Mickey Knoxx – Sidelineland

The New Me

November 11, 2025November 11, 2025 wrestlebard2 Comments

This is the time of year when I start getting excited for the holidays. I mean, sure, Thanksgiving is tolerable, and I enjoy exchanging presents around Christmas. New Year’s Eve means less and less to me as I grow older, it seems, but MLK, Jr. Day later in January feels like it’s growing in pertinence and urgency this year. But for the past few years, what I think of as the climax of the holiday season is really the Presidents Day holiday, aka Wrestlefest NYC. A few months ago, I was more ambivalent, grousing about how expensive a weekend in Manhattan is and the hassles of travel. But at this point, the excitement and anticipation have taken over, as I think about a few hundred sexy men who all share the same passion for wrestling that I do suddenly concentrated within a few blocks of Penn Station. Meeting up with old friends, being shoulder to shoulder in a bar with wall-to-wall singlet-wearing hunks, watching a live homoerotic wrestling show, and, oh yeah, throwing down with opponents I’ve enjoyed wrestling before and squaring off against a few new wild cards… that quantity and quality of eager anticipation I used to feel as a kid for the approach of Christmas is now entirely transferred to Presidents Day (which, ironically, was probably my most forgettable holiday when I was a kid).

BG East’s recent release of Motel Madness 25: Revenge stokes that eager excitement for the sexy spontaneity of a Wrestlefest. There’s the public side of Wrestlefest that, honestly, I enjoy just about as much as the private wrestling side. Motel Madness 25 opens in the loud, crowded bar that’s hosted opening night live oil wrestling at WFNYC the past couple of years. You can hear the electricity in the air in the appreciative hoots and whistles when Mickey Knoxx and Bobby Carter are introduced. Watching a couple of EXTREMELY lucky fans/wrestlers get the honors of coating both of these gorgeous boys’ bodies in oil as the crowd roars with excitement punches that intensely hot button of public homoeroticism that has me turned on immediately. It reminds me of the BGE at Paradise matches that regularly pop up in the shuffle of wrestling content I get off to, when all eyes are on these barely clad muscle boys getting liberally lubricated with everyone simmering with envy for the hands that get the honors of applying the oil.

I probably should disclose again that I am completely biased about both Bobby Carter and Mickey Knoxx. To be completely honest, I love both of these guys. As I’ve mentioned before, I got to know them a bit online before meeting them in person, and they’re just solid, genuine, good people. I probably over-identify with Bobby’s encyclopedic knowledge and passion for homoerotic wrestling videos, although, as proud as I am of mine, Bobby’s familiarity with every gay wrestling video produced in the past 30 years puts me to shame. And Mickey’s combination of introvert/shyness and uninhibited debauchery absolutely charms the pants off of me. I’ve since enjoyed hanging out with both of them, and they both feel like friends I’ve known all my life. Honestly, when they started showing up in BG East releases, I sort of worried that feeling a personal connection with them off camera might be an obstacle to me lustfully objectifying them on camera.

I need not have worried. Fuck, they’re hot as hell! When they start wrestling in that way-too-small blow-up pool in the bar, it’s homoerotic poetry in motion. Bobby’s body blows my mind. He’s got the tapered-V torso of a competitive bodybuilder, with that tiny waist and magnificent muscled ass that belongs on a comic book superhero. I know for a fact that Bobby is way cerebral, but there’s something just raw and carnal about this gear he kicks into when he’s wrestling. And I’ve never NOT swooned at the sight of Mickey, especially when he wrestles, but, yeah, any fucking time. He’s got those supernatural fey king eyes that are almost as paralyzingly gorgeous as his perfect ass. Like Bobby, he’s also got that sensational ability to be nowhere else than in the match when he’s wrestling. Neither of them seem to have an ounce of self-consciousness about them. They’re just going at it like there’s nothing else in the world but a super hot opponent vying for control. The oil wrestling is perfectly balanced between eroticism and wrestling. It’s not like the tight confines of the pool lend themselves to serious competition, but fuck, they pull off some astonishingly beautiful wrestling despite the geography and oil. Like, how in the hell does Mickey hold that suspended bearhug with so much glistening lubrication? I’m genuinely gritting my teeth in concern for both of them when Bobby hoists Mickey into a stunning erotic sculpture of a torture rack, but holy hell, he locks Mickey down as if they weren’t confined to a 6’x4′ plastic rectangle and coated in oil.

No one’s a loser, but Bobby owns Mickey’s gorgeous body to the delight of the bar crowd before all is said and done. Mickey doesn’t appear to hold a grudge as they make out in exhaustion, but looks may be deceiving. Because the second match of Motel Madness 25: Revenge picks up the story at WFNYC a year later. Mickey’s invited Bobby to his hotel room for a rematch, and his preternaturally fog-colored eyes look fiercely determined. The erotic tension is instantly thick in the air as they check out each other’s phenomenal physiques poured into tight singlets. Their scrap continues to teeter on that lust/competition edge, until right around the moment that Mickey suddenly grabs Bobby by the ankles and viciously stomps on the bodybuilder’s balls until Bobby submits. Bobby is clutching his assaulted testicles and gasping in shock when Mickey finally lets him go. “I don’t remember you being that mean,” Bobby observes. “It’s the new me,” Mickey snarls back like a boss.

The action continues to be mean and intense in a way that only makes it that much sexier to me (and, quite obviously, to Bobby and Mickey, as well). The scrap on the portable wrestling mats is rough, like that super sexy camel choke where Mickey grabs one of the stripped singlets and uses it to strangle his trapped opponent. It’s when the action spills onto the bed, though, that things get serious. Honestly, wrestling on a mattress typically slows things way down for me, but these two dial it up as soon as the sheets start flying. Bobby sits on Mickey’s face in a foldover pin and wedgies that Tauwell singlet so deep Mickey’s choking on it.

You can tell who’s the loser in the hotel room based on who’s screaming and begging and obediently saying the winner’s name on demand. But it’s all just poetry at that point. The pain and pleasure are just delicious notes in the lustful concoction Mickey and Bobby brew up in that Manhattan high rise hotel. The product is subtitled “revenge,” but this dish is served steaming hot and both gorgeous men are savoring every mouthful with an open genuineness that just can’t be faked.

Fuck, now I seriously can’t wait for Wrestlefest NYC!

Mayhem

September 5, 2025September 17, 2025 wrestlebard1 Comment

Watching Watchfighters Rumble Match – Part 1 gives me so many vibes of being at a Wrestlefest. Actually, it specifically gives me vibes of being at Wrestlefest Canada. I swear I stayed in that hotel room! Well, I’m pretty sure it’s at the hotel I stayed at when I enjoyed attending WF Canada three summers ago. But the vibes are about a lot more than the accommodations. There’s this serendipity about the pop-up community that forms at a fest. My best analogy is to summer camp, where you look forward to getting thrown into this community of people outside of your regular life, and the proximity and shared interests and just everyone stepping outside their lives and into this chosen community creates this incredibly fun esprit de corps. The (no shit) 13 wrestlers who join Sir Dark’s rumble in WF Rumble Match – Part 1 all look like they’re having a fucking blast.

It was at Wrestlefest Canada I experienced my first of many group mat matches. The rumble has all of those elements, but bigger and more intense and with an even more out of control feel of a melee. The premise is, like a pro wrestling rumble, a new wrestler is added to the mix every so often, and wrestlers are eliminated when they submit. And that’s it. Like, that’s all the rules. So the wrestling drama depends entirely on the luck of the draw, pacing, and the fickle alliances and betrayals that play out depending on who happens to be on the mat at any given time. It’s absolute chaos AND it’s got this compelling momentum that I can’t take my eyes off of.

I’m tuned in for my favorites featured, of course. Sir Dark appears to be the mastermind of the mayhem, which, honestly, is so on brand. If you could bottle chaos, I think he’d guzzle it daily. He’s got this constant edge of unpredictability about him, I think showcased never more clearly than in his Wrestlefest Live match last February in NYC. But he’s souped up and riding the feral edge about him as this rumble starts up, but holy shit is he in there with the yin to his yang. Ethan Axel Andrews is the other wrestler to kick off the Rumble, and he’s more like a cruise missile. Their opening scrap against each other is one of the most intense of the next 20 minutes, which sort of makes sense because all their attention is on each other, and their both fresh and primed. Ethan is rolling, exploiting his size advantage for a bit when he latches on a leglock and threatens to snap the Dark one at the knee. Sir Dark screams at him with total bile and adrenaline, “Fuck off, NO!” Fuck, that guy rocks me.

Every minute (or so, the timing isn’t entirely precise), a countdown signals the arrival of a new wrestler to join the fray. In these raucous 20 minutes, favorite wrestlers of mine show up in the mix and I’m unable to stop myself from cheering at my screen. Mickey Knoxx comes in hot, flexing and strutting and wasting no time tearing into Feroce in a completely unfair double team with Demonflex. Isaac Andrews comes in looking gorgeous as fuck with his hairy chest and beard. Kayden Keller and Chase Addams turn the heat way, way up when they take each take their turns as the fresh man diving into the mix.

Just like it works at a fest, though, there are also these unexpected finds, wrestlers I don’t think I’ve ever seen before but once I do, I can’t take my eyes off of them. The fourth entrant is introduced as Mischief. He’s adorable, with this gentle giant feel about him as he strides onto the mat. And then, holy fuck, there’s nothing gentle about Mischief! The guy is grinning ear to ear the entire time, so transparently loving that uncorked chaos Sir Dark is serving up. Two things in particular about Mischief make me swoon. One is just how much delight he takes in muscle bullying a smaller opponent. No apologies. No giving a little guy a fighting chance. He just licks his lips and tucks in to the bite sized morsels with relish. The other thing that catches my eye and turns me on about Mischief is this go to move he has of buttoning an opponent up and just clamping his huge hand over the guy’s face and refusing to let the fucker breathe. He does that more than once, and it’s such a fucking BOSS move.

There are some other new-to-me wrestlers that instantly impress me. I’ve seen Feroce DeLeon on Watchfighters before, but I was not expecting just how much absolute abuse his hot body can soak up. I met Kevin Nova at that fest in Toronto a couple of years ago, and he’s buffed up and gotten super aggressive in a way that makes him fit right into this wild melee. I’ve followed Demonflex on social media for what seems like forever. We’ve had near-misses at scheduling a 1:1 for the two of us, and watching how much fun he has swimming in this chaos makes me want to make sure that meet up happens soon. Veneno is this tasty little masked scrapper who looks like he should get submitted super fast based on nothing but size, but there’s a short king under that mask who is taking on everyone and in the center of the fray at all times and holding his own like a terrier. For some reason I think I have seen Neil Rey somewhere, but I’m not placing him, but he’s fascinating to watch come in and join this big boy gang triple teaming the little guy on the mat at the time.

That little guy is the other new-to-me wrestler epiphany that caught my attention out of everything happening at once in the maelstrom. Honestly, I was worried about pretty boy B Sprite when he first showed up. I mean, this kid is pretty. Too pretty, and lithe, and lean, and he ends up in the turbulent waters right when there’s the likes of big, burly bad asses ripping into each other like Isaac and Kayden and Neil. I have to immediately reassess lovely B Sprite, though, when he doesn’t skip a beat, and half a second after stepping onto the mat he’s got a claw working on twisting Mickey’s balls off. Lovely B Sprite is fucking mean and skilled, and sure, maybe I’m just identifying with him because he goes after Mickey like he’s got blinders on.

Writing a review of the Rumble is a bit like trying to film it, I suspect. There’s just so many mini-dramas playing out, it’s impossible to see them all in one viewing. Actually, it’s impossible to see them all upon repeated viewings, because the camera misses some of the action on one side the mat while documenting the grappling on the other side of the mat. Like, I’m not sure what drove terrier-like Veneno to actually submit, because the camera and I were enthralled with watching Kayden lift Mickey by the balls, cradling the wailing Canadian across his chest, and then slamming Mickey down in a brutal gut buster. If you like clean edges and drawing within the lines, the Rumble may not be for you, because it’s super raw and spontaneous and messy. And I’m convinced every single one of those wrestlers is having an absolute blast because he loves wrestling, and he’s exhilarated by the chaotic brew Sir Dark is serving on tap.

I’m going to towel off and settle in for the Rumble part 2, now. I had no idea this was exactly the international wrestling drama I needed to take my mind off the end times!

Wrestlefest Live – 2025

February 26, 2025March 4, 2025 wrestlebard6 Comments

Like Wrestlefest itself, Wrestlefest Live grew in leaps and bounds this year. I attended WF Live last year, and it was an awesome, fascinating, intense, and immensely entertaining event. Last year, the Live show had the feel of getting smuggled into a speakeasy during prohibition. We were escorted, one elevator-full of wrestling fans at a time, to the undisclosed location. Seating was limited in a sparse, Manhattan loft space on the upper floor of a high rise. It was mat wrestling in front of an intimately small but enthusiastic crowd. The matches were bigger than the setting, really, with some fantastic, high profile wrestlers from the underground scene, stars of both self-published and corporately produced homoerotic wrestling. Seated inches away from match after match of sizzling hot bodies grappling for dominance was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before, and when the box office opened online for the show this year, I eagerly snatched mine up hours after they went on sale, which turned out to be a good thing, since the show sold out in about 12 hours.

Wrestlefest Live this year was billed as more. More matches, a lot more wrestlers (accounting for tag teams, celebrity refs, and unannounced ring takeovers, turned out to be A LOT), but the one element that piqued my interest most was the promise of a full blown pro wrestling show in a ring. I was in suspense, wondering how they’d pull this off, knowing it was set in the same club where the kickoff party had occurred the night before (see my account of drooling over Dio Characi there). I tried to moderate my expectations, frankly. I was picturing the possibility of sort of a backyard wrestling feel, but in this case, in the backroom of Red Eye. Let me be clear, I admire the fuck out of backyard wrestling, with the young wrestling enthusiasts who improvise a pro wrestling setting on the cheap in order to live out (and record and share) their fantasies of being larger than life pro wrestlers like the ones they love watching on TV. Sometimes the “ring” is a trampoline or maybe just a few traffic cones and an unsecured rope marking the imaginary boundaries of a ring. Seriously, I’ve enjoyed watching some backyard wrestling from time to time on YouTube, when I find some hot young men going all in for the raw love of it. However, I wondered if Wrestlefest Live this year might similarly require the audience to imagine more than it literally delivered, sort of like backyard wrestling enthusiasts with the passion, if not the actual equipment and budget, of indy pro wrestling.

But, whoa. Like, WHOA! This was a legit show, the actual incarnation of unapologetic pro wrestling for a homoerotic wrestling audience that I’ve always fantasized about but never quite believed I’d get to witness. Sometime between the end of the kick-off party and the start of the show, an army of elves (who I’ve since learned were primarily made of up many of the wrestlers in the show) literally assembled a pro wrestling ring in the back room of the club. It took up about 80% of the floor space, and they packed in the 70 or 80 of us who purchased tickets into the remaining 20%. You know how eager I was for this, considering I gave up the opportunity to keep chatting up Ben Monaco, Beau Jordan, and Mickey Knoxx at the bar to elbow my way to near the front of the line as soon as the doors opened. I scored a ringside seat near the corner of the ring where the wrestlers made their entrances. I mean, everyone had an up close and incredible view, but fuck, I could literally reach out and touch the ring. When Mickey Knoxx made his ring entrance with Rocko Mortis for their tag team match, he peeled off his top and tossed it out of the ring at my feet (I haven’t asked Mickey, but I prefer to believe it was intentional). Moments later, when their opponents, Beau Jordan and pinch-hitter Seon Cruz took the ring, Beau ripped off his tear-away stripper pants and also tossed them down right in front of me (again, I tell myself it was an intentional bit of titillation especially for me). Like, fuck, I was right fucking there! When Sid Shaw and Zach Reno’s off-the-rails match spilled out of the ring, it was nearly in my lap. For a couple of seconds, Sid had a hold of my shoulder and was trying to climb over me and my buddy next to me because sensationally sexy lightweight Zach was about to thrash the living shit out of him. Fuck, I was right there, and we were ALL right there, and what played out in front of us was incredibly hot, hilarious, and gorgeous pro wrestling action.

Most of the wrestlers on the card have grown up before our eyes, turning their passions for wrestling into entertaining videos on WatchFighters. Quite a few have headlined for companies like BG East, Wrestler4Hire, and Weekend Wrestling. I suspect few of them have done anything quite like this before, pulling off a live match in front of a roaring crowd of guys turned on by wrestling. But honestly, you wouldn’t have known it. The entire show had polish about it. There was an earnestness and unblinking sell about it that was totally un-self-conscious. The slams where hard and loud. Bodies were literally catapulted off the ropes. The face plants into the turnbuckles shook the ring and hurt just to watch. The slaps and stomps popped with this spontaneous authenticity that left bright red hand prints and yellowing bruises behind. I’m mean, sure, I’m certain there were moments that I needed to suspend my disbelief, but as I look back on my memories of the event just over a week ago, I honestly don’t remember them. I just remember the stories playing out in front of us. And the hot bodies. I remember those really well.

There were competitive matches packed with impressive athleticism and wrestling technique. Babyface hero Dash Halley put those meaty pecs of his on the line against massive muscle bruiser Leon Cyrus in a best-of-5 battle that hit hard and kept us guessing to the sweaty end. My buddy Bobby Carter’s match against the institution, Lobo Gris, also started as one of those highly competitive and suspenseful battles, with pounding muscles and long, wrenching submission holds. But all of the matches showcased personalities and drama at least as much as they did stunning athleticism and technical wrestling. Both of the tag team matches were both dripping with melodrama, which is what tag team wrestling demands. When Kid Canuck and Ryan Reilly faced off against MPJ and Bruno the Beast, there was a shocking tag team partner betrayal culminating in a humiliated jobber pile of hot, sexy, demolished pretty boys. In most of the matches there was the teetering back and forth of the balance of power, with wrestlers owning the momentum and taking liberties and threatening to count their chickens before they hatched. Oh, and did I mention there was hot, hunky stripper wrestling? I feel like that deserves to be repeated.

The messiest and the most polished matches were back-to-back. My pick for messiest match was Gabe Steel taking on Drew Harper… and then Gabe taking on Dash Halley… and then Gabe taking on surprise reveal of Jonny Firestorm… and then Gabe taking on both Gabe and Drew. It was all high impact moves, with piledrivers for days. Honestly, there was so much going on I lost the thread of what the hell was exactly happening and who I was rooting for. Entertaining? Absolutely. But way, beautifully messy. The Weekend Wrestling feature of the evening was pretty much the opposite. Sadistic Sid Shaw took on Zach Reno, as I mentioned before, and it was smooth and polished to a glistening shine (just like Zach’s ass, which yes, we saw). Sid and Zach told the story of the underdog little (hot) guy refusing to be intimidated by the big, unhinged muscle brute. There was forced stripping, trunks pulled to show off two sets of hot glutes, and spanking. It was tightly told, with a couple of extensively experienced wrestlers to make every bump and spank feel spontaneous and part of a bigger story, including pulling in some ass whooping on Cole Cassidy (Weekend Wrestling Producer) which was oddly satisfying (not sure why I keyed off on seeing heartthrob hunk heel Cole get his ass kicked as much as I did).

And then there were just these unique moments that speak to the diversity of wrestlers and wrestling that populate this fabulously sexy community. Sir Dark’s match was just entirely off the hook and unlike anything else in the ring that night (in a super fun way). He was feral and bloodthirsty, out to fuck someone up so bad that he impulsively takes out the ref before a pop-up challenger can be identified from the audience. When KC Ryder steps in to be the beautiful blond babyface hero to stand against the forces of chaos uncorked by maniacal Sir Dark, the drama really got intense. Their match was ego-fueled and larger than life. It was sexy as hell and had me holding my breath in suspense and awe. Not sure if I’m conveying it, but it was just a whole different flavor to add to the buffet of Wrestlefest Live. The inaugural championship match between beefy babyface Ben Monaco and take-no-prisoners muscle heel Tarz Lando was (possibly) the the most thoroughly sweet treat for squash fans. The championship belt was decided in a super hot muscle massacre, dripping with cocky swagger and taunting trash talk and gorgeous, huge hairy pecs everywhere. The range throughout the evening was delightful, and the bench was deep.

It wasn’t perfect. There was a 20-minute delay at one point to try to troubleshoot the livestream that stopped working. There were blown moves, an occasional oversell, and even a frew more undersells. I saw Gabe Steel icing a swollen-shut eye after his match, and I’ve seen hints on social media that he may have more story to tell about things that didn’t go to plan. But as a gay fan turned on by wrestling, by sexy wrestlers and the drama and the battle for domination, it was magnificent. It was larger than life. From the rainbow ring to the ball claws and face sitting, it luxuriantly gay. It showed a ton of respect for the art and science and athleticism and beauty of professional wrestling. And it felt deeply respectful to a standing-room-only crowd of homoerotic wrestling fans. Those with credits for this sensational production included KC Ryder, Rocko Mortis, Cole Cassidy, and my cousin Scooter for what had to be a shit ton of upfront organizing and legwork, and there was another small army of guys holding the cameras and running the equipment. A quick shout out to the hot, handsome nerd-hunk ring announcer who should’ve thrown down the mic and ripped off his shirt (but didn’t). All of the celebrity refs (Chase Addams, Ethan Axel Andrews, and new-to-me muscle god Boy Radio) brought the sexy-in-stripes vibe and helped stir the pot of drama inside the ring at every turn. The Red Eye staff were uniformly delightfully hospitable and gorgeous (especially the bearded server with that hot-ass singlet serving drinks at ringside). I look forward to posting more detailed reviews once the matches go up on WatchFighters, but in the meantime, I’m combing through my hundreds of pics and videos I snapped, despite the announcement at the start of the show encouraging us to only take pics and videos “sparingly.” So not sorry!

A Few Are Familiar With Me

February 15, 2025 wrestlebard2 Comments

I’ve been flying a bit under the radar this year for Wrestlefest NYC, but I’m happy to report that I’m back to enjoy it again this weekend. It’s a bit wild how quickly events like this went from being crazy intimidating to me the first time to just cruising in and looking forward to seeing old friends. Reports are that this is likely the biggest fest by far, with more than 600 attendees having RSVPed. I know for a fact some of the RSVPs didn’t show, and there’s really no “registration” or check-in, so how many wrestlers have descended on Penn Station this weekend is unknowable. However, based on the opening kick-off party last night, I’m convinced there is a huge collection of wrestlers concentrated in just a few city blocks in downtown Manhattan right now, and it’s pretty exciting to be part of it.

The kick-off party last night was overstimulating in every way. Scooter and his tireless band of volunteer organizers put together an amazing event at a club devoted, for the evening, to just those of us here for Wrestlefest. Two floors were packed pec-to-pec with sensationally hot wrestlers in singlets, trunks, or less. The eye candy was dizzying. Bodies in all shapes and sizes were there, but one mantra kept echoing in my thoughts about absolutely everyone: “Fuck, wrestling does a body good!”

Everywhere I turned was another homoerotic wrestling celebrity sighting. Many of them I count as friends, but are nonetheless members of the pantheon that set alight the homoerotic wrestling fantasies of so many of us. Canadian Mickey Knoxx was there wearing nothing but irony (i.e., an American flag leather jacket and star-spangled ultra briefs). I also got a hug in on Bobby Carter, showing off the body that’s been setting BG East and Watchfighters on fire this year. It felt like coming home, getting sweaty hugs from Drake Marcos, Chase Addams, and Ollie Watts.

Just as exciting was meeting some new friends for the first time in person. I may, or may not, have awkwardly insisted on giving Beau Jordan a hug. I mean hell, I can’t really start my day without a strong cup of black tea and Beau’s fashion singlet morning jerk off on Blue Sky, so I feel like I know him intimately despite having never met before last night. It was Sir Dark who gave me an spontaneous hug after figuring out I’m the guy he’s chatted with on social media and who’s been swooning over his Watchfighters matches. I unabashedly fanboy-ed on Steve Mason, who managed to be disarmingly and smolderingly magnetic despite being one of the few there in street clothes.

It’s hard to describe just how overstimulated I was, hoarse from shouting over the noise, packed in tight with acres of sexy wrestlers, some of whom I only managed to admire from a distance. I’m not ashamed to say I swooned over JJ Allen’s tree trunk thighs, Lobo Gris’ magnificent ass, and Tarz Lando’s huge, hairy pecs. I clocked celebrity sightings of Matt Larsen, Rocko Mortis, Nero the Beast, Isaac Andrews, and Ben Monaco. I introduced myself to Ryan Reilly, who’s been grabbing my attention on social media lately, and discovered that’s he’s as adorably charming as he is stunningly sexy.

At one point, I caught sight of this blindly hot hunk across the way waiting for a drink at the bar. I didn’t get a good look at his face at first, distracted as I was by his hot body poured into this absolutely perfect singlet. When I did finally get a look at his face, I knew that I know him… like, know him well! But, still, it took me a good half a minute before I realized who I was eye fucking: Dio Characi. Dio traveled as part of a herd of devastatingly sexy, gorgeous young hotties in singlets, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to fanboy. I blatantly interrupted his conversation with his hot, bearded companion (truly sorry, bearded hot guy), and managed to introduce myself. Now, I’ve chatted just a bit with Dio by DM before, but for some reason, I was nervous as hell. He’s almost ethereally beautiful. I mean, one of the epiphanies for me last night was that every single wrestler I’ve lusted over watching wrestle on video was even more stunningly beautiful in person by at least a magnitude of 5. But Dio was even more stunningly beautiful than he is on video by a magnitude of 12 (approximately). I honestly kept thinking that I should probably let him get back to grazing with his herd of gorgeous hotties, but no shit, his face lit up when he placed that I was “that guy” who writes about him. Turns out, he’s charming as fuck (sorry Chase), seemingly almost as delighted to be fanboyed as I was to fanboy. I had to explain to a friend who was with us who Dio was (I know, and I totally agree with you… I need to slap that friend upside the head someday for somehow NOT knowing who Dio Characi is). And I was explaining, in front of Dio, that Dio is a wrestling superstar. And Dio quietly, demurely shrugged his big, muscular shoulders and shyly corrected me: “A few are familiar with me.” Lest my poorly informed friend believe the grossest undersell of the century, I repeated more emphatically that Dio is a fucking SUPERSTAR! And I kid you not, Dio practically blushed, and again, humbly insisted, “A few are familiar with me.”

I say all this for a couple of reasons. One reason is to just fucking brag that I had a delightful, real life conversation with Dio Characi. If I die in the forecast blizzard on my way home tomorrow, I still say it was worth it. But really, my point is just what a delight it is to get to swim around in so much good will in this wrestling community of ours. I mean, sure, there are egos. There’s drama. Literally, I overheard in the deafening din of the club last night conversations about ageism and racism and body fascism. It’s not like being united by a shared delight in homoerotic wrestling breaks down all biases and barriers and makes us better human beings. However, I do suspect it might make us, on average, happier human beings – and not in just an “I’ve got mine” sort of way. I suspect a large majority of the hundreds in attendance last night shared, at least briefly, the same sense of wonder and awe that I experienced at the size and scope of the community gathered there, and the unmistakable fact that who was there was just the tip of the iceberg. It’s bold and ballsy and beautiful, and it’s something to be celebrated. What divides us doesn’t surprise me at all, and I don’t mean to minimize it, but what unites us and what seemed to infuse that loud, sweaty club full of wrestlers last night, was a shared passion and the remarkable good will that can emerge from being community together.

Simply the Best

January 26, 2024 wrestlebard4 Comments

In the past, I’ve talked with more than one on-camera wrestler who’s described their strong ambivalence about the year-end award seasons. From a fan perspective, it’s all fun and games, speculating on our favorites and comparing our picks with the the average votes of other fans. I imagine from a company’s perspective, it’s just good marketing, drumming up attention on the catalogs they’ve logged over the previous 12 months and maybe giving a little extra sales push from the attention. And I’ve heard wrestlers sincerely excited to be nominated, enjoying the love sent their way whether they win or lose. But I’ve understood the sentiment when wrestlers have described how it can be actively invalidating at times. Like, maybe they were so proud of a particular match that they starred in, but it wasn’t even nominated. Or they worked so fucking hard for months in a caloric deficit to make those abs pop, but didn’t get a mention. Honestly, the LAST thing I want is for a hot, eager homoerotic wrestler to feel invalidated for putting themselves out there. That’s the opposite of what this blog is about. Let’s all normalize the celebration of all sexy wrestlers following their passions on camera for our enjoyment!

That said, I still find myself getting swept up in the awards season hoopla. Jakob commented here a few weeks ago that he’d like to hear my personal picks, just in case my tastes might direct his attention somewhere fun. That seems cool to me and, hopefully, in the spirit of validating the beauty and art of homoerotic wrestling. So, I’ll reflect a little on the nominees and winners of the BG East Besties, and weigh in with any additional nominees I’d like to add, in the spirit of hopefully reinforcing more of my favorite wrestling hunks to keep going at it.

The slate of Sexiest Match nominees was super competitive, so kudos to the nominating committee (yeah, yeah, I’m on the committee)! And, honestly, the fan favorite winner, X-Fights 58: Dio Characi vs. Kayden Keller, was my pick. But if you’re looking for top tier sexy fucking wrestling, all of the nominees are golden. Wrestle Worship 5 was also on my short list. Mat Scraps 4 makes me salivate like Pavlov’s dog just thinking about it. Into burly bear daddies beating the living fuck out of hardbodied twinks? Dive into X-Fights 58 match 1. Really, anything with Dio and/or Forrest in it. Or Zach. The only match from my short list that didn’t get into the nominations was Ruff ‘n’ Raunchy 7 with debuting Zach Ramos burning down the house against rising erotic muscle heel Gabe Steel.

Best Mat Battle nominees also strong, though there were so many hot and hard fought mat battles this year. My top pick was Mickey and Forrest in Undagear 37, which was nominated but didn’t get the fan vote. Fuck, the intensity in that match made me felt like I was the one taking all those vicious slaps to the face! I also had Mat Scraps 4, because… see my comments above regarding anything with Dio and/or Forrest.

Best Ring Match was a foregone conclusion for me, and apparently for the majority of voters. Anything that starts with “welcome Brad Rochelle back to the ring” was destined to make me lose several loads. The Comeback 3 might have been competitive for that reason alone, but fuck no, Brad, Jonny, and debuting Kal Connors all three made that match crazy hot, hilarious, and flinch-worthy vicious! My short list also had the Hunkbash 29 tag team of Firestorm/Steel vs. rookies Vigo/Angeles, because it was so unexpectedly off the rails spontaneous and messy. Like, so fucking fiercely messy, I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. And by “it” I mean more than just Vinny’s ass. But… yeah, Vinny’s ass. But again, I’ve got nothing but love for all of the nominees. Any other year, and any of them could’ve owned the crown. But “welcome Brad Rochelle back to the ring” is the anthem of 2023, as far as I’m concerned.

For Best Body, here’s particularly where I don’t want anyone to feel invalidated, because the quality of hot bodies on camera in 2023 was just so insanely high. Last year’s winner and my pick again was Dio, but newcomer Kal Connor stole the title from him. And fuck, Kal… yep, a fucking stunningly crafted body, particularly for the fitness and aesthetics. Like, Kal beating out Monstah Mike (runner up) sort of sums up the quandry of a contest like this. Just two completely different physiques, both jaw droppingly hot, both get me hard the instant I see them, both the product of a genetic lottery and a whole lot of hard fucking work. Tanner, Tony, Vinny… the also-rans are all deleriously sexy hot bodied hunks. I nominated Tony and Vinny, in addition to Dio. But honestly, if we accept that differently built bodies make equally legitimate claims to be best, I’d add Forrest, Jesse, Hayden, Jason/George, Paris. All you boys who’ve got the balls to stare the camera in the eye and flash those double biceps wearing nothing left to the imagination… you ALL rock me hard.

The Top Heel category brings up a little controversy for me. The title officially switched hands after Kayden owned it for the better part of the past decade. It returned to the hands of former winner and institution, Jonny, so that makes sense. At the risk of bumping into Kayden or Jonny sometime and getting my ass kicked, I have to say that I nominated and voted for Brendan. Kayden’s loss to Ace Aarons in Ruff ‘n’ Raunchy 7 honestly shook me out of Kayden’s corner. That match still sort of haunts me for the drama and the seriously weird dynamics of the heel-on-heel story. Nobody on the list is undeserving, but I’m honestly keying in lately more to the likes of Brendan and Mike.

Dio Characi, repeated for Top Babyface. When you look up babyface in the dictionary, it should have his picture. I think every match description I’ve written for him and every review I’ve done has used the word “cherubic.” Fuck… again, see my comments above about anything Dio floating my boat. Sunny DeLeon also just embodies that babyface vibe. Honestly, though, I actually nominated Lobo Gris, Damian Pike, and Kal Connor. Though Damian didn’t make it to the ballot, I stand by him deserving the nod. Runner-up Jason/George didn’t even occur to me, not because he’s not devastatingly handsome, but just because he has a “fuck you” edge to him that makes me not think of him quite as a babyface. But again, all good, particularly if we add Damian…. and Mickey.

Forrest as Jobber of the Year again just fits. Dude has a corner on the market of pissing off heels in just the right way to get his SENSATIONAL ass (more on that in a moment) kicked harder and harder. He was my pick, and my nominee Freddy also got to the ballot. My other nominee was Kal, who didn’t get to the category, probably because we’re all still trying to peg exactly what role he inhabits most naturally in the BGE universe. Runner-Up Tanner is a sensational sufferer, of course. Damian is totally worthy. Hayden was a steller muscle jobber, but he was in only one match, his debut, late in the year, so I feel like timing was just off for him.

Debut of the Year went to Kal, who wasn’t even on my shortlist, but not because he doesn’t deserve the accolade. I just felt he also showed up pretty late in the year, giving us only a couple of glimpses, which isn’t his fault, but it did make me settle my nominations and vote elsewhere. Mickey Knoxx was, hands down, my pick for this category. I cannnot get enough of him ever since I caught his debut, and he’s kept coming in his rookie year showing something new and intense and fucking SEXY every time out of the gate. Really, same for my second place pick of Zach Ramos. I nominated Tony for this category because I could only nominate three, and I literally flipped a coin between Vinny and Tony for that third spot. Didn’t matter, though, because he didn’t make the slate. But I felt like, again, he just did more and showed more than, say, Ronin or Hayden did. Every one of them, including Tony and Vinny, were a sensational bench of rookies this year, though. No complaints from me, to be honest.

Now with the body part categories, see my comments above about celebrating EVERYONE. Voters picked Kal for best abs. The stunningly pretty boy probably hasn’t had a carb in years to craft that 6-pack, so of course that makes sense. And runner up Rocky… same. I actually voted for Jason/George because his abs just scream to me for someone to pound on them, which opponents almost always do, and his gut is a wall of muscle in a way that doesn’t show up quite like the classic 6-pack. Same for Dio, really… I really want to do a body shot off of his beautiful abs. Hayden and Vinny… totally. Either of them could show up and OWN this house based on the raw material.

The Best Bulge vote is always super personal, right? I didn’t even nominate Dio, but please, do, give him any award, because that Brazilian god is fucking priceless. I’m not even really sure what I’m looking for in a nominee for Best Bulge anymore, without Mr. Joshua or Pete Sharp in the mix. I nominated Brendan and Zach because I’ve fixated on their bulges this year, but neither of them got to the slate. Happy to celebrate runner-up Forrest’s bulge (and ANYTHING else we want to celebrate about him… see my several comments above about him and Dio owning it). And totally, Ash, Ace, Tanner, Kal… nice bulges, hotties! Kal’s peekabo wardrobe malfunction (<–credit there to my buddy AR who I first heard refer to Kal’s balls popping out in Comeback that way) was another sexy moment that made 2023 quite memorable for me. Honestly, though, all bulges are perfect, in my book, when they’re attached to a fierce grappling hunk.

And then there’s the Best Butt category. Winner Monstah Mike was third on my shortlist, so no real complaints there. Him shoving Brendan’s face between those monstrously massive cheeks sort of drove home just what an awesome claim he has on that title. And before I bitch, let me just say I am such a huge fan of all of the other nominees on the list. Now I’ve gotten that out of the way… WHAT… THE… FUCK with the omission of Mickey Knoxx and Forrest Taylor’s DAZZLINGLY sexy glutes!? Honestly, in my mind, I just kept going back to Mickey and Forrest’s match in Undagear 37 to try to decide which ass I crushed on hardest. It was Mickey’s, by the way. But more to the point, neither of these guys even hit the slate!?!? This is not the first time this category has born my wrath. This is one of those moments where I turn into a raving fanatic who CANNOT see how my infatuations (Mickey and Forrest’s asses) objectively were overlooked for this category. Someone’s thumb was on this scale. I call for an official inquiry. I call shenanigans, damn it!!!!!

Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, I can be more magnanimous with the last of the categories I wanted to send up. Hottest Liplock… see my half a dozen comments above about Dio and Forrest. I actually give my vote to Forrest and Mickey’s angry hot liplock in Undagear 37, but it’s a toss up among so many scorching hot kisses. Personally, I put Zach and Lobo’s HUNGRY face sucking in second place from Florida Fights 11, but it just goes to show how hard it can be to compare different styles and tones of liplocks. All awesome nominees. All hail Dio and Kayden for a well deserved victory!

Any of you hot, hardworking wrestlers that didn’t get a nomination or were nominated, but didn’t win… I see you. You’re fucking sensational, just the way you are. This little awards exercise is all about us and our whims and peculiarities, and marketing, and not about what fucking sensationally sexy, gorgeous, courageous, fierce, and fabulous athletes you are. If you ever need a little validation, hit me up. I will tell it to you straight (well…. you know what I mean), and I can guarantee you, I think you’re a fucking star!

No Laughing Matter

December 27, 2023 wrestlebard3 Comments

I have on more review in the queue for the year-end releases, but I think this will be my final review to post this year. And fuck, Mickey Knoxx and Forrest Taylor’s Undagear 37 match is the cream of the 2023 crop! I knew I was going to be all over this pairing. I’ve spent a LOT of time in 2023 adoring them separately, so I was anxiously anticipating this release since I first got wind of it. My expectations were high, and the heat and sweat and intensity of this match exceeds them.

There are a few “themes” to this match that will speak to different kinks, I imagine. The most explicit theme is tickling. Personally, I have a complicated relationship to tickling that dates back to being held down by my big brother as a kid and tickle-tortured. That’s the vibe, right there, when Mickey’s hands stray from his sweetly sexy, generous massage of Forrest’s back to tauntingly tickle the red-headed lumberjack’s sides. Turns out both of these wrestlers are ticklish, and the difference between their groaning, writhing sell of wrestling punishment in contrast to their frantic flopping, kicking, yelping scramble when they’re tickled, leaves me thinking that, no shit, these sexy boys are legitimately ticklish. From start to finish, there’s this intense bully-tickle theme, as both beauties work to lock each other down so tightly that they can torment each other with their sadistically dancing fingers across their feet, sides, and armpits. The desperation in both of them, as they fight 3.5 times as hard to flail and flop free from their tickling predicament than they do the straightforward wrestling punishment, takes me right back to that tormented, bitterly and involuntary laughing, of my childhood nightmares.

The theme that strokes me even harder in this match, though, is the more meta-level theme of adolescent bullying. From that perspective, the tickling is just one tool in the wrestlers’ arsenals to tauntingly dominate each other with a sensationally sexy mean edge. Forrest initiates the taunting slaps to the face and seriously hard shoves to the chest. Early on, as they’re on their knees and just starting to lean in for another lock-up, the red-headed hottie suddenly slaps his palms against Mickey’s chest and shoves him so hard that the French Canadian flies completely out of the frame. Then, when Mickey comes back into frame, he’s a cruise missile in flight, in a soaring, irritated, mean flying tackle that knocks Forrest to his back with authority!

Fuck, I love that heat! The mean edge to this entire match is such a fucking turn on to me, and it certainly appears to ignite some hungry lust in Forrest and Mickey. So, it’s not just climbing on top and physically dominating their opponent. It’s not just indulging in the spoils of victory by stealing hungry kisses. It’s doing all that, and then, when the wrestler on the bottom is melting, suddenly punching him in the gut, kneeing him in the balls, and/or turning the putty of the rocked hottie into a live wire of panic with more tickling. Forrest keeps amping up that mean edge in a way that seems to take Mickey (the relative rookie) by surprise. But it’s so fucking delightful to watch Mickey’s fuse get lit. That bitterness in the back of his mouth when he gets slapped in the face hard makes this handsome hottie tap into a sadistic mean side I don’t think we’ve seen from him before.

Another theme that, of course, grabs me by the balls is the truly sensational focus on two of the hottest asses in wrestling this year. Honestly, this match is sort of my fantasy pairing of the top two contenders for my vote for Best Ass of 2023. And, as if channeling me, Forrest and Mickey take delight in each other’s luscious glutes. There are repeated fold over pins where the wrestler on top wedgies his opponent’s undagear to expose those magnificent glutes. When it’s Mickey’s turn, he kneads and spanks Forrest’s alabaster cheeks until they are an angry, visibly hot shade of dark red. Fuck, Forrest’s ass is so fucking lush!

Forrest gives Mickey’s ass the passionate attention it deserves, as well. In fact, Forrest cops a feel of Mickey’s gorgeous body repeatedly whenever the handsome rookie is on top of him. Previous opponent’s have just not shown Mickey’s stunning physique sufficient love, as far as I’m concerned, but Forrest’s groping hands know exactly what I’m thinking whenever I see Mickey in action. But it’s when Forrest is on top, with his opponent’s sensational ass in his sights, that his brilliance really shines through. He wedgies and spanks and kneads Mickey’s golden glutes, sure. But he also bites them and licks them and yanks Mickey’s white briefs down to completely expose them. I don’t know if I was ever as convinced in a match that a wrestler was thinking and feeling exactly what I’m thinking and feeling, as when Forrest is squeezing and tasting and spreading Mickey’s straining, quivering cheeks.

So there are those themes to stroke various kinks and tastes… tickling, bullying, adoration of asses. But for any fan of homoerotic wrestling itself, the intensity of the competitive side of this match is just sensationally sexy. Fuck, Forrest’s scissors make me swoon as hard as they, quite clearly, make Mickey suffer. There’s an unscripted scrambling edge to the action that feels spontaneous and ego-driven. When Mickey smoothly and decisively pries Forrest open in a banana split spladle, just owning his quivering handstrings and taking possession of the red-head’s balls, the sweat and pain and delight painted across the entire scene is classic wrestling kink. The story grows suspenseful as the action turns ragged and bitter near the end of the 30+ minutes. They’re evenly matched in size, skill, and intensity, and I don’t know who’s going to score that last submission, until the loser is getting his face pounded with the victor’s grinding crotch, alternating with the victor’s hungry lips possessing the gorgeous loser’s mouth.

Fuck, I don’t know if this settles who gets my vote as having the Best Ass of 2003. This very well may include my vote for Hottest Liplock of the year. I do know for certain, however, that Mickey Knoxx, fiercely aggressive and bitter, executing offense with authority and looking like a total badass BOSS, is deliriously sexy! And that punkish, taunting, mean edge to Forrest has never been more successful in starting a inferno that the bearded babyface beauty may, or may not, be able to handle.

Artistic Liberties

November 8, 2023 wrestlebard6 Comments

Mickey Knoxx is asking for it. I mean, just showing up on the mats, looking like does, that body, those eyes, that ass squeezed into sensationally tight gear… fuck, he’s asking for a seriously hungry fight. But more than just subtext, he shows up in BG East’s X-Fights 60 to pick a fight. Mickey’s an artist (not just a kayfabe gimmick… I’ve seen his sketches on social media and the dude is fucking amazingly talented!). He offered to focus his talented eye on the seductive form of Freddy Campbell in repose. I guess Freddy follows him on social media, too, because he jumped at the chance to be the subject of a Knoxx pen-and-paper original. Energizer-bunny-earnest Freddy jumps up with excitement when Mickey finally puts down his pen and lets Freddy finally take a look at his masterpiece. “Um, this is not a picture of me posing,” Freddy says, suddenly a lot less excited. “This is a picture of you giving me a wedgie.”

“Well, you know,” Mickey says with a sly smirk. “I took some artistic liberties.” See what I mean? Mickey fucking wants a fight!

The chemistry between Freddy and Mickey in this match fascinates me. Just physically speaking, the two of them, squaring off, is a pretty dramatic story. BG East claims that Freddy is 3 inches taller and 25 pounds heavier than Mickey, and I bet that’s pretty accurate, but somehow the contrast seems even more stark to me. Freddy fucking dwarfs Mickey, on the one hand. But on the other hand, Mickey reads more dangerous to me. He’s got this savvy, sexy chill about him that makes me think he’s a heavy equipment operator, skilled at pushing buttons and pulling levers to make big guys do what he wants.

The action is instantly fucking mean! I mean, the opening offense is Freddy grabbing the artist by the balls and dragging him around the mat room by them. Yanking the living fuck out of each other’s testicles is a delightfully recurring theme throughout, and it’s coldly vicious and relentless. Sometimes, homoerotic wrestlers abuse each other’s balls and it’s sort of tentative, you know? Like they’re a little hesitant to seriously crank on those raw nerve endings with gusto. Freddy fucking goes AT it like Mickey’s balls are a fun pack of silly putty. And Mickey returns the favor with some extra muscle and a twist of the wrist. I don’t know if all that vicious heat comes from Freddy’s insulted artistic sensibilities, or if back-hoe operator Mickey is just over there punching buttons and getting things down and dirty like he likes it.

Mickey got squashed in his debut match against Chase Addams in Jobberpaloozer 22, and I have to say, it’s really delightful to see him dish out some sweet, sweaty punishment here on the mats against Freddy. In a sensationally erotic case of life imitating art, he grabs the back of Freddy’s low-cut red singlet and wedgies the hell out of Freddy’s famously round ass. Fuck, Mickey’s hot body working hard, his biceps flexing as he rips the fucking seams of Freddy’s gear apart, is intoxicating to watch! His sweaty dragon sleeper on the veteran babyface is lush, pounding the trapped stud’s spine across his knee, clawing his balls, wringing him out, and smothering Freddy buried deep up his armpit.

Mickey collapses like a house of cards, though, when Freddy goes back to his bread-and-butter offense in this match: his padlock ball claw. I don’t know if it’s this fucking hot because of Freddy’s adorably innocent-looking babybabybaby face contrasted with his sadistic sneer and vicious low blows, or if it’s this hot because or Mickey’s hot, muscled bod quivering and quaking in agony as he writhes and screams. Okay, of course the answer is both.

Freddy reads my mind when he rips Mickey’s singlet off and steps back to admire that scorching hot bod. “So much muscle, and nowhere to go,” he says, with the big, bad babyface bruiser mounted on top of him in a schoolboy, pinning Mickey’s wrists to the mat under Freddy’s knees. When he’s really working up a head of steam, yanking so hard on Mickey’s super brief trunks that he can nearly stretch the back of them over Mickey’s head, the real star of the show for me comes into focus. At one point Freddy has Mickey’s arms tied behind his back, and Freddy just dives in and kneads the Canadian stunner’s dazzlingly sexy glutes, and again, I’m pretty sure Freddy is reading my mind.

Mickey is precisely as vicious in turn, mind you. He literally rips Freddy’s gear apart at the seams, getting it off of him. When he’s returning the favor of that nasty schoolboy pin bullying earlier, Mickey grabs Freddy by the wrists and forces the trapped hunk’s hands to rub all over Mickey’s bronzed, beautiful torso. Yeah, nobody (not Freddy, not Mickey, not me) is hating that moment.

The “winner” shoots his load, but honestly, I’ve lost mine way, way earlier… like somewhere around the time that Freddy is ripping Mickey in two in that crotch pillow foldover spladle (<–my name for it, trademark pending). I’m pretty sure a trained eye should be able to certify a prostate exam just from watching the video, but fuck, Mickey’s magical ass (I mean, seriously, 7th year Hogwarts advanced standing wizardry has gone into making that ass that fucking gorgeous!!!) makes me swoon. His screeching, whimpering, toe-curling sell sends me there, too, of course.

And if I hadn’t already lost my load on Mickey’s ass in the spladle (hmmm, let me just let that image linger a little…), by the time that Freddy yanks the snarky, sexy, hot bodied beauty up in a bearhug, I’ve definitely lost it (to be honest, lost it again… like, at least the third time by that point in the match). It’s a stroke of genius on Freddy’s part, the way he yanks on that wedgie and bounces Mickey’s clenched cheeks for days until the snarky, bad ass visual and performance artist screams his submission.

Fuck, this match is intense! I love the ferocity. I love how these boys are holding nothing back. I hope someone has framed that Mickey Knoxx original sketch, and while they’re at it, framed the shredded remains of Mickey’s orange trunks. This is one of those matches where it’s rough and mean and nasty, and it seamlessly veers of the tracks of caring who’s “winning,” because wrestling like this is 100% erotic.

And Mickey’s ass needs a fucking award! Immediately!

Dirty Wrestling Pride

August 14, 2023 wrestlebard6 Comments

I took my first Uber ride two weeks ago. I mention this only to demonstrate an enduring truth about me: I am almost never an early adopter. My iPhone is about 7 generations old. A friend was harassing me just a couple days ago for not having Venmo. It’s not that I’m an avowed Luddite. I’m just such a devoted creature of habit. If what I’ve got in hand is working just fine, I tend to stick with it.

Mickey Knoxx gets stretched, broken, and crushed at the same time by Masked Menace

For several years, I’ve been curious about the clips of self-produced content that I’ve seen wrestlers posting on social media. OnlyFans, GumRoad, Watchfighters, JustForFans… on the one hand, I’ve always thought good on you. It’s got a little bit of the vibe of the proletariat reclaiming the direct fruits of their own labor. But, on the other hand, as I was recently talking with Txwresl about, it makes me worried for the homoerotic wrestling industry that has been a lifeline for me and so many others. Is there a risk of flooding the market with so much homoerotic wrestling content that the potential reward for any one producer is too little to make it worth anyone’s time to continue creating and innovating?

The hot-bodied rookie ROCKS the legendary heel… for a while….

I don’t know the answers to any of the big questions, but like adding the Uber app to my iPhone, I recently decided to sample the wild and woolly world of WatchFighters. My first impression was that the platform is overwhelming. Along the lines of my concerns about whether too much content may dilute the stream, I have a tough time finding what I’m looking for on WatchFighters, if I don’t already know what I’m looking for (if you know what I mean). Taking the advice of a friend (thanks, Bobby!), I looked up a content producer that I was already familiar with and found a match between two wrestlers I already knew I was turned on by, namely established veteran heel Masked Menace and one of my most recent crushes, BG East babyface rookie Mickey Knoxx.

Masked Menace puts the babyface in his place

Dirty Wrestling Pride, available on Watchfighters and GumRoad, takes place in a hotel room, where fresh meat Mickey is stretching out on the bed in sensationally snug rainbow trunks. The moment Masked Menace hits the scene, he’s in Mickey’s face. “Do you know who I fucking am?” The hunky, hairy, infamous masked veteran flexes, like maybe his bulging bicep might remind him. Of course, Mickey knows. “And you’re a fucking mouse, right,” Menace asks, contempt dripping from his lips. “I’m going to kick your ass, boy.”

Mickey pretty quickly has more than his fill of being taunted and degraded, of being shoved in his gorgeous pecs and grabbed by the balls. He snags the infamous masked heel in a side headlock and throws him down to the bed. He schoolboy pins Menace, slamming his crotch into that legendary masked face. “You want this? You think you can have it?!” Masked Menace snarls back, “fuck you,” but it’s pretty muffled and incoherent, his mouth gagged with Mickey’s eager package. Mickey just keeps rolling, not letting up an ounce of pressure, punishing the stunned heel with smothering headscissors. He slaps the frustrated heel in the masked face, taunting and sneering, rolling him up in a foldover pin. Mickey cock pins his opponent’s face, pumping his hips passionately, before staring those impossibly milky blue eyes directly into the camera, and taunting. “You’re going to make me pay for this? Who’s the fucking menace now?!” Holy fuck. Mickey serving up babyface rookie revenge is fucking sweet!

Mickey gets an impressive string of licks in, before a punch to his rainbow clad balls brings his menacing reign to an abrupt end. I’ve never heard Masked Menace as verbal in his BG East matches as he is with Mickey. His thick accent is dripping with contempt as he relentlessly trash talks dazzlingly pretty Mickey. “These balls are fucking mine, boy,” he growls, clawing the fuck out of the prettyboy’s crotch. Mickey’s balls take about 15 solid minutes of pounding, interrupted occasionally by the heel stroking the rookie’s cock so passionately that I can’t tell if Mickey is on the edge of passing out from the pain or cumming in ecstasy. “I can feel this fucking big hard cock, here. I know you enjoy that,” Masked Menace growls, his domination squirreling directly under Mickey’s flawless skin. “Because you’re my boy. My fucking prettyboy playboy.”

It’s a hotel bed, so it’s pretty fucking impressive when the seasoned heel scoops Mickey up in his arms, cradling him across his powerful, hairy chest, before pounding him down with authority into a long, lingering over-the-knee backbreaker. “This big, hard cock is fucking mine,” Masked Menace says again, and fuck it… I believe him! He slides his hand inside Mickey’s pouch, back and forth between crushing his balls and stroking his cock. Mickey looks like he has no fucking clue if he’s cumming or going. His entire body shakes with sobs (or rising orgasm?) when he’s stretched out in a leg nelson, the heel eventually unhooking one leg to continue pounding and stroking Mickey relentlessly back and forth. “You feel that?” It’s not like Masked Menace had to ask, considering every muscle in Mickey’s body is taut in response. “Yesssssss,” Mickey hisses, equally unnecessary, but fuck, so fucking sexy to watch him seemingly unable to stop himself from sounding like he’s just about to shoot.

Masked Menace heels the “mouse boy” for a solid 2/3rds of this 24 minute match. It’s constrained by the geography of a king size bed. They can’t help but sink into the mattress, built for comfort and not for providing a solid foundation for executing a submission hold. It’s produced thoughtfully, using two stationary cameras and some clever editing of both to lend some dimension to the tight quarters of the hotel room and show off both hot bodies locked in combat. Masked Menace is ALL about the D, but fuck, fuck, fuck, Mickey’s ass, once again, steals the show for me. There’s some clever storytelling, with the heel’s relentless call back of contempt for Mickey “the mouse” Knoxx and his foolish expectation that he could go toe-to-toe with a legend, run roughshod over him at the start, and still be conscious enough to defend himself by the time it’s all said and done.

Mickey is all sexy grit and determination to set the tone for this match

For $15.95, it’s mine to stream, pause, rewind, and watch Mickey’s rainbow covered ass flex and squirm in ecstatic agony/agonizing ecstasy all over again. Both of them pull off an aggressive wrestling-forward vibe that makes the hotel room context fade a bit into the background. It’s good storytelling, with Mickey’s early gloating rally coming back to haunt him, just like Masked Menace promised it would. Mickey’s suffering pairs exquisitely with Masked Menace’s relentless aggression and torrential trash talk. It feels sexy and suspenseful and brutal.

My sincere thanks to Masked Menace for giving me permission to post these scorching hot images! I’ll keep exploring Watchfighters. I doubt that it can fully scratch the itch that consistent production value, respect for the stream of wrestling history, and the world-building that comes from an experienced producer crafting characters and through-story, has long scratched for me. I don’t know what this all says about the future of the homoerotic wrestling industry. I don’t know if there may be a generational evolution happening, and different age cohorts within the homoerotic wrestling audience may be vying for growing or shrinking shares of new content in different formats. But I do know that Dirty Wrestling Pride entertains me and turns me on.

Je Ne Sais Quoi

June 29, 2023 wrestlebard3 Comments

BG East just dropped Catalog 169, and it’s full of exciting new matches and several new faces joining long-time favorites of mine. I immediately took a shine to the newbie babyface, so proudly from Canada, Mickey Knoxx, debuting in Jobberpaloozer 22.

This will sound like bullshit, but I’m going say it, and I absolutely mean it. The first thing about Mickey that entrances me are his eyes. They’re dazzlingly pretty, like impossibly so. Some joker who wrote the match description for the website calls them “piercingly ice blue,” but I’m not even sure if that’s right. They’re fluorescent gray somehow, but I don’t think that’s a physical possibility. Does he have white irises!? Is that anatomically possible? Fuck. I can’t stop staring at his eyes. And, fuck, yes, I’m the joker that wrote that match description, so I’ve been mulling this question over for a while now.

Okay, to say that I can’t stop staring at his eyes is, actually, bullshit. I definitely start with being riveted by his eyes, but, yeah, pretty quickly I’m staring at his ass. It’s a really, really beautiful ass. I’m not the only one who thinks so. In stars and stripes trunks, representing the classic American lack of even the barest wisp of cultural humility, even uber-patriotic Chase Addams confesses “You’ve got an ass that wants to make me sing ‘O Ca-na-da!” He drives home the point by spanking Mickey’s cheeks with each syllable, while our neighbor from the north is strung up helplessly in the ropes. Fuck, I get that, Chase. That is a spankable ass!

To start this match, Mickey is just exploring the place he’s long longed to be, BG East. Chase is already in the ring, nursing a little bitterness from being stood up for an earlier scheduled match. It all starts out remarkably cordial; so much so, that I start to wonder if these two are going to wrestle or just walk off arm in arm to grab a beer together. The first spark of heat is struck when Mickey, unsolicited, offers his opinion that he brings a certain “je ne sais quoi” factor to contribute to the BG East bench. “Someone’s got beginner’s ego,” Chase chides him, seemingly bristling at the French language. “Calm down there, Mr. Canada.”

The spark erupts into a full-blown wildfire (BTW, sending my best to all of you Canadian firefighters), around the time that Chase declares that the only worthwhile Canadian contribution to the arts is Celine Dion. Mickey asks, incredulously, “Celine Dion?! I hate her.” Somewhat hilariously, Chase is visibly offended, in defense of Celine. “She’s a national treasure,” he insists. Mickey snorts derisively and snarks back, “More like national trash.”

A legitimately hot shoving match sets off Chase, who unleashes 25 minutes of what Chase does best. Always innovating new ways to crush, cripple, and humiliate an opponent, woe betide the unlucky international visitor who finds his hot ass in Chase’s sights. Mickey munches on a lush, long dragon sleeper, with his face buried in Chase’s armpit, that shows off the newbie to perfection while demonstrating the veteran’s total command of his opponent’s body. Chase is fucking cruel when he gets on a roll, and he steamrolls right over hot bodied Mickey. Knees to the gut (and lower) repeatedly drop Mickey to all fours, only to be dragged back up by his ears a second later, to do it all over again. Mickey spends a boatload of time on his knees, staring at Chase’s crotch, struggling to catch his breath, teetering, dizzy on the brink of collapsing to the mat in a heap, and reconsidering a whole lot of life choices that led up to this relentless, soul crushing rookie wrecking.

Everything is classic Chase, from the expansive use of every corner of the ring, every rope, every turnbuckle to heap on piles of crushing punishment, to the speed-up/slow-down whiplash pacing of his blinding speed interspersed with long, lingering, luxuriously held holds. And Mickey sells like he’s been doing this for years. He rides that edge of helpless whimpers and blinding panic in a way that grabs me hard. There’s this almost betrayed tinge to his grunts and groans, as if he’s bitterly thinking “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” as his dreams of taking BG East by storm come crashing spectacularly down around him. Like every babyface hero, his demolition is a brutal object lesson, disabusing him of the notion of justice. Ignore the brochures, Mickey. The U.S. is not the meritocracy we like to pretend it is. You didn’t deserve any of the insane punishment Chase doled out to you, and yet, that’s exactly what you got. Fuck clean breaks and fair play and Canadian nice.

Leaping off the top turnbuckle with Mickey in a headlock, Chase plants that handsome face into the mat in a decisive bull dog that finally puts the rookie out of his misery… at least until he wakes up and realizes he’s still stuck on the wrong side of the Peach Arch. And I totally agree with Chase’s (albeit sarcastic) assessment of the newbie, as he’s covering the sleeping canuck with an American-themed pride flag. “I think you’re going to do great at BG, kid!”