Mason Brooks – Sidelineland

WrestleFest – Historic

February 24, 2024 wrestlebard11 Comments

There’s just so fucking much to reflect on when it comes to wrapping my head around my experiences at WrestleFest NYC 2024! As I mentioned last week, a major item on my schedule for WrestleFest was moderating a panel discussion and question & answer session centered on the History of Gay Wrestling. It started off as this cool idea that I’d fit in on top of wrestling and socializing at the fest. Then it grew and morphed into this spectacular and historic opportunity to gather together an unprecedented collection of wrestlers, in-front-of and behind the camera talent at BG East, and around 100 fans to reflect on how far we’ve come as a community. As it took shape, it had a special focus on the homoerotic wrestling video production industry as it relates to meet-up wrestling, wrestling clubs, BJJ training facilities, and other fascinating branches of the diversity of who we have been and who we are as the gay wrestling community today. In the weeks leading up to the event, I somehow went from being a talking head moderator for the event to chairing the planning committee. Lest “chairing” sound more self-important than it really was, let me clarify that it was largely devoted to trying to channel an ever growing number of creative, innovative, talented wrestling hunks into arriving at the same place, at the same time, in order to (roughly) accomplish the same task. No mean feat, trust me. By the time last weekend rolled around, I was showing up to WrestleFest to take care of panel business, and hopefully squeeze a little wrestling and socializing in on the side.

In the very early days of thinking the panel through, a few of us honestly didn’t know how this type of event might resonate with the rest of the WrestleFest vibe. We arranged to book a room at the community center that could seat 60 people, taking it on faith that we’d manage to raise the funds to pay the rental. By the time we showed up this past Sunday afternoon, we’d had to upgrade the room rental to accommodate the more than 100 people planning on showing up, and had secured pledges to cover the cost of the larger space and equipment. Watching people start to stream in when the doors opened was sort of surreal, to be honest. Guys looked curious and excited as they kept filing in, browsing the tables of memorabilia that panelists brought as well as silent auction items available. I was a bit of a nervous mess, frankly. The nerves were firing on several levels, including this being my first “public” appearance for me, after almost 15 years of relatively anonymously blogging here. I was also just nervous about speaking in front of 100 friends and strangers. And, sure, I was nervous about whether our planning was sufficient to wrangle the egos and anecdotes and honors necessary to pay proper respect to the shoulders on which an event like WrestleFest NYC 2024 rests. I had more than a few sleepless nights in the previous week imagining 1,001 things that could go catastrophically wrong. And, to my continued amazement, it went beautifully from start to finish!

The BG East crew video recorded the panels, and I don’t know what their plans may be for the recording. But the panel discussion in the first hour turned into a fascinating glimpse into the evolution of gay wrestling from the perspective of 6 wrestlers who haven’t just lived it, but have actively shaped it. No one had sufficient time for us to really get their full stories. We knew all along the time constraints were going to leave us all a little less than satisfied at any one step along the way. But the collegiality and camaraderie of all of the featured panelists wove its way into this fun, funny, inspiring narrative about guys just making it up and figuring it out along the way, and slowly and surely, what they were making up and figuring out became the geography of gay wrestling community we take for granted today. Like the evolution of finding wrestling opponents in personal ads in the Advocate, to regional wrestling club newsletters, to AOL chatrooms and Global Fight and MeetFighters. They talked about how wrestling with gay sensibilities have charted a path through freestyle wrestling clubs and jiu-jitsu training gyms still today. And there was this fascinating interplay between meet-up wrestling culture and the evolution of the homoerotic wrestling video production industry, with even pre-BGE roots in companies like AMG and Old Reliable, and then us largely focusing on the role of BG East, and the dozen or more other wrestling companies that have come and gone, modeled on BG East’s eye for the art, athleticism, and dramatic production behind their wrestling videos. Fuck. It was seriously deep and layered and flew by just way too fast! But it was exactly what it needed to be in that moment and for that occasion.

The panelists were the cream of the crop, starting with our featured speaker, Kid Leopard, himself. One of the early New York Wrestling Club contributors, Bill Erland talked about his journey from pro wrestling fan to wrestler. Shane McCall shared a glimpse of his transformation from a quiet, relatively nonathletic gay kid into the LEGEND Shane McCall, babyface battler and rookie of the year turned dangerously badass erotic warrior. Scott “the Man of my Dreams” Williams took the podium to talk about his journey from solidly accomplished submission wrestler in his BG East filming days to finding his way into a BJJ gym, where he’s been training and accepted as a gay man in the often hypermasculine world of MMA. Kid Leopard reflected on his storied career as a performer, a pro wrestler, an on-camera wrestler for BG, and then his entrepreneurial genius in building BG East into the pillar of the gay wrestling community it has been for the past 45 years. And Kid Vicious reflected on embodying both one of the most notorious sex fight characters in gay wrestling iconography, while also transitioning to behind the camera, directorial, and management responsibilities, helping to navigate BG East through the increasingly turbulent and uncertain waters of technological revolutions and the gig economy of self-produced wrestling fare. Fuck, how did we get through that much depth and breadth!!!?

Scott Williams and Shane McCall seemed to enjoy themselves

Despite how wound tight my nerves were to start with, the event turned quite emotional for me, as I’ve heard it did for several other folks who were present. I was already getting chills just listening to Shane talk about the liberation of letting his inner gay wrestling badass out. When Scott was bearing witness to just how accepting and affirming his jiu-jitsu training gym was, I was seriously torn between having my heart warmed and my cock hard, because… Scott. The heartstrings really took a tug, though, when Kid Leopard started his remarks off by awarding a trophy, in absentia, to Jonny Firestorm, who at the last minute wasn’t able to join us at WrestleFest. And then, Kid Leopard delivered another surprise award to my co-moderator and legendary ring announcer, Bob Wood (watch BGE’s Wrestlefest 1, Live at Metro, or Live at Campus for a taste of what Bob brings to hot gay pro wrestling drama).

Ricky Roma and Gabe Steel were in the house

Kid Vicious and I had a little surprise planned of our own, though. I think we genuinely caught Kid Leopard off guard by handing him an award in honor and gratitude for his lifetime contributions to promote and elevate gay wrestling. He got two spontaneous standing ovations from a room full of passionately grateful fans and colleagues. I think it may be the first time I’ve ever seen Kid Leopard at a loss for words, and it was sweet and powerful and brought a tear to my eye. Of course, Kid Leopard’s speechlessness only lasted about a minute, but, fuck, yeah. I think the weight of a ton of gratitude and respect landed just right.

Shane McCall and Scott Williams feeling the love from fan and friend Tarz Lando

We switched up the panel for the second half of the event, populating the front table with 8 or so BG East wrestlers, which honestly was a little random, because there were at least that many more of them still in the audience. Here’s where I got to ask questions I gathered from the live audience assembled that day for the event, as well as from blog readers and social media followers. So, for example, I did deliver the question that Alex posed in the comments here last week, asking Kid Vicious “who coached/trained him originally to be so amazing at erotic wrestling, and how did he get into it?” The answer can be boiled down to Kid Leopard, and he sought out Kid Leopard. But it was this spontaneous and funny answer where, I kid you not, Kid Vicious looked almost a little embarrassed by the praise! Again, I’m not going to do the answer justice, so I’m hoping folks may have an opportunity to watch the recording sometime soon. I was expecting the wrestler Q&A to be mostly fun and cheesy, maybe with a mix of kayfabe and BTS glimpses. And it was totally that, but holy hell, it was also astonishingly moving, too! One audience member anonymously wrote a question, asking for advice for an aspiring jobber looking to finally follow his gay wrestling dreams, now that he’s in recovery from addiction. Woah. WOAH. I got chills just reading the question, and I honestly had no idea who among the wrestlers might answer or how they’d respond. And they lined up to share their words of encouragement and concrete, serious as fuck gems of advice (e.g., make sure you negotiate ahead of time and trust who you’re wrestling so you stay injury-free, and sell your heels!!!). Another question from the audience asked about the desire to see more wrestlers of color and trans men in gay wrestling, and, again, I didn’t know where that was going to take us. And it took us into some real talk about the BG East audience, profits, and the marginal return on investment when the studio recruits and tapes wrestlers of color knowing that their existing customer base doesn’t respond the same way as to white wrestlers. It wasn’t the sad truth and the realities of racism and transphobia in the market that gave me chills, but the earnest opportunity this audience member was taking to talk to the powers that be and have that real conversation, and then the willingness of the wrestlers and the wrestler-producers on the panel to wade into those waters and respond with an authenticity that doesn’t solve the problem, but respected it and named it. Where in the FUCK else do we have those conversations so spontaneously and respectfully like that!?!?

Early BG East wrestling hunks back in the day

There was also this subtle moment in the Q&A that snuck up on me in terms of how powerful it turned out to be. I asked a question my buddy AR had suggested that I ask, inquiring of the BG East wrestlers who they wish they could have wrestled, but who had already left the scene before they arrived at BG East. The instant I asked the question, Mason Brooks’ hand shot up like Hermione Granger in charms class. With eager earnestness, Mason said, “Brad Rochelle!” That started this popcorn of earnest answers from the panelists, and then the BGE wrestlers in the audience, and then anyone and everyone else, naming their favorite BG East wrestlers who’ve starred in our personal fantasies. Alexi Adamov, Mike Columbo, Blaze, J-Rock, Aryx Quinn, Dark Rogers, Nick Archer, Justin Pierce … answers kept coming, and with each name, there were spontaneous corporate sighs and grunts of agreement rising up from the entire room. It felt like we were tapping into some collective unconscious, naming out loud our lustful objects of fantasy and discovering 100 others were right there with us. I honestly got chills as the names and sighs and collective moans kept coming, not only because it was just cool to witness BG East stars tapping into their own inner fanboys, but because it felt like this visceral manifestation of the way in which wrestling videos have helped to weave each of us, independently watching our own screens in privacy, into a community of shared passions and common experiences.

They’ve been cracking each other up for decades!

My head is still buzzing from just how incredible I felt the panel turned out. It was about history, and it was fucking historic. Things were said there that needed to said. Appreciation long overdue. Praise that’s never quite been articulated in that way before. I had this powerful impression that there was a lot less dividing the panelists up front from the 100 or so audience members watching than I’d imagined there to be before the event started. I’m left with this profound appreciation for the way that gay wrestling pioneers before us blazed a trail that was never a sure thing, but yet has led us to a place where we can celebrate homoerotic wrestling in more ways than ever before. And I’m left with this sense of awe at the way that homoerotic wrestling videos have shaped not just my tastes, but my sense of myself. And clearly I’m not alone in that. Seeing a diversity of wrestlers celebrating homoerotic wrestling, making themselves vulnerable on camera, and lending their voices and bodies and creativity to giving form to what we find most erotic leaves us feeling a little more seen and heard and respected. I may not be the LEGEND Shane McCall or Scott THUNDER Williams. I’m definitely not the legendary erotic warrior Kid Vicious, or the godfather of gorgeously sadistic heels Kid Leopard. But thanks to them, I feel more powerful and attractive and interesting and empowered. I feel like I’ve got a place in the world that seems like it was just handed to me, but in reality, was hard-earned from thousands of acts of courage and innovation. My sincere thanks to all of the panelists and the wrestlers who showed up and treated your fans with such authentic and spontaneous respect and love.

At the risk of forgetting someone, I just want to personally thank BG East’s Kid Leopard, Kid Vicious, Sailor Rob, Shane McCall, Bob Wood, Bill Erland, Mason Brooks, Drake Marcos, Ricky Roma, Ben Monaco, Mickey Knoxx, Ollie Watts, Seon Cruz, Randy Roberts, Matt Carleton, Ethan Andrews, Kayden Keller, Brian Powers, Gabe Steel, and… fuck… I’m sure I’m missing some more. Chime in and remind me!

Classic wrestling hunks loving what they do and the community they’re part of

And deep gratitude for photo permissions from Ricky Roma and Tarz Lando, and, as always, BG East!

The Curated Self: Dio Characi

November 30, 2023 wrestlebardLeave a comment

Yeah, that’s right. I happened to have a brief, but deeply meaningful (to me) exchange with Dio Characi. So, you know I’m going to name drop that brush-with-fame! Fuck, that man is hot. I asked him if he could recommend a match that he thought was his best, excepting every match I’ve already reviewed (which means excluding all of his BG East matches, because I have jumped all over every one of those!). Dio was adoringly self-deprecating, but he did mention that he thought his match with Mason Brooks on WatchFighters is “good.”

So, what Dio considers “good,” I find sensational! I mean, it’s not like I’m surprised that Mason v. Dio turns me on SO fucking hard. I’ve hardly been subtle about how much Dio’s wrestling yanks on my chain. And I’ve been infatuated about Mason(‘s nipples) from before I ever even saw him. All of these awesome ingredients were guaranteed to make this battle incendiary.

I love the chemistry between them that feels genuine and passionate. Dio sells his patented brand of seduction and fire-to-dominate that carries through in every match I’ve seen of his (including the ones where he jobs). He compliments Mason in this casual way that seems so spontaneous and authentic, and it costs him nothing in terms of his ability to dominate and intimidate. I’d love to see Dio give lessons to A LOT of other homoerotic wrestlers out there about how to say what we’re all thinking (e.g., yes, Mason unquestionably has sweet, strong pecs). He can afford to hand out compliments like a snack-sized candy bar to an underwhelmed trick-or-treater, because Dio is cooly confident in his superior strength and skill. It’s like that classic underground wrestling mind game taken to the next level. Not needing to try to undermine an opponent’s confidence with a ton of trash talk only serves to put Mason on notice that the babyface beefcake from Brazil is absolutely certain that he’s going to wipe the floor with him. And I love homoerotic wrestling where the attraction between the wrestlers doesn’t have to be subtext. Dio can both praise Mason’s objectively and obviously hot bod, and he can delight in thrashing him into submission. “You have a good ass,” Dio observes, enthusiastically slapping Mason’s stripped bare muscle butt, because it’s just plain the truth.

“Just ‘good!?’ Fuck you,” Mason snarks back in classic, cocky Mason fashion. He appears to be his delightfully authentic self as well, from the moment that he sees Dio’s bare torso when the Brazilian pretty boy pulls off his hoodie, and Mason can’t help himself but give those legendary pecs a squeeze. Over the course of his career (at least since I started watching him when he debuted with BG East), he’s evolved into such a hilariously snarky bitch. He has a genuine self-consciousness about him, in a good way, like the self-deprecating shots he takes at himself from time to time. For example, the way he deflects Dio’s compliment for his handsome face (“Let’s face it, the ass is better, to be honest”). Not to suggest Mason’s ego is anything but super-sized. He’s unflinchingly cocky and wields withering trash talk with surgical precision. “You thought you had me, huh?” He taunts and sneers, when he’s turned the tables on Dio’s out-of-the-gate offense, slapping on headscissors, a hammerlock, and a twist of Dio’s leg to turn him into a deliciously mouthwatering pretzel. “I did enjoy those pecs, though,” Mason admits, savoring his riding time. “Not gonna lie.”

Both sets of pecs are profoundly enjoyable, and honestly, the stars of the show. Both of these sensationally sexy hunks have stunningly gorgeous pecs, but it’s Dio who takes advantage of his (and of Mason’s obvious attraction to them) most effectively. He smothers the snarky bad boy for days on end with Mason’s face buried in the cleft between Dio’s hot pecs. Sometimes, frankly, it looks like Mason is hating it, screwing up his face and trying to pull away in a way that makes me want to slap some sense into him myself. Fuck, Mason, if you aren’t going to enjoy that ride, tag me in, damn it!!! But soon enough, Dio’s magical pecs weave their spell over even jaded snarkmaster Mason, who isn’t exactly hating his life around the time that Dio is forcing him to suck his nipples, absolutely in control and shoving Mason’s face from nipple to nipple to make sure they both get equal love.

Both stubborn and dangerous muscle boys demand a submission, but only Dio, with that fucking sexy and chill inevitability about him, is able to milk it out of his opponent. It’s that rear naked choke, threatening to put the snarling bad boy out cold, that Mason finally can’t trash talk his way out of. “I’m sure you don’t want this bicep wrapped around your neck like this, right,” Dio asks. It’s a rhetorical question, because Mason can’t say a word with his windpipe pinched close. The level of panic in Mason’s frantic fingers, tapping out his submission like a seasoned Morse code operator, is delicious. The babyface Brazilian muscle boy literally laughs as he enjoys watching all that swagger and cockiness evaporate like dry ice, leaving Mason sweaty, bitter, and beaten.

I’m so turned on by watching this cherubic-faced muscle boy absolutely bring bad boy Mason to heel. There’s a sweet, sweaty moment where Mason has been riding roughshod on his hunky guest, and he’s sitting on his face and forcing Dio to stroke his (let’s face it, stunningly hot) pecs. Dio does such a good job of it, and Mason is so cocksure of his superiority, that the Brazilian takes advantage of Mason’s aroused distraction to pop free. “Now, it’s my turn,” Dio snarls with this deep, fierce, bitter sincerity that brings tears to my eyes, moments before snapping shut the bear trap of his hairy thighs around Mason’s head. I’m having a hard time conveying just how hot those four words are, but again, it has to do with the intimate intensity and spontaneity of this entire match. It’s not campy. It’s not forced. It’s just fucking fiercely sexy! At another point, after the fateful submission, when Dio is demanding that his beaten opponent worship his armpit, Mason is apparently half-assing it and just kissing Dio’s sweaty curls with his lips. “Use your tongue!” Dio fucking growls at him in a way that makes my crotch squirm at exactly the same instant it makes Mason stick out his tongue and start obeying.

The subission come 13 minutes into the rough and tumble session, mind you, with another 9 minutes or so left for Dio to savor the spoils of victory. There are a few moments where I think his bullying commands are going to make Mason start to fight again, but no shit, Mason got beat, and he knows it. And, judging by his hard cock coming out to play and getting totally put over the top by Dio’s battering his face with the Brazilian’s force-fed pec bouncing, Mason’s “okay” with finally admitting defeat.

The set-up is spartan, a couple of small blue wrestling mats on a wood floor. The camera work is pretty remarkable, putting you right into the room with them unselfconsciously. It’s pretty much all close-ups because space is limited, but it just feels intimate, not cramped. The product totals almost 23 minutes, with about 40 seconds of intro/outro graphics, and about a minute of pre-match chatter and sizing each other up. You’ll see Mason in all his naked glory, but Dio’s singlet, straps down, just barely stays on his gorgeous body.

I love knowing that when Dio thinks about the scope of his wrestling resume, this hot, intimate, intensely physical grappling session-turned muscle worship and domination rises to the top of his list of “good” ones. Holy fuck, can you imagine how dazzlingly sexy a match would have to be for Dio to classify it as “great?!”

Cultural Humility

June 5, 2023 wrestlebardLeave a comment

I’ve had my eye on Mason Brooks from his debut in Gazebo Grapplers 15 around 10 years ago. He’s so damn pretty and he wrestles smart. I love that combination. It’s been part of the package all along, but it feels like he’s grown meaner, snarkier, and more sadistic over time. Mason has always known how clever he is, but the longer he works his craft, he gets more and more condescending. I’m not sure exactly where it happened, but at some point he definitely veered over the center line, and he’s gone from fierce, savvy competitor to full on dickish heel (said with the utmost respect and love!).

Last summer, Mason hit peak condescending asshole level when he stepped onto the mat with Lobo Gris in Gear Wars 9. Mason is sexy as fuck, as always. “You’ve got nice pecs,” Lobo says what I’ve been saying for 10 years straight about Mason. “Um, no shit,” Mason deadpans back with a bored smirk. “Tell me something I didn’t already know.” It’s cocky and clever and, frankly, objectively true. But when Mason asks newcomer Lobo where he comes from, it starts to make me uncomfortable, with that white American assumption that people of color or anyone with an accent must be “a foreigner.” However, Lobo proudly explains that he’s from Mexico. Mason stops him, to correct Lobo’s pronunciation of the name of his own country. And right there, fuck, Mason’s clever condescension wanders into full on cocky heel asshole territory.

Mason plays the snarky upperclassmen well, taking the initiative to pick out some gear choices for the new guy. “Yeah, just a couple of things that would look really good on you, when I’m stretching you out, like hanging you over my shoulders.” Lobo is clearly pissed. “Yeah, that is not going to happen, but whatever,” he snaps back. But, like a rookie, he agrees to strip naked and try on the gray singlet (Lobo Gris signature color, after all) that Mason picked out for him. Hello, Lobo’s sensationally furry, meaty ass! “How long have you been planning this,” Lobo asks as he slips on the skin tight singlet, noticing the massive pile of gear Mason has brought with him. The scheming, smirking veteran with magical nipples smirks at him. “We can try a couple of different looks on you. You know, see what looks good on you when you’re lying face down on the mat.”

That awkward clash of cultures and social power continues to make me cringe, like when Mason suggests he knows a little conversational Spanish that he’s just “picked up here and there on my weekends in Cancun.” Like, fuck. I’m a diehard Mason Brooks fan from way, way back, but even I’m really aching to see Lobo kick his gringo ass now. When they lock up by collar and elbow, Lobo explains, “that’s a Mexican hold, by the way.” Irritated at being schooled in wrestling knowledge, Mason reverts to his go-to trash talking mind games. “Are you going to show me the Mexican way to lose,” he asks with that fucking annoying smirk.

In terms of wrestling, these two are seriously competitive, which I love. We all know that Lobo Gris arrived on the doorstep of BG East as NO rookie, and he’s fast and strong and gives back every ounce of offense that Mason dishes out. And Mason is just so fucking aggressive, in that takes-no-prisoners way of his. He also gropes and strokes Lobo at every turn, which apparently wasn’t the way the Mexican hunk has planned this whole thing would play out. Mason riles him up hotter and hotter, slapping and kneading his ass, stroking his hairy torso, and squeezing his balls. When he wrenches out the first submission, Mason insists that he gets to pick out the bitter rookie’s next gear selection for the second fall. I’m not complaining with Mason’s choice to squeeze him into way too small teal briefs.

Lobo is a force of nature on the mats. Having taken the measure of his snarky, condescending opponent, he gets delightfully nasty in return. He shoves his socked feet in Mason’s face and claws Mason’s balls in revenge. The rookie locks on an expertly applied single leg crab, wrenching and twisting on the captured knee viciously. He bends Mason’s spine so far backward that he literally steps on the back of Mason’s head while he throttles his crotch. “Say it,” Lobo demands. “Say, ‘me rindo!'” Mason is sputtering and whimpering when he snarks back, “What the fuck does that mean!?” Lobo rolls his eyes, and then explains, “It means ‘I submit’ in Spanish. I thought you knew Spanish.” Turns out cocky cultural insensitivity and cultural appropriation don’t end up serving Mason all that well. When he shouts out “I give,” Lobo laughs, as he replies, “Sorry, no hablo inglés,” finally making Mason dust off his Spring Break Spanish.

The boys cycle through several more gear choices with each submission. Well, with gear choices that are, substantively, less and less really. Mason always pushes the boundaries first, like stretching Lobo out in a bow-and-arrow and massaging his heel in Lobo’s pouch. “That’s not really my thing,” Lobo gasps. Mason laughs at him, as he explains, “That doesn’t really matter, because it’s my thing, and I’m in control.” Two minutes later, when Lobo has fought his way on top of a surfboard, shoving his socked feet in Mason’s face before taunting and kicking his balls, Mason is eating a healthy helping of humble pie, maybe(?) regretting his bullying ways.

Fuck, this match is intense and does things to me that surprise me. I love Lobo. I love/hate Mason. I adore their intensity and curiously evenly matched aggressiveness. And, yeah, I have to admit, I love the ending.

Even when he makes me uncomfortable, I’m still a HUGE fan of Mason’s. I love the way he goes there, full throttle, into every match he’s in. And I’m growing more more infatuated with Lobo Gris. He’s got that same tantalizing mixture of pretty and clever that instantly grabbed me the first time I saw Mason wrestle. I look forward to seeing more of both of these fierce grapplers, in and out of any gear they’d like!

Activating Erotic Mode

January 27, 2023 wrestlebard2 Comments

In the newest BG East catalog there’s a little gem that is guaranteed to spark controversy. I know that Robo-Wrestler is guaranteed to spark controversy because I’ve already had an extensive debate about it with another BG East fan and friend of mine. Honestly, I think the only really controversial element to Robo-Wrestler is its very gimmick-forward stance. Forrest Taylor and Mason Brooks fucking go for it, with a seriously earnest supporting performance by Freddy Campbell. It’s sensationally sexy and astonishingly clever homoerotic wrestling packaged inside a summer jamboree skit. The text is balls-out bold: Forrest has ordered an android version of Mason Brooks (“Mason-bot” even gets his own wrestler profile, because the commitment to this gimmick as 100%) to wrestle with any time and every time he wants. He wanted a Kid Karisma-bot, but it was too expensive. “You know I’m a cheap-ass, and this is what I could afford,” Forrest snaps back at his gamer buddy Freddy who gives him a hard time for ordering off of the clearance rack. I love all three of these guys A LOT, so I’m sure that’s biased me toward being willing to suspend disbelief and roll with it. But seriously, if any one of these hunks had gone in half-assed, if they’d snickered and rolled their eyes at the gimmick, this product would have ground to a screeching halt for me. But bless their beautiful, hot asses, the boys sell it like there’s an Emmy nomination at stake.

Seriously, go along for this ride, and you will see some sensational storytelling, hot, brutal wrestling, and full-throttle naked homoerotic grappling with a couple of incredibly tasty hot bods. Fuck, Mason(-bot) looks more and more gorgeous every time I see him in something new. His nipples continue to make me swoon, and fuck, those lush, massive, gorgeous pecs of his make everything he’s in have to have “-erotic” as a suffix. He not only takes shots at his reputation at BG East, he dishes them out, acknowleding that his “model” of bot has received poor costumer reviews because “my personality is off-putting. Too real and borderline insulting.” And Forrest just keeps showing up and making me dizzy, match after match. Just sticking to the visual aesthetics, fuck… I am in lust with every inch of him, and his overall proportions. He should be naked in every fucking match, as far as I’m concerned, because, fuck, he looks STUNNING naked. And Robo-Wrestler goes there brilliantly.

I could see some wrestling fans taking issue with the execution of the narrative, that sort of pulls the curtain back on kayfabe and pops open the hood to give a glimpse at the engine underneath homoerotic pro wrestling. Mason-bot has different “challenge levels,” from jobber to competitive wrestler to heel to erotic warrior. Forrest can’t quite figure out how to switch from one challenge level to another (hilariously), and his buddy Freddy mostly makes matters worse for him by accidentally turning up the difficulty rating on Mason-bot. But this is actually the most genius piece of this product for me. Because Mason walks us all (mostly Forrest, but clearly you and me, as well) through the paces of classic jobberdom, trash talking competiveness, sadistic heeldom, and, thank the homoerotic wrestling gods, gagging-for-it homoerotic warrior. Forrest remains Forrest, mind you. He won Jobber of the Year for a reason. So it’s absolutely hilariously fascinating to watch Mason-bot’s different challenge levels bring out different elements to tried-and-true, cheap-ass Forrest. As a jobber, Mason is a ton of shallow bluster and put-on cockiness, swearing that he’ll never submit to Forrest’s (fucking hot) bodyscissors one second, and then tapping out and pleadingly submitting the next. Like a fucking jobber.

“Freddy, I’m going to kill you,” Forrest snarls, when Freddy accidentally turns on the “Grappling Mode.” Mason-bot starts to seriously resemble Mason. He legitimately out-hustles and out-muscles Forrest. He nearly chokes him out cold before Forrest can submit. He’s taunting and bullying, brutalizing the sexy little red-headed minx (with fantasyman quads and glutes). He yanks on Forrest’s beard and stretches out the brutal punishment luxuriously, as the gamer buds struggle to wrangle Mason-bot’s control app under their control. When Freddy accidentally activates “Dirty Tactics” mode, Mason-bot locks him down in a figure 4 headlock and slaps that gorgeous, alabaster ass of Forrest’s (which I STILL say ought to have won Best Butt last year). And then there’s “Kill Mode,” in which Mason-bot turns full on sadistic heel, relishing in Forrest’s screams and pleas, ignoring his submissions, hell bent on humiliating his new “owner” relentlessly. “Do you feel humiliated, Forrest?” Mason-bot asks woodenly, schoolboy pinning him and smothering him in his crotch, as Forrest writhes and screams and kicks in terror. Holy fuck, yes, I’m definitely along for the ride at this point.

When the boys finally discover how to turn on “Erotic Mode,” everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) is firing on all cylinders. Full throttle, no pretense muscle worship. “Would you like me to flex my biceps while you grab my pecs,” Mason-bot asks woodenly. Holy shit, these guys convince me completely that they’re fucking into each other, right around the time Forrest tells his buddy Freddy to get the fuck out of the matroom and let them get down to business in private. Beautiful, excited, earnest as fuck cocks come out. Mason-bot slams Forrest down into an OTK and starts to jack him off hard and fierce. When he slams him to the mat, Mason(bot) sits on Forrest’s face and pounds his own throbbing cock into the lucky, sexy-ass leprechaun’s chest.

It’s fucking hilarious. Mason, Forrest, and Freddy are fucking hilarious, and the scene is outrageously hilarious. And I get it. That could be a buzz kill, but it most certainly wasn’t for me. It was sensationally clever, telling a story that unpacks homoerotic pro wrestling tropes, turning formulaic, gimmick-free(ish) wrestling on its head, and turning up the heat with something entirely novel, self-consciously iconoclastic, and intensely erotic. I laughed. I was wildly turned on. And I got off repeatedly, all the while feeling like I understood myself and my relationship to homoerotic wrestling just a little better.

Stay in Your Lane

June 27, 2020 wrestlebard1 Comment

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

Tan Lines

June 21, 2020June 8, 2020 wrestlebard4 Comments

0401_lg The first time I posted about my appreciation of the value added by tan lines, I received some surprising back channel heat. There are, apparently, some guys who find tan lines unsightly. I honestly had no idea. I’ve always found them provocative and tantalizing. There’s something that much closer to naked about tan lines. They signal something vulnerable, something delicate, to otherwise hard bodied beefcake. They allude to modesty unmasked, to an uncommon intimacy shared with those who get a glimpse of them. Tan lines serve as a literal and figurative boundary, and in the homoerotic gaze, they seem to inherently speak to disregarding boundaries and propriety and self-restraint. All my respect to the hot hunks on a quest for that all-over tan, but as for me, I get an extra hard heart pump from an impossible to miss tan line!

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Calvin Haynes’ sensational ass turns me on that much harder when Mason Brooks’ reveals his beautiful tan line in their match on Calvin’s Wrestler Spotlight.

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Drake Marcos, bless his heart, tanned like a mother fucker before getting his turn riding muscle cherub Gabriel Cross inX-Fights 34. The bike shorts he was soaking up the sun in left an indelible mark in my memory.

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When Alexi Adamov got to be the first at BGE to get his hands on Mitch Colby on Alexi’s Wrestler Spotlight, I was shocked by how enticingly distracting Mitch’s tan line is, even with all of that ripped, gorgeous, sweaty muscle everywhere to look at.

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Rhino taped several matches for Thunder’s Arena sporting bike shorts tan lines that somehow make his massively thick thighs look just that much more gargantuan. Here, he’s got Scrappy draped across his shoulders like wet towel in Mat Rats 105, and somehow all I can see are those sexy-as-fuck tan lines.

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I feel in my gut that Alex Oliver doesn’t really get just how crazy-sexy he is getting plowed under in a made-for-gay-eyes wrestling match. His deep, deep, dark tan contrasting with his lily white upper thighs on display in Cameron’s manhandling of the boy makes me want to lick him so, so much.

Help me out and let me know what more sexy-as-fuck tan lines to watch for in homoerotic wrestling!

Ode to OTK

August 23, 2018 wrestlebard

0138_lg — Zip Zarella wrings the Z out of Z-Man

It’s been a long time since I composed a post devoted solely to admiring a particular wrestling hold. I’ve been recently obsessing once again over my favorite wrestling hold, the over-the-knee backbreaker.

Even the set up for this hold is sexy, as Grant Connors digs his fingers into Carson Crawford’s hot ass.

It’s such a massively dominating move. The pitcher often literally cradles the catcher like a child in his arms, clutching him across his chest, and then drops to one knee, pounding his opponent’s back across his thigh. I love the geography of this hold. The victim splayed out, his vulnerable core stretched wide, legs and upper body pressed backward such that he can’t assume the instinctive duck and cover defensive position to protect his internal organs.

Kelly King busts Kirk’s back like a boss.

I catch myself gasping in awe at high impact OTKs. There’s a raw, primal, intensely arousing aspect to watching a dominant hunk seriously pound his opponent down with authority, his knee driving viciously into the helpless stud’s spine. It’s magnificent drama when he scoops him directly back up across his chest, standing tall and hoisting the victim high to repeat the move again. And again. Total domination.

Ty’s helplessness make’s Coop’s muscle seem that much more massive.

I also also love an OTK punisher with big, bulging pecs flexing powerfully, his face hovering so close to his opponent’s muscled torso and quivering crotch. Stretched out on his back, the victim of an OTK is flattened, the topography of his physique stretched out and impotent, in contrast to the flaring shoulders and pumped pecs of his tormentor.

Mr. Joshua digs deep into Chace LaChance.

Then there are the subtle variations and innovations that dial up the inherent eroticism of this hold in a homoerotic context. The stolen moments to take advantage of the victim’s helplessness, sadistically brutalizing muscled abs and pecs. Not content to just torture his spine, the man in charge pounds fists, drives in elbows, perhaps digs his finger tips into defenseless muscle and wear him out from every angle.

Ace Aarons handles Richie’s rocks

Richie’s balls demand Mason’s attention as well.

An OTK seems paradigmatically gay (or at least bicurious) when the dominant hunk pays serious attention to that tempting bulge at the apex of his opponent’s bridge. Frankly it doesn’t often go there even in homoerotic wrestling, but every OTK seems like a head nod to those sensational moments when a wrestler leans forward and sucks his opponent’s nipple, seductively slides the palm of his hand possessively across his lower abs, and appreciatively throttles and fondles his arching cock. That’s the heart of homoerotic wrestling for me, with the purpose of the battle to determine who gets to take possession of whose body.

Calvin’s muscle melt

Mitch stiff and in agony

I’m fascinated watching muscled hunks sell this hold. Clearly some wrestlers are built a lot more for strength than flexibility. A stiff, tabletop OTK actually works for me because it looks like it hurts just that much more. When a muscle laden stud doesn’t really have much of a lower back arch to bend across his opponent’s thigh, it also just seems that much more humiliating. But there’s nothing quite as arousing as watching a flexible hunk melt into the hold, bridging dramatically, as if his muscles are draped across a hanger. The submissiveness, the giving himself over blindly to man who’s claimed his body, is golden.

My gratitude to all of the homoerotic wrestlers who have recently fed my craving for OTK hotness. For those moments when you’ve reached through your opponents legs and cupped his beefy ass in the palm of your hand, I salute you. For your graceful bridge and packed, quivering bulge gasping in anticipation of whatever is to come at the mercy of your opponent, I applaud you. I realize this hold is not exactly intuitive to pull off, and for many of you it’s downright awkward as fuck to sell, so I appreciate the gorgeous erotic art of your human sculpture just that much more.

And the Winner Is…

January 17, 2018 wrestlebardLeave a comment

Congratulations to the winners of the BG East Besties for 2017! It was a fabulous year in homoerotic wrestling, and all of the nominees demonstrated the deep bench that BG East can rightfully boast. Some of my picks earned the most votes overall. Some didn’t. They all (but one) get nothing but respect from me. It’s certainly not the first time I’ve seen evidence that my tastes intersect and diverge with other homoerotic wrestling fans. Happily, there’s plenty for all of us to enjoy, and awards or not, my sincere thanks go out to the beautiful men in front of and behind the camera that make BG East a leader in wrestling for a gay audience.

Sexiest Match: Sexiest Match – Ty Alexander vs. Bruno LaBestia (Ringwars 28)

Best Mat Battle: Austin Cooper vs. Christian Taylor (Undagear 28)

The biggest upset of the year (not a category) had to be Austin Cooper getting owned by Christian Taylor

Best Ring Match: Cole Cassidy vs. Joshua Goodman (Ringwars 26)

This hold alone is already the stuff of legend

Best Squash: Lane Hartley vs. Kirk Donahue (Demolition 22)

Best Submissions: Kayden Keller vs. Richie Douglas (Kayden’s Spotlight)

Kayden masters the beautiful art of submission

Hottest Liplock: Christian Taylor vs. Mason Brooks (Bedroom Brawl 3)

Mason aids Christian in remaining the reigning kissing champion

Best Overall Match: Cole Cassidy vs. Joshua Goodman (Ringwars 26)

Top Heel: Kayden Keller

Kayden for the upset win over both Jonny and Kid Karisma!

Top Babyface: Richie Douglas

Richie beats back a challenge from Kirk Donahue

Jobber of the Year: Kirk Donahue

Fuck, I hate this jobber for beating my boy Drake Marcos

Debut of the Year: Zip Zarella

Zip wasn’t my top pick, but you get no arguments from me

Best Abs: Kid Karisma

Kid Karisma beats runner-up Mitch Colby for Best Abs

Best Bulge: Joshua Goodman

I’m thrilled to see Mr. Joshua’s bulge beat last year’s winner, Kirk, to the curb

Best Butt: Kid Karisma

Despite Ty’s social media campaign, he couldn’t rip the title away from the perennial favorite glutes of Kid Karisma

Best Body: Kid Karisma

0902_lg — BG East fans agreed with me that it just doesn’t get any better than this!

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

October 13, 2017 wrestlebardLeave a comment

Oy, just now finding a window of opportunity to write down some of my latest thoughts about my favorite topic. I’m still backfilling the Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month awards. But it’s time for someone to unseat the magnificent mountain of muscle that is Mark Muscle and take the title for my favorite wrestler in a new release in the month of August. Sometimes these choices are harder than others, and this was one of those times. But speaking of harder, at the risk of irking the other worthy contenders, I have to admit that one hot wrestling hunk made me harder than all the rest. For his new release appearance in the month of August, my new HWOTM is…

…Mason Brooks.

The indisputable evidence that Christian Taylor checked out Mason’s goods.

While I’ve long been infatuated with Mason, somehow he has never before taken the HWOTM title. His opponent in Bedroom Brawls 3, Christian Taylor, is a member of the rarified ranks of HWOTM 3-peats. But despite my open adoration of Mason’s nipples, my longstanding fantasy to pound one out across his luscious, thick pecs, and my deep appreciation for his wickedly sharp, intellectual approach to the carnal delights of homoerotic wrestling, this “thinking man’s wrestler” has failed to wrestle his way to the top of my monthly tallies. That oversight is officially and decisively over, because Bedroom Brawls 3 was the hottest thing I’ve seen in a long time, and Mason is unquestionably the leading man, despite facing off with Hollywood handsome Christian.

Mason dials up the sexy factor in Bedroom Brawls 3

The story is novel and enchantingly entertaining. Mason and Christian are bunking side by side in the mat room during one of those insanely busy week’s of BG East recording, where dozens of hot hunks are stacked like wood, awaiting the myriad delights of squaring off against one fine opponent after another. In the wee hours of the morning, Christian rouses first, looks at the sleeping beauty next to him, and does what any one of us would want to do: he coyly pulls up the cover to take a peak at the beautifully muscled stud still unconscious next to him. Mason comes-to trying to decide if getting exploited by the likes of BG East’s champion babyface kisser really just happened, or if it was one of those magnificently sexy dreams you don’t ever want to wake up from.

Like Christian, I often find myself eyefucking Mason’s gorgeous body. Mason is no clone. He defies easy classification. He’s not a bodybuilder, but he’s sweetly, thickly muscled. He’s nobody’s twink, but he’s certainly lean and lovely with a leaning-toward-babyface beauty. Although I haven’t had an opportunity to post about it yet, I immensely enjoyed the opportunity to meet Mason when I visited BG East this summer, and in the midst of my interview with him (still to be published), I felt the persistent urge to palm his broad, powerful, aesthetic pecs. We’ve seen Mason go full monty in past matches, and so I have no problem at all reading Christian’s mind as he pulls the cover down and hungrily examines the tasty bulge in the front of Mason’s briefs, wondering if he might catch a tantalizing glimpse of early morning wood. So many of Christian’s matches revolve around the gravitational pull that Christian has on countless BG East wrestlers chasing this Prince Charming, but there’s a super sexy authenticity about the erotic gaze Christian turns on sampling the goods (greats) that Mason puts on the table.

There’s a clear fun-and-games vibe about the action as Mason confronts Christian for trying to take advantage of him as he slept. Mason makes it clear that he’s abundantly ready to return the amorous attention, but coyly, Christian tries to deny what the camera objectively documented. “Just be a man and own up to it,” Mason demands. “You were totally checking me out.” Perhaps because Christian is so often the object of lustful attention, he’s apparently embarrassed and out and out lies. “No one’s looking at your dick, Mason.” But of course Christian was looking at his dick. And I’m looking as his dick. And you’re looking at his dick. And tickled both by the attention and Christian’s embarrassment, Mason insists that no one is going back to sleep until Christian confesses that he just couldn’t keep his hands and eyes off of Brooks’ beef.

So it starts playful. Christian doesn’t initially put up a lot of fight, still feigning as if it was Mason who rudely interrupted his beauty sleep. Early going I get a sense that at any moment these two may just abandon the battle for physical domination and just start fucking their pent up morning energies away. I wouldn’t have blamed them. The sexual tension is perfectly balanced and sensationally thick. But in addition to both being sexy as fuck, Mason and Christian have also abundantly demonstrated that they are fierce, competitive, accomplished wrestlers. So the wrestling fan in me is turned on that much harder as they veer right past giving in too soon to their mutual attraction and, instead, start seriously punishing one another.

Christian starts to question which is more humiliating, confessing that he was checking Mason out, or weeping like a baby in Mason’s brutal holds.

Playing it coy digs Christian a deep hole that Mason is eager to fill. As Christian claims that he just wants to go back to sleep (liar), Mason twist ties him into knots. It’s intense and quickly sweat soaked as they scramble atop and often get tied up in the bedding. Mason keeps twisting, keeps prying, driving his gasping, whimpering increasingly humiliated hottie opponent to the edge of being forced to admit the obvious, that he (on behalf of all of us) wants to see a lot more of Mason. With studied skill and patience and more than an able hand with the driving whip, Mason demonstrates that he can dish out a whole lot more humiliation than just having Christian confess his transgressions. Finally Christian grudgingly barks it out. “Yes! I was checking you out,” Christian snarls. “I was checking out the goods!” The sweetly satisfied smile across Mason’s face alone could get me off. “I hope it was good for you,” he coos, softening up his grip and starting to stroke Christian’s sweat soaked washboard. “‘Cause it’s good for me.”

Before I inadvertently convince you that this is a squash, let me assure you that the battle is far from over, and Christian is abundantly equipped to hold his own and grab hold of Mason’s as well. What starts as a fun-and-games romp, evolving into an ego punishing confession-submission, charges headlong into a back and forth battle as Christian seeks, and ultimately gets, some dominating satisfaction of his own. As erotically oriented as he is to Mason’s body, he’s not shy at all about abusing it with abandon. Mason is tough as fuck, of course. We know that. So there’s that much more pleasure at watching Christian insist on cranking on holds past the point of Mason’s tolerances, twist that much farther, squeeze that much harder, demanding some face-saving respect after having the stuffing and dignity wrung out of him earlier. Mason is certainly not the first opponent to be forcefully convinced that Christian is far from just a pretty face and rocking body.

Mason: “Are you going to get out of that, or are you just enjoying it too much?” Christian: “I’m conflicted”

Despite Christian more than holding his own in the middle third of this tussle, Mason makes this match all his own as he controls the pace in the backstretch. It’s a game of libido chicken. Both clearly turned on to the point of distraction, they repeatedly start to melt into each other. Famished kissing breaks out. Muscles go slack as blood is redirected to their crotches. Just when one gagging stud is ready to get down to business, the other exploits his open lust to lock down ever more vulnerable holds, ever more brutal punishment. Christian plays this game well, but Mason is the master of it. Time and again, Mason savors the moment of watching Christian’s gasping lust twisted into bitter frustration as Mason denies his amorous advances and laughs at his agony twisted, handsome face. Christian’s cock doesn’t know which way to turn, but it’s doing all of his thinking as Mason plays him like a pipe organ, making him sing, making him groan, making him whine to get his lips on that tasty morsel that he woke with a craving for.

Is it too early for us to discuss the Liplock of the Year award? These two suck on their mutual excitement for each other with a passion that I simply can’t believe is put on for the cameras. The more Mason takes the reins, the more he peppers his punishment of Christian with tantalizing, teasing tastes of what is obviously motivating both of them.

It continues to careen at breakneck speed into that blurred boundary between erotic wrestling and rough fucking. Christian takes the brunt end of the stick, but he’s not fooling anyone. He wanted exactly this all along. He wanted every inch of his beautiful body to feel every inch of Mason’s. He wanted Mason’s morning wood in his face, pressed between his cheeks, grinding relentlessly into him.

I don’t know why Christian didn’t just come out and admit it from the start. But I’m thrilled that he didn’t. I’m ecstatic that he played coy, forcing Mason to force him to admit to the obvious magnetic attraction between them. Mason is never better than when he’s taking control, owning an opponent, breaking through all defenses and dictating the sensationally sexy terms of surrender. And in this case, there are no winners or losers, just two insanely sexy hunks, soaked in sweat, their sexual cravings completely exposed, crawling back under the covers to do anything but sleep.

Fuck, I loved this match. I’m jealous of both wrestlers. But I’m mostly captivated with Mason for seizing the opportunity (and every last inch of Christian Taylor) to pound that sexy alarm clock into completely dominated submission. This is easily and art house edition of classic BG East wrestling. It’s erotic-forward. It’s wrestling forward. And it compels me to finally award a belated recognition to Mason Brooks as HWOTM.

Mason Brook: August 2017 Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

“It’s like an orgy all day long”

September 22, 2017December 19, 2022 wrestlebard2 Comments

I admit to having quickly developed an infatuation with Chase Addams. I’ve indulged that infatuation with conducting now three interviews, all for a rookie wrestler with just that same number of published matches. There are many elements to what intrigues and seduces me about the Charming One. Of course there’s the hot, lean body and those oft-mentioned nipples. You don’t have to scratch beneath my surface far to know that any openly gay wrestler who seriously loves professional wrestling will hold my attention. He wrestles an excellent story, too. But there’s still more that keeps me coming back for more. So little wonder, given the opportunity, I sat Charming Chase down at BG East during my visit this summer and put him on the record and on audio this time.

In the first portion of our conversation, I learned a little about what a typical day of wrestling for BG East looks like for Chase. He discussed that breakout moment when wrestlers he’s crushed on from afar have returned the respect and interest. And Chase and I discuss which newbie BG East wrestler he and I (and apparently a broad swath of fans) currently hate on most.

Chase Addams Interview – Part 1:

Chase2 — Chase struts his stuff in Bard-approved gear

As our conversation continued, Chase offered his take on what it’s like to be surrounded by smoking hot gay wrestlers roaming the grounds of BG East all at one time (from which the title of this post comes). And Chase gives some insight into what it’s like to go all out to pry an opponent apart piece by piece, and then find yourself hanging out between the matches at a later date.

Chase Addams Interview – Part 2:

Finally, Chase gave me a glimpse into the headspace it takes for him to prepare for a match. We speculate on which merit badges you can earn at a taping as we explore an extended metaphor of BG East to summer camp. We conclude with attempting to speculate how it could be possible to oversell the promise, potential, and pure wrestling entertainment value of Chase Addams.

Chase: “I’ve got to find a new way to make this innovative and to make this interesting.”

Chase: “Ace Aarons… *he’s* going to be there!? And he wants to wrestle me!?”

0130_lg — Chase: My first match “was an overnight viral thing.”

Chase: [On seeing Charlie Evans after they wrestled in Ring Rookies 5] “I think I could have broken his neck and come back and he’d still make eye contact with me. He’s just that kind of person.”

unnamed — Chase: “It’s like an orgy all day long.”

Chase: “I’m not high on my own hype. I just know what I’m capable of. I’m just that good.”

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