Mickey Knoxx – Page 2

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.

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!”