There’s been a pretty insane rush to marry around my neck of the woods this weekend. Another judge determines that blatant discrimination enshrined at any level of state law is bullshit, and the flood gates bust open. Despite my long-standing skepticism about the impact of same-sex marriage on liberty, and the screwed up priorities of aggressively pushing for marriage rights while we have no universal fair employment or housing rights, I must admit it’s quite an adrenaline rush to see moes lined up to marry. I can almost literally feel domesticity creep over me. The taming of same-sex partnerships, shoe-horning the vast diversity of them into the constraints of acceptable heterosexual expectations threatens even my more radical commitments to the need for revolution rather than reform. With negotiated fidelity on the line, in the face of closeting the all-male menage a trios, the couples that date thirds, the contractual anything-goes-out-of-town loving relationships, I can just feel the gravitational pull of whitebread hetero monogamy built on centuries of religious strictures consuming us alive. As a personal commitment to keep the “alternative” in gay, let me just affirm for me and my special someone (who reads these pages, even though we never really talk about them) a few of the wrestling hunks for whom a legally “libertarian” inclusion into the structure of one-man-one-man loving would be instantly out the window, should the opportunity arise for some extracurricular (or, hell, three-way) activities. I’m sure absolute monogamy is great for many, but here’s a sample of who could climb into my/our bed anytime.
Marcus Ruhl cements his standing as my favorite Naked Kombatant these days with his new release match against mammoth Mitch “The Machine” Vaughn. Both of these majorly beefy hunks are incredible specimens. Marcus’ ass and legs leave me breathless, and watching them pump and grind at work is phenomenally entertaining. He comes into the match with a 2-2 record, while Mitch is angling to keep his 2-0 record undefeated. Mighty Marcus comes across a bit of an underdog, with noticeably shorter reach and the tide of momentum seeming to favor Mitch. Just look at the size of Marcus upper arms and let that sink in: he’s an underdog!
Mitch hands Marcus his insanely sexy bubble butt in round 1 of Kombat. The Naked Kombat points pile up 15-7 in Mitch’s favor. Marcus is on his back and struggling under the mountain of muscle most of the duration, and he taps out pretty early on from the devastating effects of fingers up his crack (which at NK gets points and, surprisingly, a submission in this case). Gorgeous, tanned, mouthwateringly muscled Marcus is looking in serious jeopardy of tipping into the 2-3 category.
Round 2, the jockstrap round, is fast and furious. There’s no point tally after that round, but I’m estimating that Marcus made up some, but not all, of his early deficit. Mitch looks tired. Well, they both look like exhausted behemoths, but Marcus looks a tad fresher.
Round 3 is an oil round, and I just about lose my self-control just watching golden Marcus slather baby oil across every inch of himself. Massive hunks like these sometimes get seriously ponderous and half-assed around this point in NK, and with the oil making it nearly impossible to get a hold on each other, these studs could be excused if they’d dialed it down from their round 2 pace. But fuck no! It’s a chess match, mind you. It’s not a blitz of throws and holds and scrambling non-stop. But it’s move and hold, attempt and counter, muscles straining against mighty, massive muscles relentlessly. Damn, damn, damn that oil round is a feast!
The match is called early because Mitch takes a scratch to an eyelid. Nearly 420 pounds of combined muscle, but it’s a scratch to the eyelid that stops this titanic confrontation cold! There’s a life lesson in there, I’m sure. The powers that be at NK decide the match is close enough to the end to just tally the points to that point and crown a winner. Remember, mighty Marcus ended round 1 with an 8 point disadvantage. Once the oil is washed off and Mitch’s eye treated with Neosporin, the final points are announced. Mitch: 24 points. Marcus: 26!
Round 4 at NK is the “sex round” in which the winner gets to dominate and call the shots, which 19 times out of 20 is the least arousing round for me. Watching Marcus own this power hitter, though, is pretty fucking sweet. There’s a ton of attention paid to Marcus’ ass, both by Mitch and by the camera. And then there is, by far, the most engaging moment in the match: the post-match testimonial in which both gladiators honestly, almost shyly comment on the experience and give each other kudos. That devastatingly handsome, Clark Kentish earnestness on Marcus’ gorgeous face melts into a beautiful, adorkable smile as he admits that his opponent was nearly too much to handle. Holy crap, I’ve got a gargantuan crush on that guy!
A friend re-posted this completely unnecessary BuzzFeed homage to convince us that we ought to be infatuated with Russell Tovey. That ship sailed years ago. He’s appeared in two homoerotic wrestling fantasy pieces of fiction of mine, and countless more in my imagination. He’s also looking buffer and buffer lately, as if he needed to increase his raw, dorky, intense sexiness. I’d donate a kidney to wake up in the morning and see that sexiness staring back at me. Which made me think, who else would I both want to wrestle, fuck, AND wake up in the morning next to?
Fortunately, the selfie craze provides a lot of material to try out. Here are few of my homoerotic wrestling fantasymen who have shared exactly what it would look like to roll over in the morning after a night of full throttle erotic wrestling and see what’s left in the dawn-kissed light of day.
Lately, I’ve been drawn repeatedly to a few matches across different producers that keep calling me back. Suddenly, this afternoon, my mind abruptly saw an extremely obvious pattern that I was missing. I couldn’t see the forest for the trees (or the tree trunk thighs). Although it didn’t occur to me initially, each of these infatuation matches of mine has a quite apparent common factor: David vs Goliath.
Credit where due, it was Naked Kombat’s description for their Wednesday new release that mentioned David vs Goliath, which was, in turn, what made it click in my mind that I’ve been tokin’ off of catchweight competitions hard lately. Like somewhere around the 3rd season of Lost, I’m no longer even trying to keep up with the narrative of NK’s “Summer Smackdown” tournament, which was bizarre from the start because it was apparently starring 10 men (in a single elimination tournament…. hmmm, math, people), 2 of which apparently had bys until the semi-finals, at which point the final round would be a tag team match. What the hell? When I saw that this week’s match was Marcus Ruhl facing Doug Acre, the holes in the plot didn’t matter to me anymore. A month ago I called this match, predicting that Doug Acre was precisely the giant killer who could fell the mighty Titan.
At the end of round 1, they’re almost even, but holy shit is Doug making the mighty beast work! Sweat is pouring off of Marcus like a waterfall! In round 2, Doug starts to open a lead, primarily banking off of winded Marcus seriously slowing down. The final score after all three wrestling rounds gives Doug a convincing and, as far as I’m concerned, well earned upset victory over the mountain of muscle Marcus.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been quite as thrilled by an NK pony ride as I am to watch Doug use his newfound beast of burden for a leisurely lap. When asked in the post match debrief for his thoughts on the match, Doug’s mouth just gapes open for a moment before nervously chuckling and answering, “Damn! He’s a big guy!” Where it counts, Doug, you’re even bigger! And, as I promised back when I called this match last month, Doug pounding Marcus’ defeated ass in a pool of sweat is now my screensaver!
Can-Am doesn’t report the stats on their new big little man, Drake Wild, but elsewhere, he’s reportedly 5’6″ and nearly 100 pounds lighter than 240 lbs, blue-eyed bodybuilder Tyler St. James in Pro Sex Fight 10. When I first saw this match advertised, I thought there was no way I’d get into this. The differential was too much to suck me into the competitive narrative. But just like he does with massive Tyler, Drake grabs me by the balls everytime I push play, and I just can’t tear my eyes away!
Honestly, I typically find myself pulling for the little man in a massively mismatched catchweight contest. However, there’s something almost disturbingly erotic about watching Tyler absolutely manhandle and bully his petite opponent. I’m totally caught off guard by the tension Tyler builds, leaving me to wonder if he’s going to snap the hot little lightweight into at least two separate pieces. The golden bodybuilder is so fucking cocky, so completely dominating, stroking, spanking and kissing Drake’s ass, celebrating his certainty in victory from the moment the match starts. “You don’t stand a chance,” Tyler mutters, not even threateningly, because its just such a flat out statement of fact.
While I’m not sure why I’m enjoying watching this muscle brute mugging quite so much, I’m just that much more deeply ambivalent when little Drake turns the tables. Watching mighty muscles conquered, decisively owned even, is a deeply satisfying scenario 9 times out of 10. And yet watching the lightweight punk get crushed and shot-put all over the ring works me so hard this time out! Like most Pro Sex Fights, the post-victory fucking releases most of the competitive tension anyway, but for some reason I’m left wishing musclegod Tyler could get another crack at putting the lean little scrapper in his place.
And then there’s the grand finale of this unexpected trilogy I’ve been caught up in lately, BG East’s Undagear 20 pitting stunning vision of golden, muscled beauty, rookie Flavio against the ever dangerous Lorenzo “Jake” Lowe. LJL is “merely” 5 inches shorter and 45 pounds lighter, so compared to the first two catch weight matches I mention above, this one is relatively neck and neck at the tale of the tape. LJL keeps writing bigger and bigger checks for that hot, lean, lightweight body of his to cash, and you have to wonder when Flavio effortlessly muscles his way free from LJL’s opening assault and, quite literally, picks him up off his feet and throws him into the wall, whether the mat veteran has bitten off way more beef than he can chew this time.
Watching every inch of Flavio’s body bulge and flex as he steamrolls right over top of LJL is powerfully mesmerizing. Those glutes alone could very well displace Doug Acre riding Marcus Ruhl’s ass as my screensaver. He absolutely owns LJL’s hot, lean bod in one humiliating hold after another. The spinning full nelson that leaves LJL’s feet flailing a foot off the floor is an incredibly hot muscle bully moment that makes me doubt my persistent secret wish (9 times out of 10) that the little guy will climb on top of all those muscles and plant a flag in the bully on behalf of all of us who’ve been pushed around.
But Flavio is a rookie. And LJL has clearly been taking notes from the master himself, BG East Boss Kid Leopard. Because it’s KL’s own signature finisher that snatches victory from defeat for LJL, making all of Flavio’s mouthwatering muscles go limp. It’s the look in LJL’s eyes as he puts the gorgeous fitness model all he way out that reminds me just how incredibly moving and sweet it can be to watch the “little guy” make a dominating specimen of physical perfection and arrogance his bitch!
There must be something in the air, because I’ve been hankering for muscle-taming catchweight homoerotic wrestling, and Naked Kombat, Can-Am, and BG East have set such a fantastic feast!
Perhaps the defining difference between homoerotic wrestling and straightforward porn is the context (or pretense) of competition. I own exactly 3 porn products that contain no wrestling. I own about 180 homoerotic wrestling products, some of which contain fucking and some of which don’t. That pretty much paints by numbers where I stand with regard to what turns me on hardest. The one criticism I would level at most of the porn companies that have dabbled in wrestling themed products is precisely the same thing: they appreciate and spotlight far too little the element of competition in their race to get to the fucking. Domination, humiliation, control, ownership… these words densely populate the pages of neverland because I key off of that aspect of homoerotic wrestling that sucks me in with the drama of sport, the suspense of competition, and the explicit reference to the struggle for carnal domination. Without it, or for whatever reason without enough of it, and I’ll hit that maybe two or three times in the average year. With it, and I’m grabbing hold with both hands, oh, let’s say 3 times a day.
So when I noticed that Naked Kombat was advertising new matches starting in mid-August as elimination matches in a 10-man pornboy tournament, I was immediately extra-attentive! Neverland readers know full well the extensive role that a single-elimination wrestling tournament can have on my homoerotic imagination. Competition, domination, control, winners becoming losers, beasts humbled… fuck, yes. With that in mind, I want to catch us all up on exactly what we know so far in the NK 10-man “Kombatant Tournment.”
First of all, the brackets make no sense to me whatsoever, so we’re just going to roll with it and see if NK can see the through-story to the end. The first match pitted triathlon lean-meat Tyler “the Assassin” Alexander against raging bull beefcake Rod “the Real Deal” Daily. On face validity, I’d have said there’s no way that the Real Deal wasn’t going to carve up the Assassin for lunch and eat him raw. The bouncing pecs, the massive thighs, those tats, that Mohawk… I’ve most definitely pulled for a catchweight upender, with a little guy humbling his bigger opponent, but this time, I have to say I was pulling really hard for (on my) Rod. The final score was much closer than I’d have guessed it would turn out, but after 3 rounds and 30 minutes of kombat, it was a Blue: 31, Red: 24 spread, with Rod winning the day. The fact that this was not the squash I expected pleases me immensely.
A week later, the second match in the tourney featured a huge, huge, huge infatuation that I’ve talked about before, 5’11”, 210 pound Marcus “Titan” Ruhl. That’s all you needed to say for me to do two things. 1) Drop down a wager on the telephone poles that Titan calls his thighs and cock, and 2) pound one out in nothing but anticipation. Jessie’s a big, strong motherfucker, mind you, and I love his look, but there was more than a sense of “of course” about it when the final score was Blue:23, Red:37, with Marcus Ruhl yet again on top, in charge, and riding that train to victory.
Week 3 of the tourney introduced me to two new lean pornboys, Randall “the Rock” O’Reilly and Bryan “the Constrictor” Cole. First blush, the Constrictor looks a little terrified and the Rock strikes me as a once-nelly-boy turned still-nelly-but-will-kick-your-ass wrestler. My knee jerk conclusion, go Rock!!! Tale of the tape after 3 rounds of elimination tournament competition? Blue: 20 points, Red: 29 points. Nelly-boy-goes-bully Randall delivers my satisfaction with my guilty pleasure: the cock-tuck pony ride!
OKay, that’s 6 of that 10-man elimination tourney accounted for. However, week 4 of the tourney and suddenly NK says this is the final elimination round. The aforementioned bewildering brackets show two beats mentioned here before, Hayden Richards and Landon Conrad, seemingly waiting like spiders for the semi-finals, which I have no idea how that makes sense. An 8-man tournament has better mathematical properties anyway, so either way, I’m not worried. Worried, however, is the look on 5’10”, 180 lbs. Alex “the Axe” Adams’ face as he stares down at little 5’6″, 150 lbs. Doug “the Destroyer” Acre. Perhaps it’s little wonder, since Alex has tasted defeat three times in a row at NK, and little Doug is undefeated. Blue: 36, Red: 25, Doug extends his undefeated streak by easily crushing a much bigger opponent!
So if the brackets are indicative of what actually unfolds, I’m guessing that Randy “the Rock” O’Reilly and Rod “Real Deal” Daily will go cock-to-cock in the next round, leaving Marcus “Titan” Ruhl and Doug “Giant Killer” Acre (yeah, I’ve redubbed him) to square off. I’m predicting Rod comes out way on top, with 30 pounds of low-slung beef advantage being far too much for nelly-boy-bully Randall to overcome. I also predict Randall loves every second of it. The real match of this tourney, by far, I think, is the giant killer versus the giant. Doug Acre is a fucking mat master! Holy shit, he can work a big man hard, and there’s just about none bigger than Titan. I’m seriously torn here, because I can easily see either of these men plowing the other by the end of the day. But a 60 pound differential!? Holy shit, that sounds completely impossible, and just to put myself way out there on a limb, I’m still going to call it. 150 pound Doug Acre beats 210 Marcus Ruhl. That’s my prediction. And should that happen, a still of Doug fucking previously undefeated Titan into a dripping pool of sweat and cum will be guaranteed to be my next screensaver!
The brackets suggest that the winner of the Daily/O’Reilly match will face Hayden Richards, to which I say good-fucking-luck Rod. Hayden is a fucking badger, and you’re going to be little more than an appetizer.
And, if I’m reading this correctly, the winner of Ruhl v Acre will go against golden god Landon Conrad. In which case, having predicted that Conrad’s two-time nemesis Titan is knocked out before this point, I think Doug Acre could have run his luck to it’s natural end right around the time that Landon is oiling up that jackhammer and pounding the would-be giant killer’s hole, with every humiliated big man Doug’s owned on the sideline cheering him on.
Finally, the brackets may be suggesting that the tourney final match is not a singles competition at all, which seems a little silly to me. However, the promise of Hayden Richards having owned, then tag teaming with Rod Daily and competing against the team of Conrad and Acre is an incredibly sweet possibility. If I were batting 1000 by this point, then I’m giving the tag team climax without a doubt to Conrad/Acre, hands down. Rod’s the weak link, and Doug would tip the scales between Hayden and Landon their way.
I am a little dehydrated, just discussing the brackets. Homoerotic wrestling needs more of this!
Welcome to neverland’s new address! I recommend that regular readers bookmark this page for future reference, since I will no longer be updating the old site at blogger. Happily, I’ve been able to transfer all the old posts as well as reader comments into this new format. For your convenience and to just clarify any issues of monetization and undue influence, there will continue to be no ads here at neverland other than the unsolicited publicity I offer through my discussions of homoerotic wrestling products that I enjoy. Check out the About page for reference to photo copyright owners who have generously given me permission to repost their images here. You can also find an updated Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month Hall of Fame, and I’ve made some major administrative decisions regarding my running favorite homoerotic wrestler titles – namely, I’m collapsing the two categories of favorites (pornboys and non-pornboys), and once again forcing them all to battle it out in one big pool of sweat and tears for my lust and adoration. The Favorites page gives a more detailed explanation of how I came to this decision and where I drew the lines, but for those with a casual interest, suffice it to say that the inaugural unified title holder as my favorite homoerotic wrestler running is long-time infatuation of mine, wrestler-turned-bodybuilder-turned-wrestler Lon Dumont.
I hope to get this new incarnation of neverland back to some of my roots, including intentionally blurring the lines between homoerotic wrestling fantasy and pop culture, celebrating beautiful bodies that do (or should) populate the homoerotic wrestling scene, and naming the names of the men, matches and maneuvers that dial my wrestling kink sensibilities up to 11.
In that vein, here are some fantasy match-ups I’ve chosen for which hot Hollywood hunk currently making news should climb into the wrestling ring, and which current homoerotic wrestling hardbody should be there to greet him.
First up on my plate is cleft chinned fashion model Henry Cavill, who’s come a long, long way to be all-American (albeit, space alien) superhero Superman in this Spring’s blockbuster. This photo is of a leaner Henry from Immortals, sporting a physique that speaks to me even louder than his hairy chested behemoth muscleman incarnation in Superman. Talk about a star on the rise, Henry seems to be making tongues wag and mouths drool uncontrollably lately. He’s starred in several pieces of homoerotic wrestling fiction I’ve penned, and I think the perfect homoerotic wrestling veteran to test the newly minted man of steel would be equally devastatingly handsome beauty, Z-Man. I picture the blinding beauty of both of these boys inspiring them to higher and higher heights of savagery and lust for domination. Lovely Henry would have a lot to learn, and I think two-thirds of this match would involve Z-Man demonstrating all of the cruel tools of the trade he’s suffered for so many years at the hands of his opponents. However, I think Henry would be a quick study, sucking the air out of Z-Man’s lungs with an unexpectedly aggressive crotch claw, scoring the decisive knockout victory, and then working over the slowly rousing Z-Man’s luscious pecs with his tongue.
Joel McHale not only graduated from an institution that I did, he also grabbed a whole lot of attention when he disrobed for the first time on his network television show Community, instantly earning him a spot in the crowded field of funny men hunks I lust after. While I don’t follow Community faithfully, it’s a sentimental favorite of mine for no other reason than Joel’s mouthwatering pecs. I think this giant funny man could have no better greeter when he enters a wrestling ring than ice-cold and entirely humorless Muscle Master Kevin, boss-in-chief and stunningly pectacular CEO of Muscle Domination Wrestling. No shit, the initial stare down would be between Master Muscle Kevin’s baby blues and Joel’s mouthwatering nipples (because you know Kevin wouldn’t deign to look up). The muscle master very well might bite off more than he can chew in ripped comedian Joel, who I think harbors the deep cynicism of a serious heel-rising. But I have to think even with the size disadvantage, Master Muscle Kevin would slowly beat the tallboy down to size, humiliate him, terrify him, and teach him crucial lessons Joel would need to learn to own the ring as the heel he harbors deep inside.
Discovering that Sendhil Ramamurthy was back on television and shirtless stoked some sizzling hot embers he first lit when I fell in lust with him on Heroes. He appeared in a couple of fictional wrestling matches I wrote, but the height of homoerotic wrestling fantasy would be to see him climb into the ring and discover beefy pornboy kombatant Marcus Ruhl staring down at him. There’s no way that the tidal wave plowing into him would leave sensational Sendhil anything other than flat on his back with knees in the air, but I think he’d make the pornboy work hard for it. One way or another, however, there’s a pony ride in Sendhil’s future appearances in my imagination (with Sendhil as the pony, of course).
Finally, Joe Manganiello is never far from my homoerotic wrestling fantasies. He’s a recurring character in my fiction, and even more frequently appears to me in my fondest dreams. There may have never been a Hollywood actor more perfectly suited to be a homoerotic wrestling god than mountainous muscleman Joe. In fact, I struggle to imagine who could manage to initiate the mighty beast sufficiently. Having admired the beastly transformation of Chace LaChance from tweezed go-go-boy to brutishly massive muscleman, however, I’m picturing Chace to be the one to give rookie Joe a boot to the face as the Hollywood stunner tries to stride up to the ring apron for the first time. Chace has taken some severe beatings, and I have to imagine Joe would match him muscle for muscle, and then some. But my fantasies could picture no other outcome than big, beautiful Joe flat on his back with Chace’s muscle butt planted across his face as the Hollywood heartthrob taps frantically his final submission before Chace strips him naked (like we haven’t seen that before) and rides his glorious ass (okay, that would be new) as picture perfect Joe hangs onto the ropes and moans.
So leave me a housewarming present here at neverland 2.0 by sharing in the comments below your Hollywood-turns-homoerotic-wrestling fantasy match-up. And welcome!
Smell that? There’s something new in the air. Take a whiff, and you can catch something on the wind. It smells like change to me. Watch for a big announcement here at neverland in the next couple of days, because there’s something fresh blowing in, and it smells like that sort of change that’s mostly good. Very good. In the mean time, let me just share my periodic celebration of newness in homoerotic wrestling: namely, the lovely, promising, world’s-their-oyster rookies who’ve hit the scene in recent months and reminded me what a breath of fresh air that a new face can sometime be…
|New Beef: BG East’s Alain LeClair|
|New Serbian Stunner: BG East’s Arn Nedic|
|New Boyband Beauty: BG East’s Deni Dupuis|
|New Ring Pornboy: Can-Am’s Kevin Crowes|
|New Teen Phenom: Rock Hard Wrestling’s Kyle Carter|
|New Law: Naked Kombat’s Landon Conrad|
|New Ruhl: Naked Kombat’s Marcus Ruhl|
|New Boxer-Crossover: Thunder’s Arena’s Mr. Sean|
|New Hope: BG East’s Ronny Pearl|
|New Blue-Eyed Bully: BG East’s Vic Madone|
|Jeremy “Stonewall” Stevens v Marcus “Titan” Ruhl|
|Marcus “Titan” Ruhl – 5’11”, 200 pounds, first time on NK|
|Marcus Ruhl looks like he’s trying to decide whether to jump Jeremy from behind in the middle of “Stonewall’s” pre-match testimonial.|
In one of the worst first rounds I’ve seen, Jeremy not only doesn’t climb that wall of meat as predicted, he can’t even manage to earn more than 4 NK points. Ruhl is just incredible to watch. With each of his thighs about as thick as Jeremy’s waist, Marcus’ center of gravity is somewhere below his navel, which when you get a load of the insanely huge pecs and upper arms he’s sporting, should make you gasp. He admitted in his testimonial that he has no formal combat experience, but he’s “been in a couple of street fights” (I pity the streets). It shows, with some woodenness, lack of initiative, and bull-in-the-china shop approach to every hold and move. But then again, when you’re a bull the size of Marcus Ruhl, a lack of finesse and technique can be forgiven.
|Jeremy thinks he’s got the wall of meat pulled down, but Ruhl muscles back up again!|
He’s all over Jeremy early going, and with that mass on top of him, Jeremy is worn out pushing the boulder uphill. To start round 2, Jeremy tries to marshall the strategy he predicted would win him the match, swarming the wall of meat with speed, latching on legs and arms and dragging the massive man to the mat. And then, as if to mock his opponent’s “wall of meat” comment, Ruhl muscles himself up to his knees, pauses, and then powers the rest of the way up to his feet with his 195 pound opponent still latched on. Holy fuck, the power is mesmerizing, watching this happen not once, but twice, and perhaps Jeremy is mesmerized as well, because he loses further ground by the end of round 2, trailing the mighty beast 11 to 24.
|Jeremy Stevens runs headlong into a marinated wall of meat|
Marcus Ruhl does not have a competition bodybuilder physique (and you know how hypnotizing I can find one of those in a wrestling match). No, Ruhl’s incredible mass isn’t exactly pretty or aesthetically proportioned. His dimpled ass jiggles a bit. His head-to-toe meat is liberally marbled and succulent. A big, bruiser football daddy like this does not always speak to me, but Marcus Ruhl’s baby oiled body is roaring out a scream that’s absolutely deafening.
|Jeremy’s got the tiger by a mouthwateringly gorgeous tail!|
All that mouthwatering mass Ruhl carries finally seems to slow him down, along with a difficulty keeping a handle on the slippery “little” fucker who seems to have an ever so slight edge in managing the lubricant. The mighty man getting controlled, even briefly, including losing back points, getting wrapped up and made to struggle, is a little slice of heaven.
|Grade “A” beef!|
|Superman in trouble?|
|Who’s meat now, bitch!?|
|The thrill of victory, the taste of defeat|
Round 4 starts the way you expect if you’ve seen NK: a lingering, dominating blow job with the loser on his knees. As for me, I tend to fast forward through this bit. Watching a blow job is like indy car racing in my mind. Yawns for 199 laps and then a shot of adrenaline when the white flag flies for the final lap. Admittedly, rookie Ruhl keeps me entertained with some nasty face slapping across his conquest’s cheeks. It starts a little playful, but damn, he really nails the blond bombshell a few times. Both boys’ rods remain at full attention, so the corporal punishment laced oral is clearly turning all three of us on.
|Full on muscle worship at Naked Kombat!|
Making me think Ruhl may be a rookie-savant, he suddenly flings Jeremy’s face to the mat. “You know what? Why don’t you get down there and worship this muscle-body, you loser!” He slaps him in the face, adding, “like you mean it!” Jeremy doesn’t actually have to be told twice. Starting with Ruhl’s left foot, he licks and sucks slowly up that gargantuan leg. And yet again, I wouldn’t have believed it, but I swear Ruhl’s body becomes several hundred times sexier with Jeremy’s obviously enthusiastic muscle worship session. Inch by inch he climbs the wall of meat, his tongue flickering and stroking, tasting the incredibly sweet taste of defeat. When he finally reached his vanquisher’s left nipple, Ruhl flexes his huge left bicep as Jeremy’s eyes are riveted by the sight. Dropping his arm, still flexed, at his side, silently he commands his loser to worship it, and this time Jeremy doesn’t even have to be told once. While the loser opens wide and bathes every inch of the upper arm with his tongue, Ruhl’s left hand slides across Jeremy’s muscled shoulders, squeezing and stroking appreciatively. The mutual hunger at this point is simply a thing of beauty.
|“I spent most of the time trying to get out from underneath the truck!”|