It’s been a crazy busy summer on all counts. My day job kicked my ass. I’m still kept up late at night reliving the magnificent thrill of my day cavorting behind the scenes at BG East. Two weeks of a relaxing, if smokey vacation, and I’m back to real life, and it’s settling down. As I look at the dregs at the bottom of the summer 2017 cup, I notice a few housekeeping tasks I need to catch up on. For example, Kid Karisma has had his world class, gorgeous ass sitting on the Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month throne well past his expiration date. For today, I’m turning the time machine back to July to survey the new releases that turned my crank that month, in order to retroactively anoint my July HWOTM. With apologies for my tardiness, let me announce now that the muscled ass cheeks to replace Kid K’s as the newest addition to the HWOTM ranks is…
My detailed review of Mark’s work in Fantasy Heels 10 explains what I enjoyed so much. I’ve wanted to see Mark take the title for a while, and he’s even been the opponent to put others over and into the HWOTM circle. But in FH10, Mark broke through with a little more power, more charisma, and more overt fan-love than I’ve seen from him before. And just like he pounded daddy’s little rich boy Damien Rush, he handily beat off any other serious competitors for the HWOTM title for July.
I’m the first to admit that I can be (often) pretty dense. Across companies, I’m often a little confused about the essential ingredients to major series and sub-genres. So I may be off base, but my read of MDW’s Fantasy Heel series is that it pushes wrestlers who are otherwise not, at heart, heels into that role. So there’s a nod to not expecting to see again anytime soon, perhaps, big Mark Muscle this nasty, this dominating, this overwhelmingly in control. Which makes me savor Fantasy Heels 10 that much more, because I fucking love watching Mark mobilize all 6’4″ and 250 pounds of potently concentrated muscle to slap down a whiny man-child like Damien Rush.
There’s a fresh sexiness to what Mark puts on the table in FH10. He frequently pauses after solidly buttoning Damien up, locking him down and then seductively turning and looking straight into the camera. It isn’t a self-conscious look. It isn’t awkward or uncertain. The timing of Mark’s cool, steady gaze gives me the impression that he knows just when I’m grabbing my cock with excitement. He knows that what he’s doing to Damien is driving me right to the edge, and right there, when I’m at that edge, Mark turns to the camera and looks right at me.
I’m more than happy to see Mark Muscle finally realize his erotic wrestling potential. Despite the possible “one-off” aspect of this Fantasy Heel match, I’m hoping that we see much, much more of him crushing mere mortals and watching us watching him. A hunk this massive, this gorgeous, and this game who can convince us that he’s pleased and proud to get us off could corner the muscle heel market in the homoerotic wrestling universe. And he most definitely wins my enthusiastic endorsement as the July 2017 Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month.
I’m a fan of Mark Muscle mostly for the aesthetics. He’s fucking huge and gorgeous, and what he has lacked in wrestling acumen, he has made up for in being game for the rough and tumble, ego bruising scramble of homoerotic wrestling. Seriously, a beast this huge with about half a day of pro wrestling training would fucking own this industry. But Mark has been mostly heel bait in the matches I’ve seen him. He’s a little wooden. He’s lacked in charisma, putting out a pretty shallow wrestling character almost entirely defined by whether overwhelming muscle mass and fitness do, or don’t, trump a savvy underground opponent (I’m hard pressed to ever buy that it does, but I get the appeal for both directions). So Fantasy Heels 10 at Muscle Domination Wrestling tweaks my interest because clearly, Mark Muscle is the Fantasy Heel. I’ll tuck in to see him turn on some heel heat any day.
Mark’s opponent (fantasy jobber?) is Damien Rush, who strolls into the middle of Mark’s mouthwatering posting routine and demands that the muscle beast beat a hasty retreat because the lighting is perfect for Damien to pose for the camera. “You’ve got to get out of here and wait till I’m done,” Damien snarls, stepping in front of Mark and flexing for the camera. Perspective would argue that Damien’s position closer to the camera at this point should make him seem relatively bigger and Mark relatively smaller than their actual proportions. In testimony to how fucking huge Mark is, he just looks like a mountain of muscle staring way, way down at daddy’s little rich boy. I instantly want to see Damien trounced. One reason is that he interrupts my adoration of Mark’s generous tour of his phenomenal physique. Fuck you, Damien. Get the fuck out of the way. A second reason is the auburn highlights in Damien’s hair. Sun bleached? Horrifying accident with a time machine to the eighties? Whatever accounts for it, the mop top of two-toned locks is atrocious. Fuck, I want to see him suffer for making me look past that hideous ‘do in order to keep trying to study Mark’s superhuman physique. Fuck you, Damien.
The match unfolds in relatively formulaic fashion. Bumping egos lead to a pose down. Mark stifles a laugh when Damien announces himself the obvious winner. “That all you got?” Damien deludes himself pathologically. “My muscles were that big when I was 12!” he snarls. I still think Damien needs to play up the daddy’s little rich boy angle, because his irrational self-love and deluded belief in his superiority in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary would be so much juicier if he kept having to pull the silver spoon out of his mouth. In this day of historically inept plutocracy, I’d love to hate on big D that much more, if he’d just be that overprivileged daddy’s little rich boy. Mark smirks when Damien can’t admit that he’s humiliatingly dwarfed by the giant bodybuilder’s huge, flexed muscles.
Following a well worn path, they move on to arm wrestle to demonstrate who is stronger. Mark doesn’t just own this hairy little bitch; he looks at the camera and smirks. He showboats. He leisurely leans back and points at the huge bowling ball of a bicep with which he is easily thwarting his huffing and puffing and whining bitch opponent. Damien can’t even cheat his way to a victory.
Mark indulges Damien’s insistence that the real test of strength is “mercy.” About 15 seconds later, big Mark has ground Damien to his knees, sniveling and whimpering and bitching about Mark cheating. They move on to straightforward wrestling, with Damien attempting to use chloroform to shortcut his way to the board room. Awkwardly, Mark turns to the camera and explains, “Luckily, I’ve built up a tolerance to chloroform.” And then he muscle dominates daddy’s little rich boy every which way for the next 15 minutes.
It’s a squash, which for regular readers will be an unnecessary point to make, because I already told you this is MDW. But a few things stand out to make this match provocatively arousing and powerfully pleasing to me. First of all, Damien. Damn. Although I’d prefer to have someone gag him so we don’t have to hear him over-narrate the product, I do enjoy watching him suffer. His golden trunks (see, come on, play up that daddy’s little rich boy angle!) are perfection. Watching his bulge quiver and swing side to side as Mark Muscle hangs him out to dry for a day and a half in a rear bearhug is downright hypnotic. When Mark applies a standard bearhug, he not only gives us a long, lingering look at Damien’s magnificently fuckable ass, he wedgies those golden trunks severely high up Damien’s crack for us. Damien screams and writhes; he twitches and chokes on the pain like the poor man’s Drake Marcos. For so many reasons beyond what I’ve already mentioned, Damien’s been a naughty boy, and watching him punished mercilessly is profoundly satisfying.
Another reason that Fantasy Heels 10 floats my boat is Mark’s eyes. I know, I know, you’re instantly dubious that I genuinely noticed his eyes, but you can’t miss them. Because Mark repeatedly looks directly into the camera. It’s a device that could easily backfire on a wrestler, but Mark is so consistent and insistent about making eye contact with the camera, that he manages to break down the virtual barrier between the action and the audience.
Now, sometimes it irks me when guys look toward the camera. Often, it’s quite clear that they are actually looking at whoever is holding the camera and taking cues from them. For all I know, Mark may have been doing just that. But his smirks, his cocky nods and winks are nothing short of magical. There’s a powerful intimacy he conveys, like he knows that we’re on this side of the screen jacking off in blinding lust for him. And he likes it. He tolerates Damien’s bluff and bluster with an eye wag at the camera, letting us in on the little joke that he can trash this smart mouth little bitch at will. He licks his lips and snarls and growls, not at Damien, but at us. Damien is just a fucking prop that Mark is using to grab us by the balls, to turn us on, to stoke us harder and harder. Like I said, looking into the camera can backfire on a wrestler. I’ve bitched before about wrestlers seeming distracted from the action because of where their gaze wanders, stretching the believability that this is an actual contest of strength and athleticism and wits. Mark works it sensationally, though.
My last comment I have to make is just a curios self-reflection that the more Mark Muscle dominates and destroys Damien Rush, the more I’m lusting like crazy to fuck Mark. This catches me by surprise, because often the heels that work me hardest star in my personal fantasies as tops. I want to see them whip out their dicks and powerfuck the losers at their feet. Whereas, with Mark, I’m crushing harder and harder on the fantasy of me, being there, whipping out my dick and fucking his magnificently muscled ass… with Damien at our feet. It’s something in all that mindfuck eye contact, I’m sure, that transports my lustful gaze to a point at which Mark drags Damien’s quivering, beaten carcass across the mat and drops him at my feet like a cat. And then he drops those skin tight black bikini briefs and insists I show him how proud I am of him by fucking him for days.
But maybe that’s just me. As always, I give my “buyer beware” notice that if you need some competitive heat to turn your crank, be warned that this is a squash. But if you want to see daddy’s little rich boy, who thinks he can get away with anything up to and including treason, get thrashed mercilessly and ripped apart until he’s crying and begging like the little bitch we all knew he was all along, this could be a timely match to saddle up with. If you get off on HUGE bodybuilders with superhero physiques crush the fuck out of hot little wannabes, this will definitely scratch your itch. And if you want to feel like you’re right in the room, on the mats, inches from the action, and your presence is inspiring one hunk to absolutely own another hunk… for your pleasure… this is a bullseye.
When I noticed that MDW has a recent release starring behemoth it-boy Mark Muscle and my long-standing infatuation, Matt Thrasher, I was instantly aroused. So I tucked in to enjoy the marvelous sight of these two fantasy men going pec to pec (well, considering the height difference, it’s sort of like pec to forehead… or pec to navel). The quick spoiler is that I loved Oil Hunks 9, but before I say more, there’s a little more to the story I want to tell today. So, since Muscle Master Kevin takes my calls (at least 50% of the time), I felt compelled after watching Matt and Mark to reach out to let the MDW CEO know that this pairing and product was a super sweet treat. Halfway into the conversation, and suddenly I was offered the opportunity to chat briefly with Matt Thrasher, who happened to be handy to take a few questions. So today, let me start with a brief review of Oil Hunks 9, and then conclude with my biggest thrill of 2017 so far, getting an off the cuff, but on the record interview with homoerotic wrestling’s reigning muscle daddy, Matt Thrasher.
“Wow,” Matt Thrasher says in his understated way, when Mark Muscle stands up and stares down at him. “Uh, yeah, you’re a pretty big boy,” Matt says. It’s faint praise for one of the most remarkably genetically gifted muscle boys to make a foray into our end of the homoerotic wrestling pool within the past year or so. My review of Mark’s W4H 2-on-1 match against the Ravaging Savages documented just how turned on I was by all of that lush, thick, juicy muscle hanging off of his 6’4″ frame. But whereas that W4H match tilted toward the gimmicky side, and, in the end, I found myself turned on hardest by the smallest man in the mix, MDW has centered the narrative on the most literal accounting of Mark’s assets for a homoerotic wrestling audience: muscle worship.
Matt is basically licking his lips as he lays down the challenge to the muscle freak towering over him. “You’re big. You’ve got some size,” Matt concedes, “but do you know how to use it?” As unabashed a Mark Muscle devotee as I am, I have admit that Matt has put his finger on the most pertinent question. Mark is visually stunning. In still frame, Mark’s achingly pretty baby face perched on top of his gargantuan, outrageously massively built muscled body is almost too good to believe. But as Austin Cooper demonstrated in his W4H match against him, Mark’s believability is precisely in question when it comes to turning the crank of a wrestling fetishist like me. A pretty body, even one as remarkable as his, will only get your foot in the door as far as I’m concerned. You’ve got to know how to use all that muscle. You can’t just pose your way into homoerotic wrestling stardom. You’ve to wrestle, and walk that line between competition and carnal delight, and inhabit our imaginations with character and motivation and salesmanship to suck us into the psychodrama of professional wrestling.
It always helps a dazzling pretty rookie to have an opponent who knows the score. Frankly, it’s hard to get a rise out of Matt Thrasher. And that makes such total sense, because he’s a sensational muscle daddy. His whole thing is the unflappability that comes with maturity. So when Mark locks down a reverse bearhug with shiny, gritted teeth, the tension is thick as big Matt grimaces, then groans, then squirms in agony. In case you don’t get the premise here, Matt calls in his daddy dominant cred to spell it out for those of you who need to get hit over the head with it. Mid-bearhug, Matt stares straight into the camera, his huge, veiny forearms flexed in the futile effort to pry apart his opponent’s hands locked across his upper abdomen, and growls, “Damn, the boy’s a beast!”
Still not sure how to approach Oil Hunks 9? Having demonstrated his superior strength, Mark announces that he needs to take off his America flag square cuts. There’s no strategic advantage to peeling down to the leopard print (!?!?) g-string, other than to pry more stubborn, clearly appreciative praise out of muscle daddy Matt, and continue to center this as entirely about Mark’s worship-ready physique. Mid-arm wrestling, Mark turns his baby blues and says straight into the camera, “Look at that muscle,” as he points at his gargantuan, flexed bicep. They hammer on the theme repeatedly. “Yeah, you’re a strong mother…” Matt growls. Mark drives this daddy to his knees in a test of strength, showcasing the startling, striking contrast in size between them.
“All right, you’re big. You’ve got some strength,” Matt gaspingly concedes again and again. That’s right, Mark mutters as he eye fucks his own hot body. “You’re prettier than I am, I’ll give you that,” Matt slips in a backhanded compliment that the rookie doesn’t even recognize. And younger, Mark chuckles, stroking his peaked biceps. “But that doesn’t mean shit,” Matt snarls, never, ever one to take an ageist insult without dishing out some muscle daddy punishment in reply.
Truth be told, there are basically about 5 minutes of relatively straight forward wrestling. As you might imagine, it’s all about power. Bearhugs, sleepers, side headlocks. The explicit stakes are based on the agreement that the loser will have to oil down the victor’s hot muscles.
This is NOT a Daddy’s Home match, mind you, so don’t be surprised when this drama unfolds the same way every signal up to this point has implied. Daddy Matt isn’t exactly bitter about having to slide his oil soaked hands all over the expansive geography of Mark’s muscles. And he narrates the experience, voicing his awe over Mark’s ridiculous lat wing spread, delighting in feeling up the up-and-comer’s tight glutes. I get the feeling that Matt isn’t one bit unhappy with his duty as the ostensible “loser” in this confrontation. In fact, he enjoys himself so much, it leaves you wondering whether big Mark Muscle may very well be getting suckered into a rematch, only next time appearing in a Daddy’s Home scenario, where Matt bags and tags him along with all the rest.
Oil Hunks 9 is light on competitive professional wrestling, but abundantly gifted in breathtaking demonstrations of strength and displays of gorgeous muscle. As far as wrestle-worship products go, I’d like to have seen a more competitive tussle. Mark is, as far as I’m concerned, still unproven when it comes to his capacity to genuinely sell his side of a pro match. But that insanely pretty mug and muscle freak physique can carry a product pretty fucking far, and with an unapologetic homoerotic gladiator like Matt on the other end of the teeter-totter, Mark is guaranteed to top off any muscle freak or size queen. Size differences, open lust, and oil across every inch of a muscled phenom. Of course I fucking love this match!
So imagine my delight, fresh off of soaking in Oil Hunks 9, to get a quick exchange with top daddy Matt Thrasher. It went like this…
Bard: I am beyond thrilled to get a chance to talk with mighty Matt Thrasher! I’m a huge fan of your wrestling. And your body, for that matter. Tell me about the path that brought you into the homoerotic wrestling universe.
Matt: I’ve always been a fan of pro wrestling, Growing up I watched Ravishing Rick Rude and Randy Savage, Hulk Hogan, the Ultimate Warrior and all those guys. I’ve wrestled throughout my life, and one day I went with a fellow MDW champ to watch a match and just thought to myself, Yeah, I’m in!
Bard: It seems like I’ve heard at least 9 out of 10 opponents of yours disparagingly refer to you as an “old man.” I love the fact that it never gets a rise of you you, though. Do you mind me asking how old your are?
Matt: Not at all, I’m 51 now and will never hide it or lie about my age. How many guys my age can look as good as I do and work as hard as I do, and reap the rewards in and out of the ring.
Bard: A precious few, I’m certain! Personally, I’m on the far side of 45 years old, myself, so I get a vicarious thrill from watching you pick apart these young, cocky punks and devour them. Does maturity give you a leg up when it comes to facing off against a younger opponent?
Matt: Absolutely! These young kids with cocky attitudes are all over-confident. They all seem surprised when they fall. My experience and maturity gives me the ability to back up my confidence.
Bard: I’ve been a fan of your wrestling work from first time I caught sight of you at MDW. But I must say, you’ve really come into your own in the Daddy’s Home franchise. I think you’ve made that series all your own. When Muscle Master Kevin first pitched you the concept of being a dominant, silver fox muscle daddy who conquers and collects hot young muscle cubs, what did you think about it?
Matt: Oh, I was all over that. They say art imitates life, and being a dominant muscle daddy collecting and conquering young pups is kinda my thing outside the ring as well.
Bard: In their rush to try to psych you out with ageism, it seems like every opponent you face somehow overlooks (or willfully ignores) your sensationally strong, gorgeously muscled body. Have you always been a natural athlete, or is being a muscle daddy a recent development?
Matt: I was always athletic in high school. I was a swimmer and a track star. I started lifting in college and just got addicted to size. The older I got, the bigger and better I got!
Bard: Personally, I love every muscled inch of your body, but if I was tied up and tortured until I confessed which part of you I like most, I’d have to say its your legs. When you lock those tree trunks around an opponent and crush the fight right out of them, it’s absolutely magnificent. Is there any particular part of your magnificent physique that you’re most proud of?
Matt: My legs have always been big and responded well when I started training, so of course they are a feature. But i’d say I’m proudest of these big daddy pecs, because they took the most work to grow.
Bard: And they’re sensational! You’ve faced the biggest and baddest at MDW, from Muscle Master Kevin to Morgan Cruise to every muscle punk and skinny bon-bon on the roster. Do you have a favorite match, one that you think showcases your best work?
Matt: I like any of the ones that show a really good match, that show our solid wrestling skills. I loved my early match with Chace LaChance. He’s a great opponent, and a good friend, so the chemistry was all there! But clearly my best assets were shown against Morgan Cruise.
Bard: There was a collective gasp from every corner of the homoerotic wrestling world when you didn’t just beat Morgan, didn’t just score what oddsmakers would have to agree was the Upset of the Decade, but then you molded Morgan into a slack jawed, muscle worshipping daddy’s boy with his lips wrapped around your gorgeous cock. It was an epic moment in Morgan’s career and in the history of MDW, as far as I’m concerned. Will we get to see your impressive jack hammer again in future matches?
Matt: That was quite a satisfying moment to have Morgan brought down and call me his daddy! Will you see the jack hammer in action? I guess you’ll have to watch and see!
Bard: When you think about what gets you hardest, fastest, is it the heat of battle as you’re conquering some new, loudmouthed pup, or is it that moment that they bend to your overpowering will? Because I just want to know how much of a fight you really want when you wrestle your first blogger vs. wrestler match.
Matt: (Laughing) Daddy loves a good hard fought match, but what gets me hardest fastest is when I get this muscle punk that’s all talk and all attitude, but who drops to his knees right away. They talk a big game, but they know who their Daddy is.
Bard: Duly noted. If you could square off against a former opponent in a rematch, who would you like to take another run at, and what would you do differently?
Matt: I’d have to say Master Kevin of course! Someone has to bring him down, and eventually it’s going to be Matt Thrasher!
Bard: I want front row tickets to that! Again, I want to thank you sincerely for taking the time, and being such a good sport, with all of my questions. To finish up, is there anything that more that you’d like to say to your devoted fans?
Matt: Hell, yeah, Daddy is just getting started! Bigger and better than ever at 230 pounds and growing! Check out my Instagram and follow me (@Matt_Thrasher_MDW).
Clearly I’m not the only one who was instantly infatuated with Mark Muscle. His popularity has ended up getting him featured spots on Wrestler4Hire, Muscle Domination Wrestling, and Thunder’s Arena. As far as I can tell, his initial recruitment is credited to Cameron at W4H, where they describe Mark as 6’4″, 255 pounds, and 28 years old. Fuck, I love numbers. If you don’t, let me just give you some words: huge. Gargantuan. Ripped. Muscle giant.
Clearly the kid is a bodybuilder. That fact alone lowers my expectation for watching him wrestle. Unless you’re Lon Dumont (who, let’s face it, was a pro wrestler first, then a bodybuilder, then a pro wrestler again), if you’re a bodybuilder, you likely suffer from limited flexibility, a dearth of wrestling skills, and you probably sell like shit. However, put someone like Austin Cooper in the ring with him, and my expectations suddenly spike. Because Austin is one of the most experienced homoerotic wrestlers across multiple promotions, on the mats, in the ring, and in my fondest erotic wrestling fantasies. Austin lends instant class to what could be a beautiful beefcake yawnfest of a pro wrestling match. W4H tosses these two remarkably different gladiators into the ring, and I’m eager to sample the goods.
First, let me reiterate. Mark is HUGE. His brief black gear is probably an expansive square cut, but on his outsized physique, it almost looks like a posing strap. His muscled ass cheeks don’t come close to being covered. He’s darkly bronzed and dazzlingly beautiful. And as if in a nod to my recent comments about straight guys never turning their backs to the camera, Mark slowly and seductively gives us a straight on view of his magnificent backside, generously, slowly flexing what I think is his most intoxicating and very best side of an all-around sensational body.
When Austin arrives, he doesn’t try to disguise the stark contrast between them. He comically hops into the air to try to give a valid side by side comparison of their double biceps. “Just give me a couple of more years,” Austin protests the unflattering comparison, as if he’s the younger brother aspiring to grow into the man-boy next to him. “You’ll need more than that,” Mark smirks. Namely, a geneticist with bone and muscle growth technology not yet invented, because Austin isn’t going to just “grow into” being 6’4″ and 255 pounds of ripped muscle mass. Mark is a genetic anomaly. A mouthwateringly gorgeous one, but an anomaly, nevertheless.
It’s Austin’s idea that they should arm wrestle. WTF, Austin? Did you not see the size of this behemoth!? But, it’s a legitimate contest. They’re both working it, because let’s face it, they’re both incredibly built specimens. Austin’s huge right bicep is mouthwateringly luscious, straining against the giant. But come on, people! Mark overpowers the veteran handily. Austin even tries to use both arms at the end. No love. He’d be humiliated, if it weren’t for the fact that the seasoned pro rolls around and mounts the slow, stunned genetic masterpiece before Mark realizes what’s going on.
As I’d figured, Austin brings about 90% of the wrestling narrative. In the beginning, Mark just repeatedly outmuscles him and tosses him across the ring. When Mark pulls him to the mat in a sloppy rear naked choke, no shit, Austin’s lush, thick muscles are nearly swallowed whole by the bronze beast wrapped all around him. Then Mark lets go with one hand so that he can smirk at the camera and flex his bicep for us again. Honestly, the other hand mostly just rests on Austin’s huge left pec. There’s not really a hold anymore, because the muscle rookie is crowd-pleasing. Rather than try to sell a product that just isn’t there any longer, Austin slips free like the experienced pro he is and climbs on board to (attempt to) power those 255 pounds of Mark’s into a camel clutch. Fucking rookies.
I do like that Mark is explicitly here to be gazed upon by adoring gay fans. Like I said, he shows his glorious backside generously. He flexes for the camera repeatedly, clearly too often in fact, because Austin keeps taking advantage of the distraction. But I don’t exactly begrudge those moments of watching Mark Muscle flex his gargantuan biceps and slowly, salaciously lick and suck at them. He strokes the palms of his huge hands slowly across his pecs, down his abs, over the huge, bulging beef of his quads. He’s not the first muscle narcissist that I’ve forgiven for letting the wrestling side of the story go slack, but he very well could be the biggest.
About a third of the way in, and Austin hasn’t seriously, successfully laid a hand on the giant. They’ve tussled back and forth, mind you, but the story has been all about Mark’s magnificent physique. I worry, momentarily, whether this could be the entire story: seasoned pro squashed by such superior muscle mass (and nothing else). Austin’s breathtaking ball rack from behind signals that there’s a significantly more complex narrative about to unfold. Even as Mark crumples the 6’4 inches to the ground in a heap of beautiful, gorgeously desconstructed muscle, Austin saddles up and takes the reins, and I’m instantly fully engaged in this drama.
If you’re a fan of either of these guys, or of rookie wrecking, or of muscle on muscle, or big versus ginormous, watch this match. Austin does some fucking incredible things with a muscled body as huge as Mark Muscle’s. Mark submits to a seriously jeopardizing arm bar. And to a bow and arrow. And to a sensationally intimate crotch-pillow figure-4 choke. The last submission is phenomenal. I usually don’t get quite so turned on by an abdominal stretch. I like the hold, mind you, but as a submission, it isn’t one of the more exciting or titillating. But watching Austin manage to use every inch of his 5’9″ body to muscle massive Mark Muscle into a legitimate, jeopardizing abdominal stretch (ropes aided, albeit), is pretty incredible human sculpture. When big Mark refuses to submit at first, Austin digs his knuckles into the giant’s ribs, and Mark starts whimpering and wailing and choking into an all out humiliated submission.
The biggest surprise here, however, are those whimpers and wails and choking tears of Mark. It’s a little rookie-ham-handed at first. He awkwardly narrates “Oh, my pecs, you’re hurting my pecs,” when Austin is slapping on a nasty looking armbar, for example. First of all, it’s your elbow that’s being threatened with getting snapped off. And, yeah, a literal accounting of the body parts that are hurting seems a little less than a genuine sell.
But bless him, Mark starts to fucking suffer! Again, I credit the class that Austin is bringing here, but credit where due, Mark ramps up the intensity between light groaning to panicked screams to gasping, shocked whimpers. It’s those whimpers. Fuck! A muscled specimen like this, who absolutely dwarfs his competition, with the biggest, most ripped muscle physique I think I’ve ever seen (definitely in a ring), whimpering… fuuuuuck, that’s hot. The big man sounds like he’s on the verge of honest tears, and I absolutely fucking love him for it. I believe his vulnerability. I believe his humiliation. I believe every magnificent inch of him just got owned by a handsome hunk well over half a foot shorter and upwards of 80 pounds lighter.
“Austin Coop, the champ,” Coop sneers, flashing us a double bicep as he flex pins a 3 count to drive home the total humiliation. Officially, I say Mark Muscle still has a boatload of learning and practicing to do before I’ll even start calling him a homoerotic pro wrestler. Learn some more holds, you magnificent beast you. Bodyslam some lucky punk, for gods’ sakes, you’re 6’4″ tall!!! Bounce some devastatingly handsome face off of a turnbuckle, at the very least. But, in the mean time, stick close and take notes from harsh taskmasters like Austin Cooper.
And keep showing off that spectacular muscled ass of yours.
And cry for us like a sniveling bitch, on your hands and knees. Whimper, just right. That’ll cash a whole lot of checks that your rookie wrestling skills (or lack of) couldn’t back up. Until they can.
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’ve written recently about the special, pleasurable tension in contrasts. Age differences, contrasting gear, size, attitude. There’s narrative tension and immediate erotic value for me in watching homoerotic wrestling with high contrast. So little wonder I am blown away by Wrestler4Hire’s incredibly sexy two-on-one battle between Mark Muscle and the Ravaging Savages, namely Zach Reno and Matt Blakewood.
Mark is another wrestler I’ve been lusting after from a distance, and only now sampling in action. He’s a magnificent specimen of a muscleman. He’s listed at 6’4″ and 255 pounds, and even in a business in which big men’s stats are regularly exaggerated, no fuck, I believe every last inch and ounce of that. Tanned, smooth, dark blond, clean cut, and epic muscle on epic muscle hanging from his gigantic frame. When it comes to the objectification of the male body for gay viewers to key off on, Mark is the perfect object of muscle lusting male objectification. W4H seems not to title most of their matches, but if this had a title, Mark would be the title character.
Pitting him against 2 opponents a fraction his size is sensational casting. Zach Reno I’ve seen and commented on before. At 5’7″ and 145 pounds, he’s sexy as fuck with his hairy pecs and caveman beard. But the shocking standout star of this complex match is totally new to me. Matt Blakewood is listed in the roster at 5’4″ and 130 pounds, and again, I buy that. There’s something of a mental patient vibe from his insanely shaggy beard and primal instincts. About halfway through this match, I catch myself no longer soaking in the sight of Mark’s divine muscle perfection, and instead licking my lips and staring fanatically at the smallest man in the mix, pale, lean, loincloth wearing Matt.
This is more a concept match than a coherent narrative. I get the impression that no one, not the wrestlers nor the producer, quite knew where this thing would go, but they knew the visual of superhuman muscle beast Mark getting swarmed by pint sized pros like Matt and Zach would be total clickbait. And, clearly, true enough, at least as far as my punching on my clicker. But the actual back and forth of the match can’t quite decide whether Mark is invincible and unbreakable, or whether the sexiest angle here is the superhuman man of steel systematically picked apart and humiliated by a couple of guys about half his size.
I do admire that the Ravaging Savages know what they’ve got in the ring with them. They immediately admire Mark’s fantasy body. “Oh my God, he’s strong!” Matt mutters in terror when Mark effortlessly hoists him up across his chest and does overhead presses like it ain’t a fucking thing. Because at 130 pounds, clearly, it ain’t. “Look at those big arms!?” Matt cries out to his partner, watching awestruck nearby. They don’t try to sell disdain for their opponent’s physical perfection. They don’t ignore that his biceps are significantly bigger around than their thighs. They size him up with wonder and awe in their eyes, and then go to town to determine if 2 ring savvy pros who, combined, barely weigh more than their opponent, can use their four limbs, two heads, and hunger for taking down the biggest beast of their careers to make this eighth wonder of the world their bitch.
Again, there’s some inconsistency in the narrative, because occasionally Mark is laughing off their best efforts and slapping them to the mat, and at other times, seemingly far less pointed attacks from the duo leave the mighty titan literally screaming in panicked agony. I think both angles are sensationally sexy, mind you. I’m turned on sensationally by the sheer panic in Matt and Zach’s voices when Mark muscles out of their best efforts and laughs in their faces, towering over them, superhuman,unstoppable, immortal. And frankly, I lose my shit multiple times when the dime and a nickel pack animals swarm all over him, nipping and ripping and tearing until the big man goes down to his knees screaming in frustrated terror. I just wish they’d paced this match with a bit more narrative tension, slowly turning the tables from one advantage to the other, rather than flipping the script multiple times with precious little rhyme or reason.
But when it comes to constructive critiques, that’s all I’ve got, because this match blows my mind as consistently as I blow my wad. When the Ravaging Savages are all over their prey, bringing him to his knees and wrapping him up in tandem dragon sleepers, the palate is classical and epic. Mark’s face is smothered underneath both Matt and Zach’s hairy armpits, his neck bent backward viciously as the boys dig their finger tips in deep to start ripping apart that mountain of muscle. Zach digs in deep to the beast’s baby smooth lower left pec, because even extending his fingers, Zach’s hands aren’t big enough to latch on to more of the expansive pectoral than that. Matt digs his claws in past the first knuckle to both trapezius muscles, pulling backward to rip the meat from the bone. It’s lush and melodramatic and sexy as fuck!
Like I said, I also love the moments when the bullets bounce right off of the superman. Suddenly grabbing hold of his mojo after being completely debilitated, Mark just laughs as the anklebiters each attempt a single leg take down simultaneously. Unmoved, the mountain of muscle just flexes, smiling broadly at the camera, displaying his magnificent dominance with sweet notes of cocky certainty. When he turns around and grabs each of his opponents by their throats, one in each massive hand, I lose it all over again watching the massive specimen of muscle pick them up off their feet, choking, sputtering, kicking futilely in mid-air. Wow, I buy it. I so, so buy it.
I think the sexiest exchange for me is the Ravaging Savages’ corner work on the leviathan. They work him over mercilessly, climbing the ropes in order for their flexible legs to stretch up high enough to plant their feet on Mark’s throats and choke him over the top turnbuckle. Matt has his hand on my button regularly, and no more directly than when he suddenly climbs Mark’s 6’4″ frame, straddles the muscle hunk’s throat (letting his loin clothed crotch linger in the handsome stud’s face for a while), and then rolls backward, hanging from those scissors, doing stomach crunches. Yep, Mark is the obviously intended object of our homoerotic objectification, but damn it all if I’m not desperate to lick Matt’s hot, taut body like a popsicle the more that the “little guy” completely dominates and humiliates the powerhouse.
Zach takes a back seat in the action as Matt really seems to savor calling the shots and being in the driver’s seat. Zach is still bouncing around like a caveman when Matt starts barking orders at him, telling his partner what holds to apply, what views to admire, what muscles to attack. No shit, the 5’4″ feral fox basically singlehandedly puts Mark Muscle away in the final 5 minutes or so, first totally owning the meat with sensationally sexy headscissors, and eventually mounting Mt. Everest and grinding his own lovely, bulging bicep mercilessly into the muscleman’s carotid artery.
Big Mark drops to his knees, starting to fade, and Matt stays with him, cinching the sleeper tighter and tighter. Zach is still bouncing around excitedly admiring his partner’s work, but the little man kicks both of the other stud’s in the ring with him to the fucking curb. “Flex now!” Matt growls dangerously, and no shit, the physique star obeys him. “How much does it hurt!?” Matt demands. “It… hurts!” Mark chokes, turning purple and going limp.
So maybe there is such a thing as too many cooks in the kitchen, because this match hits its stride and literally goes for the jugular only when Matt Blakewood has had enough of seeing flashes of superman, starts barking orders at his partner (mostly telling him to admire his work), and then very effectively uses his 5’4″ and 130 pound (gorgeous, mind you) body to crush and dominate Mark Muscle’s 6’4″ and 255 pound muscle body.
Now, I’d love to dick slap hairy, hot-stuff Zach Reno in a schoolboy pin. I’d sell a kidney to climb Mt. Muscle and follow Matt’s lead doing stomach crunches while scissoring Mark’s massive neck. But if it’s fuck, marry or kill, I’ll put a ring on Matt Blakewood so this gorgeous, sexy as fuck little stick of dynamite pro wrestler can humiliate the big men day in and day out and dedicate them all to me.