the same thing has to be said about Cain McDonald in his appearance (taking fall #1!!!) against Mikey Vee. The legs and ass on this grappler make me gasp! That face looks just about too juvenile to feel entirely guilt-free about, but that lower body is 100% guilt-free adult male entertainment.
Next up on the comments burning a whole in my belly: Dev Michaels looks like a fucking monster in the ring against slender, unclassically but undeniably handsome newbie, Lucky Loko. Man alive the two of them make for an astonishingly arousing picture! The fact that Lucky didn’t run screaming from the building on sight of Dev makes him a hot commodity in my book.
And speaking of monsters in the ring (I’ve been DYING to use that line!), has it escaped anyone’s attention that Attila Dynasty appears to be smuggling major meat in his trunks in his scissor fest against Trent Blaze?!!! If the summer Olympics have taught me anything, they’ve taught me that gymnasts are sexy as hell, and the pics of Attila’s acrobatics in the ring have caught me completely off guard. I had no idea from his debut to expect either all that Attila can accomplish without his feet on the ground, or the massive ballast in the pouch of those powder blues (I’m heading back to Backyard Brawls 7 right now for another look).
Next up, it simply must be said that the sight of Z-Man clawing Skrapper’s chest and swinging for the rafters makes me just about ready to pop right here and now. If I know Skrapper, however, Z-Man better not count him out a moment too soon!
And I’ve been anticipating the hating for a while, but I call it like I see it. And as much as the sight of Rio Garza’s body getting worked over (and that face crushed between his opponent’s legs) is like icing on the cake, the pics of Jimmy Gee’s slabs of beef that are his muscled ass has got the be the most delicious main course in this match for me.
I’ve also been aching to say that it’s about time for another installment of Wrestle Worship. I love this concept. I need more of this concept. And newbies Magnus and Surge appear to dish up an extraordinary amount of eroticism with delightful proportions of both wrestling and body worship. Does anyone else wonder if Magnus requires his own zip code? And speaking of numbers, does anyone have Surge’s telephone #!?
Again, I’ve been dying to celebrate the return of ripped, rock hard Tyrell Tomsen. I can’t think of a better opponent to pick apart a bodybuilder adonis than the likes of sexy-assed veteran Patrick Donovan.

And finally, Mr. Joshua, Patrick, barefoot, in the ring, with Patrick’s testicles getting crushed in Mr. J’s fist… You’ll have to excuse me now. I need to rehydrate after writing those words. I’m sure you’ll be hearing much, much more from me about all of this in the future.