The competition was smoking hot and full of surprises when it came to settling the question of who is the best classic homoerotic wrestler. The dramatic finale was incredibly close, but in the end, muscle hunk Ace Hanson ripped the trunks off of Mikey Vee’s stellar ass and the title out of his hands to be voted The Best.
Since the BBB classic competition generated a lot of votes and inspired some sweet, sweet description of wrestling action, let’s tuck in to another elimination tournament to determine who, of a deep bench of vicious heels, is left standing in the end. The rules are the same: there are no rules, just like heels like it. The winner advances based on eliminating his opponent with a submission or knockout. I realize it’s a little iconoclastic to spotlight heel-on-heel action, but honestly, some of my hottest homoerotic wrestling fantasies revolve around the idea of a hardcore heel shocked, worn out, and whimpering at the mercy of his opponent.
Magnifico is hot. Sweet pecs. Somehow I can swear he’s a handsome fuck even behind that mask. The Finisher strolls in, domineering, hairy pecs bouncing, looking for a fight. He’s brawny and bulging to Magnifico’s smooth “swimmer’s body.” The hero is unimpressed, unperturbed by this villain infiltrating his lair (despite what the match description says). Magnifico cooly keeps pumping iron, doing push ups, not really paying attention to this hot, hairy muscle hunk getting all up in his face with more than a shrug and an unconcerned eye roll. And there’s this tasty do-gooder’s fatal flaw, as far as I’m concerned. As a performer, he’s underselling, but as a hot, horny homoerotic wrestler, he’s deflecting the heat that the Finisher is bringing.
“You think you’re so strong,” the Finisher monologues as Magnifico just keeps pumping out push ups, seemingly oblivious to the threat circling him. “So tough. You think you’re better than me. But today I’m here to show you that I’m the man!” The Finisher’s intentions get off to a rocky start when he tries to do dumbbell curls with the same weight Magnifico was just pumping out effortlessly. The Finisher huffs and puffs and grunts his way to one rep, as shock washes across his masked face, realizing that this silky smooth, tall drink of icy cool water clearly possesses some form of super strength that puts all of the Finisher’s hot, hairy, bulging muscles to shame. Magnifico takes the dumbbell and smirks as he pumps out another set without so much as raising his heartbeat.
This is a sweet set up. I’m so often prattling on about motivation and character and narrative tension missing in the bulk of homoerotic wrestling, but once again, Muscle Domination Wrestling is ahead of the curve when it comes to plot. Two and a half minutes in, and sure, they haven’t put a finger on one another, but I’m already hard in anticipation. It’s not the tease; it’s the foreplay. It’s setting the scene. It’s defining the edges of the characters and inviting me to pick sides. As for me, nine times out of ten I get off on a flawed, but super sexy superhero taking charge and tapping into his inner bad boy when it comes to superhero themed homoerotic wrestling. This is probably ironic, considering the ratio is about the same for my allegiance to pro wrestling heels in the ring. However, demonstrating my fickle loyalties, I have to admit that right out of the gate, I’m hoping for the Finisher to kick blue boy’s cocky ass. Magnifico is too cool. He’s too confident. He’s a little too understated in selling this drama. And the Finisher is just vulnerable enough to prime me for keying off on him overcoming the apparent odds stacked against him by the superhero’s superior super strength. He’s somehow both vile oppressor and outmatched underdog at the same time. I want to see him severely spank this Dudley Do-right’s hot ass.
The initial lock up between them is messy and awkward. Magnifico is clearly a rookie IRL. But true to the narrative, he outmuscles big, hairy, hot Finisher and grinds the masked villain’s temples in a side headlock. He pulls them down to the mat and wraps his long, lean, hotly muscled legs around the villain’s torso and grinds his knees into the suffering hunk’s kidneys. The Finisher squirms his way to his knees, and just as Magnifico shifts to snap his superthighs around the villain’s head in a face-to-crotch (excellent instincts, hero boy), the Finisher digs into the pouch of his trunks. At first I’m thinking he’s about to pull out his dick and concede that Magnifico is too sexy to handle. But no, he pulls out what is apparently Magnifico’s version of kryptonite, using it to suck the super strength right out of the boy in blue. “That’s right, Magnifico,” the Finisher taunts, “I know all of your weaknesses.” And with the word “all,” he starts stroking the superhero’s crotch, and already, the swollen, obviously excited head of blue boy’s supercock peeks out the top of his trunks.
Even knocked down to mortality, Magnifico is serious competition for the bulging, sexy menace. He claws the Finisher’s balls to break the bad boy’s spell. They scramble across the mat for the advantage, ending up in tandem 69 headscissors, the Finisher on his back, staring up at his nemesis’ ass. For a moment there, I consider switching allegiances, right around the time that Magnifico starts flexing his ass cheeks, grinding his hard cock with obvious excitement into his opponent’s huge pecs. Dudley Do-right is randy, and maybe I might not mind so much if he rides a wave of erotic passion all over the hairy muscle hunk trying to break him down to size.
The 69 goes on for a sweet, slow, suspenseful long time. Incredibly, Magnifico’s pelvic thrusts give him the advantage. His hips buck more and more violently, and his supercock apparently starts beating the life out of the Finisher. It’s do or die time for the Finisher, and he does. Specifically, take control with a ball claw, setting up elbow strikes to our hero’s lower back, as a way to soften him up for a torture rack across the Finisher’s super-wide shoulders. Magnifico’s cockhead can no longer be contained in those trunks of his. Somewhere between dry humping the Finisher’s pecs and getting hoisted up onto his shoulders, the superhero secret weapon (or weakness?) is no longer a secret. Up in that rack, the Finisher strokes his opponent’s balls, incrementally tugging the trunks down, revealing an honestly gorgeous, meaty, much more than a mouthful of a super-heroic cock.
I love that Magnifico keeps fighting on. I definitely wouldn’t call this a squash. The superhero fights fire with fire, alternating between punching his opponent in the balls and stroking his villainous cock. The Finisher’s pile driver knocks the wind out of his sails, as does the cock punching the supervillain subjects him to. But Magnifico refuses to submit. His thick, glistening, fully aroused cock is clearly saying “yes, yes, YES!,” but the handsome hero’s mouth keeps saying no.
At the halfway mark, I’m starting to cotton on, and appreciate, where the plot is careening. The Finisher hoists the blue boy up into a hot bearhug, crushing the superhero’s meat between their abdomen’s. It’s a bearhug. It hurts. So of course, the masked hero’s face screws up in pain. But as his jaw drops open, there are other notes. Even suspended off his feet in that bearhug, Magnifico’s glutes flex and squeeze. His hips bump out what is obviously an approach to ecstasy, grinding his super-heroic cock into his punisher’s hairy, hot, ripped wall of abdominal muscle. That magnificent Magnifico cock almost certainly makes him popular with the spandex clad gym bunny set back at the Hall of Justice, but here, in the Finisher’s clutches, his calm, cool veneer is getting crushed as his opponent drives him seductively, inevitably over the edge of self-control.
“You know, I really like what I do,” the Finisher monologues, saddling up between Magnifico’s thighs and grinding his crotch into that superheroic, out of control cock of his. “Being able to play with you heroes, this is something that, well you could say, I’m passionate about.”
Some of you are going to wait to enjoy the forced to cum finisher to this match, but as for me, the money shot starts right around the 11 minute mark. The Finisher pulls his prey up into a wheelbarrow position. I honestly have no idea where this is heading, until the supervillain leans back and pulls Magnifico up erect, his taunted and teased rock hard cock at full mast in front of him. In an incredible feat of strength and balance, the Finisher holds him there, pinned against his body with one hand, and reaches around and starts stroking the superhero’s shocking secret weakness with the other. Magnifico’s jaw hangs open. His arms flail about, as if he’s about to try to defend himself, but can’t quite convince his limbs to intervene in the milking session. Blue boy is completely owned at this point. He’s the Finisher’s bitch, but more importantly, his instrument is getting played so expertly that he wants it. He needs it. There’s not an ounce of aloofness left in him. He’s ripe for the Finisher’s picking.
“Try to fight me off,” the Finisher whispers when Magnifico blindly tries pushing him away. “I like it when you do that,” the supervillain groans. At any point that Magnifico gets too rambunctious, the Finisher grabs that heroic cock and starts pumping, and Magnifico goes limp. “Yeah,” the Finisher growls, “this is all mine, isn’t it? Say it!” Magnifico can’t catch his breath for a few seconds, but finally gasps, “no.” It’s hardly convincing. The Finisher slides into a schoolboy pin, ramming Magnifico’s face into his crotch as he reaches back and continues pumping on the blue boy’s powder keg of a cock. “How about now? What do you say to that?” Magnifico’s eyes stare up at his erotic master, mouth gaping wide, and he silently nods affirmatively. “Who owns this city!?” the Finisher demands. Breathlessly, Magnifico concedes, “You!”
There are six minutes left in the narrative. They maintain the momentum marvelously. Typically, I get way bored when there’s no more competitive drama and a scene turns strictly to sex. That’s why I fast forward through 75% of every Naked Kombat sex round. But this MDW super match keeps the dramatic tension high, even as Magnifico is toast. An OTK backbreaker spotlights Magnifico’s Achilles heel, as they take turns rubbing it out. Magnifico’s half-lidded eyes stare into his master’s as the Finisher demands to know, “Are you in ecstasy?” The nearly wasted superhero nods submissively. “Do you belong to me?” More submissive nods. “That’s right,” the Finisher explains. “I fucking own you. Your cock is mine. And your powers are mine.
There’s a moment where the Finisher is throttling Magnifico’s cock, there near the end. The vanquished superhero is flat on his back, his face smothered up the Finisher’s ass. The supervillain really starts to wring that cock out, faster, harder, and honest to the homoerotic wrestling gods, Magnifico’s entire body spasms. It’s completely vulnerable, and I believe every second of it. His legs twitch. His arms sort of flail halfheartedly, pointlessly. His entire body is about to orgasm, and he’s completely the Finisher’s fuck puppet, getting his strings tugged. Maybe Magnifico learned to sell somewhere in the last 17 minutes, but I’m believing that this hot stuff superhero genuinely is, at this very moment, completely, totally, erotically getting owned.
This is the first time we’ve seen Morgan Cruise in action since that tectonic shift of a match he had, getting owned and for the first time sucking cock against silver muscle daddy Matt Thrasher. When I reviewed that match, I said that MDW simply could not reset the clock. That there’d be a massive revolt (led by me), should they attempt to pretend that Morgan never went there, that he didn’t just jump with both feet into the explicit end of the homoerotic wrestling pool. This new match is a magnificent follow up. It’s set in an entirely different universe, of course. Morgan is a masked supervillain, and not daddy’s little muscle boy. But even as he rubs his opponent out, getting a mouthful of superheroic cum front and center in an HD close up, I’m applauding both Morgan and MDW for delivering what continues to be one of the most successful and innovative turns in homoerotic wrestling storytelling. This is so completely gay (and of course, I mean that as the highest compliment I can offer). It’s sensationally hot, erotic wrestling, harkening back to the early days when the rules included loser’s shame to the warrior first forced to cum. The drama, the sculpture, the text… it’s all a bullseye when it comes to what I think of as the fantasy potential of homoerotic wrestling entertainment.
Nicely done, MDW. Standing ovation to Morgan. And Magnifico? I apologize for ever doubting you. That gorgeous, ravenous cock of yours can star in a homoerotic wrestling fantasy of mine any day.
I went to college at a very, very small liberal arts school with a very, very unsuccessful Division III football team. They sucked. A lot. Literally, years went by without a single victory. Not that I was involved in the program, but it was no secret that recruiting for the football team was a major bitch. No scholarships. No pro career prospects. Very little hope of ever tasting victory before they graduated or, even more likely, they’d burn through eligibility while hanging on by the skin of their teeth to skimming by in their academics and finally just walking away to dig ditches. Our football team literally shrunk while I was enrolled in college, each year’s freshmen getting smaller, while bigger players went elsewhere. My junior year, the football team recruited a wide receiver who was, I kid you not, 5’2″ tall. Thing is, though, he was fucking fast, with big, powerful thighs, an exceptionally stellar muscled ass, and gorgeous, Tom Cruise-ish good looks. Despite their abysmal record, I suddenly took an interest in football that year.
This pint-sized wide receiver with big league glutes and a baby face starred in many a homoerotic wrestling fantasy in my imagination. Just writing about him now is making me hard. There was just so much fabulous potential wrapped up in his tight, taut, petite jock body. In the never ending erotic wrestling tournament in my head, the little wide receiver inevitably got muscle bullied around the ring by bigger guys. I always pictured him getting picked up and thrown from corner to corner. Tall, ripped, cocky hunks (typically from our extremely successful and wildly popular basketball team) would, in the no holds barred wrestling matches in my collegiate imagination, deliver a barrage of high impact, high altitude power moves on him, gorilla presses, scoop slams, one-handed choke slams, spine-tingling suplexes that catapulted his magnificent, muscled ass from corner to corner.
Rereading my interview with Charlie Evans and perusing several of the comments to that interview remind me of that hot, gorgeous little wide receiver firecraker with a supremely fuckable ass. As I’ve mentioned several times lately, the difference in size itself became erotically charged for me. But far beyond just visuals, I crushed hard on the little stud because of the drama of a vastly undersized hottie audaciously running out onto the field and climbing into the pro wrestling ring in my imagination (through the bottom two ropes, of course) and staring fearlessly up at the overwhelming odds towering above.
I was relatively agnostic about my all-time favorite wide receiver’s win-loss record in his homoerotic wrestling career in my mind. Like the very best babyfaces, he was always dangerous and perpetually vulnerable at the same time. I distinctly remember him getting his jock strap ripped to shreds and having his rock hard muscle cheeks plowed hard by a particular, hot, muscled black power forward. I also have clear memories of him turning the tide on a certain aloof, blond, aristocratic shooting guard who was schoolboy pinned and force fed the beer can cock of the smirking, flexing wide receiver. Win or lose, he was a favorite object of my homoerotic wrestling imagination not despite his stature, but because of it. And not just because of his stature, but because of the inherent drama of an ambitious, earnest, hard working little stud throwing himself headlong at the big boys.
As I told Charlie, I continue to nurture a crush for David vs. Goliath homoerotic wrestling matches. I like big vs. little matches where the differential is massive, the odds are long, and the action is brutal. I love seeing audacious little studs hoisted over head and pounded into the mat. I love seeing them take every ounce as brutal an assault as any heavyweight and then keep peeling their battered, petite, bite-sized bodies off the mats and defying the big boys demanding that they submit in body and soul.
While I don’t care for many matches in which one competitor is just furniture, getting moved and manipulated and owned effortlessly, a match in which a seriously undersized wrestler is defiantly sucking down a mountain of abuse is in a squash-class of its own for me. If the little guy walks in with his head up, clenches his jaw in the face of fate, and demands respect by just surviving a magnificent beating, I will so get off on that just like I did when I staged wide receiver getting his sensational ass tagged in the middle of the ring by that power forward.
However, I think my hardest David vs. Goliath fantasies flip that script with a vengeance. When the audacious little underdog battles back against the barrage of muscle and mass, now that is fucking hot. When he starts accumulating riding time on a thoroughbred 50 pounds bigger, my adrenaline pumps into overdrive. And when I pictured my pretty little wide receiver slapping down a big, cocky all-American who’s never tasted defeat before, when he wears the big boy the fuck out, slapping that beer can in Goliath’s shocked, humiliated face, then little David is fucking king of my world.
I hold heartedly agree with the implication of Charlie’s argument that every homoerotic wrestling roster needs the little guys. Ever roster needs the underwear models and the bodybuilders. Ever roster should have raw edged street punks and square jawed All-American heroes. They should all have daddy’s little rich boys and ripped, raging, beautifully endowed sex brawlers. The industry should invest in recruiting hard edged pros and hot, inexperienced nerds. It should put up flat footed pornboys and fierce, lanky, long-distance runners. Personally I’m longing for a snarling radical fairy doing battle with a white collar stock broker on the homoerotic wresting down low.
The homoerotic pro wrestling industry is as susceptible to the tyranny of the capitalist market place as anything else, of course, so I certainly understand when, occasionally, it seems like everyone climbing through those ropes looks and moves and suffers alike. But as someone who has watched a TON of homoerotic wrestling (not even counting that running channel in my imagination of round the clock homopro), I’m always longing for producers to fill those niches Charlie and I talked about. Tickle those erotic fantasies we didn’t even know we loved. Populate our screens and imaginations with the great diversity of dramas, bodies, races, ages, etc., that makes oppressively straight real life bearable.
And most definitely, gives us pint-sized baby face heroes audacious enough to climb into the ring with beasts a foot taller and 80 pounds heavier, and to tell us a compelling, seat of our pants, crotch-tugging homoerotic wrestling drama that reflects real life writ larger, more erotic, and completely improbable, but yet, speaking to our real lives.
And now, excuse me. I need to go dig out an old college yearbook.
My favorite part of writing this blog for 7 and a half years has been getting to interview some of the sensationally sexy stars of homoerotic wrestling. I’ve had to conduct most of those interviews remotely, so it’s a particularly rare treat when geography and timing line up for me to sit down for a face to face with a wrestler willing to let me toss a barrage of questions his way. Just such a fantastic alignment of circumstances recently occurred, and I sat down with an audio recorder and super lightweight rising pro wrestler Charlie Evans. I’m not sure if the transcript captures just how much fun I had. Charlie had me in stitches, and like Charlie says, what you see is what you get with him. So when he says, “jeepers” or “son-of-a-beeswax,” there isn’t an ounce of irony in his voice. And that makes this “scrawny” ginger phenom massively charming, adorably engaging, and a three-dimensional pro wrestling character in a category all his own.
Bard: Charlie, thanks for agreeing to meet with me and chat on the record. I know a lot of wrestling fans are interested in learning more about you. You mentioned to me earlier that you’re a big fan of indy pro wrestling, even more so than mainstream pro. Who are some of the indy pro wrestlers than you like?
Charlie: So I’ve always been drawn to the size difference matches, big versus little, David versus Goliath. And I’ve always liked the high flyers. Growing up, Rey Mysterio was easily always my favorite. So I’ve always been drawn to the same kinds of wrestlers on the indy scene, like Nate Wings, Ryan Kidd, Zack Sabre, Eli Everfly. Them against the big guys.
Bard: So who are the big guys that you like?
Charlie: Son of a beeswax (laughing, trying to come up with names). Terex, Brian Cage. Anytime you have the big giant guys versus the small, high flyers, that’s what I’ve always been drawn to because I’m a smaller guy, and I always thought that maybe I could take on some of the bigger guys.
Bard: I like it! And you and I have talked about this, that I think that is a cool angle.
Charlie: Before I got into this I always envisioned myself as the glorified jobber type. You know, I like seeing squash matches or whatever, and I figured that’s going to be my role. I never realized how hard wired my personality was. I’m not a pushover, and I do NOT like being humiliated in the ring. I do NOT like getting my ass kicked. I like to fight back with 110% of everything I’ve got, and I did not envision that to be the case before I started.
Bard: I think that’s awesome. I think that makes for good wrestling from a fan’s perspective.
Charlie: Especially since you start off thinking, oh, I’m going to be a jobber. And then snap, almost instantly, no, that’s not going to be me.
Bard: In the moment, I’m getting more into this.
Charlie: Right, it’s like, all right, I’m going to have a fifty-pound weight disadvantage, or a hundred pound disadvantage, and I am going to fight back with every ounce of strength, speed, agility, what have you. I’m not going to fight dirty, because I’m too nice for that. But I’m not going to give up. I’m not going to quit.
Bard: I think that’s fantastic. So thinking of you in the fight, getting provoked, getting competitive in the moment, I’m picturing your BG East debut in Tag Team Torture 19.
Charlie: First, I’ve got to say, that was one of the best AND funnest matches of my life, and I could not have been happier that that was my BG East debut. That was a kick ass match. I loved that one.
Bard: Nice! So I’m thinking of that opening sequence in that match. It’s both you and Christian Taylor, but you sort of go ballistic in that.
Charlie: Yeah! You know we get some good roll up pins, atomic drops, and I get to debut the Ginger Snap.
Bard: Tell us about the Ginger Snap.
Charlie: Oh, the Ginger Snap. First, you’ve got to brand everything, so that’s my first “patented” move. And that’s running handstand headscissors that flips the guy right across the ring. I kind of use my speed and size and stuff. You know, it can backfire though. I’ve been powerbombed a couple of times doing it.
Bard: I could see that.
Charlie: But you catch them off guard, and booya!
Bard: Nice! Well it looks amazing. It’s very cool to watch. And it’s sort of along those lines of a real small guy who could probably easily be underestimated, who then pulls off something that is really devastating. It’s really cool.
Charlie: Just be on the look out for some other moves, like Ginger Bombs.
Charlie: Now, you’re going to have to wait to see what those are. You’ve got the Ginger Splash. I’ve been saying I need to go away from the “ginger” aspect.
Bard: I don’t know why. I don’t think you do.
Charlie: Yeah, well, I’ve been overruled on that one. I figured I could at least go with “scarlet” every now and then, but the ginger thing is sticking.
Bard: (laughing) Good! So, a tag team. Does that increase the competitiveness, the “I need to fight more, I need to pull my weight?”
Charlie: Oh gosh, yes. I’m a good guy, so I’ve got to be looking out for my partner. And when you’ve got Christian Taylor in your corner, that certainly helps.
Charlie: He had my back. I had his back, and the opponents didn’t really have their own backs.
Bard: They did not have each other’s backs, which was definitely the tale of that match.
Charlie: Oh, they were a bit of a mess. And you can quote that.
Bard: (laughing) They were a significant mess. I think they, well, at least one of the two of them would probably agree with that.
Charlie: Maybe (sounding doubtful).
Bard: So, over at MDW I haven’t seen all of your MDW releases.
Charlie: Oh my gosh!
Bard: I know, I feel bad about it. I was trying to do my homework beforehand, but I didn’t get to see everything. But my first introduction to you was actually your MDW work as… wait, it’s not the Riddler. What do they call him?
Bard: Riddle Man! Your Riddle Man takedown of Superman in the form of Damien Rush. Which was another example of you maybe picturing yourself as ending up a jobber in this business, and then your opening match…
Charlie: … I not only get to kick some ass, but I get my heel side on.
Bard: Yes! Was that fun?
Charlie: Yeah, I mean, when you get to portray someone like the Riddle Man, you kind of get to tap into your darker side a little bit. A side you might not be aware exists. But, yeah, anytime you can get Damien Rush’s ass…
Bard: Yes. It’s a nice ass to kick.
Charlie: It is.
Bard: And you spend a little bit of time paying attention to his ass in that match. Which I admire immensely.
Charlie: Oh? I was not aware.
Bard: No? You spend, well, Riddle Man spends pretty extensive time going back and forth between trying to decide in the long run which is the best angle to go at him, from the front side or the back.
Charlie: That is right. He gave me a lot to work with.
Bard: (laughing) He does!
Charlie: Yes, both front and back. I had to give equal attention to both.
Bard: Yes, super sexy match, and again, I’m a big fan of Damien’s ass, so you gave it some hands on treatment there.
Charlie: Yeah. What can I say? The Riddle Man really, really wanted to work that ass, in-between bashing some balls.
Bard: Absolutely. Anyway, fantastic to watch, very pleasing.
Charlie: And as a chatterbox, Riddle Man, he’s also a bit of a chatterbox. He had to be working with both riddles and puns on the fly. So I don’t think I stopped talking once during that entire match.
Bard: (laughing) And is that true to you?
Charlie: That’s true to me, though I’m not usually so mean! To all of the sudden on the fly realize that you have to fill up 20, 25 minutes of riddles and puns, yeah, it’s a challenge that I hope I rose to.
Bard: I think you did fantastic with it. I was recently having conversations with a couple other people about how much dialogue is too much, that kind of thing, and I’m pretty much always big on clever, on-point dialogue being a huge asset to a match. Not just sort of blabbing for blabbing’s sake, by any means.
Charlie: Well, you can’t be the Riddle Man without asking a few questions, including questions that don’t have any answers, but that give you a fantastic excuse to lay on some punishment for “wrong” answers.
Bard: Absolutely. Very good. So, most recently what I wrote a review about your most recent MDW appearance, which you did get a chance to see this review, as I remember, correct?
Charlie: I loved it.
Charlie: I love them all. They’re always fantastic to read.
Bard: I’m incredibly honored to hear you say that. So as you probably read then, I’m a long time fan of Steel Muscle God, and I thought when MDW got him on this side of the pond, that that was a huge coup. And while I’ve enjoyed watching him, I still say he’s a little wooden, he’s not really like a natural wrestler, it doesn’t seem to me. But he’s got such attitude all of the time, that he makes it incredibly engaging.
Charlie: And he’s got those steel muscles that kind of make up the difference.
Bard: Exactly. So then, most recently, you come strolling out and find him in the ring at MDW, and get to spend about 20, 25 minutes with him. And I feel like I needed to say this isn’t exactly a wrestling match, but an incredibly compelling 20 to 25 minutes. How was it for you?
Charlie: Well, first it’s a little bit like a blur.
Bard: (laughing) Fair enough.
Charlie: What can somebody say when you take on Steel Muscle God? You are probably going to get your ass kicked. You’re a little bit in awe of the size and definition.
Bard: And you mention at the beginning, when he catches you…
Charlie: I was cleaning the ring.
Bard: (laughing) Yes, you’re cleaning the ring, coincidentally with his sweaty shirt stuffed in your face.
Charlie: You know, he left it there lying on the ropes and I was just trying to be a good fellow wrestler…
Bard: (laughing) I saw that. I saw that. But you mentioned at the time, as you’re explaining why you’re there, you mention that you’re a fan. Had you been a fan? Are you familiar with his stuff?
Charlie: Oh, yeah! I was a fan of Steel Muscle God. Anybody who’s seen his work is probably also a fan.
Bard: He’s got a lot of fans.
Charlie: It doesn’t take much to become a fan of Steel Muscle God. So yeah, it was surprising, seeing him in the ring. So I did what any fan would probably do in that situation.
Bard: Right. Grab his shirt. And smell it.
Charlie: Yeah, and then maybe try to get out of there before he gets his hands on you, yeah.
Bard: (laughing) Fair enough. So along those lines, I was struck by the five senses of that match, because it starts with you getting caught smelling the shirt. Tell me about smelling the shirt.
Charlie: Oh, boy. It was definitely all Steel Muscle God.
Bard: He said he was recently back from the gym.
Charlie: Yeah, I could tell.
Bard: Good stuff?
Charlie: Oh yeah, great!
Bard: So let’s keep going. I have to say, I’m always a little enthralled with his accent. So the sound of this match…
Charlie: His grammar structure is always a lot of fun.
Bard: I love his English. It’s like, there’s never anything technically wrong. It just isn’t the way that I’d expect to hear someone say it. But he’s fluent, so it’s very cool. So, as a fan, is there anything sound-wise that struck you from that time you spent with him?
Charlie: Well, he’s very commanding.
Bard: He is!
Charlie: He tells you to do something, and you kind of have a hard time resisting doing it.
Bard: I got that impression.
Charlie: And if you don’t listen, he’s got the size and the muscles to make you listen.
Bard: Absolutely. And speaking of the size and the muscle, you got some up close time spent with those muscles. So let’s talk about the tactile nature of what turns into a muscle worship session. Anything that you can share?
Charlie: The first time I felt the muscles and the strength I was outside the ropes and he grabbed me and literally just chucked me into the ring. It’s almost as though throwing 125 pounds is just no big deal for Steel Muscle God. Who woulda thought? And then from that point on, I resisted at first, but he kind of just pounded through it. And then when you’re actually feeling those muscles, you can understand why this person gets his way. He is a VERY solid individual.
Bard: He looks it!
Charlie: He’s got a well earned name. It felt hard as steel. Biceps all the way down to the legs. There was no give or take in the muscle. He is one of the hardest individuals I’ve ever met, and no pun or innuendo intended.
Bard: Understood. Along those lines, as much as I was impressed with him as always, I have to say I was really fascinated and giving you tons of credit for using almost every opportunity to get another feel of another angle on him.
Charlie: Well, he brought me in there, so at that point, all bets are off.
Bard: True enough. And he wasn’t exactly hating it along the way, clearly. I was really pleased with how he was getting into the pleasure of being worshipped.
Charlie: I think he may have smacked me around when I resisted a little.
Bard: This is true. But even when he snaps you up in a bearhug early on and you’re sort of resisting and pushing back, and I’m thinking I’m not reading into it, that you’re enjoying the feel of his pecs in your hands. Would that be fair to say?
Charlie: Uh, they were pretty good pecs (laughing).
Bard: (laughing) And then, my favorite moments from the match have to be you in those standing headscissors. In which case your hands aren’t stopping moving the entire time, up and down his legs.
Charlie: And funny thing is, if he told me to do that, I probably didn’t hear, because my head was being crushed between those steel thighs.
Bard: It looked like it!
Charlie: So that was all me getting touchy feely.
Bard: I was a little worried about your neck in the face-to-crotch, the upside down standing headscissors. I was thinking, that can’t be comfortable, and he had you hanging there for quite a while.
Charlie: Well, I’m very bendy.
Bard: Which would come in handy.
Charlie: It definitely helps. But it was like being in a steel vise.
Bard: So we’ve done smell, sound, touch. Now, I didn’t know, but my sense was that there are several moments when he’s shoving your face into his muscles, biceps, chest, lots of that. And I don’t have a great camera angle on it, because, trust me, I was pausing, reversing, pausing reversing, that kind of thing, but my sense was that you might have gotten a little bit of a taste. Can you say anything about that? What does Steel Muscle God taste like?
Charlie: Oh, boy, yeah, my face was shoved pretty much all over.
Bard: It was!
Charlie: You know, I’m probably going to let the viewers’ imagination run with that.
Bard: Oh, no! Denied!
Charlie: (laughing) Sorry. You know, he might have different tastes for every part of his body, is all I’ll say.
Bard: Oh!? That’s a little provocative. All right, I’ll take it. And then finally the sight. He is just a pretty, pretty man. And like I said, you pretty much had a close up on every single angle of him. Anything you can say about the sight of him? What it is to take in the sight of him that close?
Charlie: Well, first, one of my biggest advantages that I think I bring to the table in a match, is that I make anybody look pretty damn good next to me.
Bard: (laughing) Really!?
Charlie: Yeah, his size, his muscles, I’m guessing everything looked even more impressive next to little me.
Charlie: And then up close and personal, he’s not somebody you’d want to pick a fight with in a bar or on a wrestling mat or pretty much anywhere, because you’re probably going to get your ass kicked. And up close and personal, that’s just an inescapable fact.
Bard: I hear that. So, in that last face-to-crotch, the bendy-required move near the end there, I was just trying to picture as I was reviewing that for the blog, and I was thinking you’re looking up. Your head is between his thighs. Great position. So his crotch is right in your face. He’s got sensational abs, big, round, hard pecs, and he was staring down at you, insisting that you look up at him. What was that sight like?
Charlie: Well you pretty much just nailed it.
Bard: (laughing) I’ve placed myself sufficiently in the moment?
Charlie: Yeah, you pretty much nailed it. It’s just one, two, three, four. You’ve got that package, right above your face, pretty much eclipsing everything else. But then you see the outline of that six-pack, or eight-pack, or whatever you want to call it. And those big, giant, mountainous pecs, and then that cocky, very alpha look, staring down at you just pretty much making eye contact and telling you, “you want to look everywhere else, but you look at me right now.”
Bard: Like I said, I thought that was very compelling, and since you said you read the blog post, you kno what I had noticed that he’s looking for your friends to join you next time. And I just wanted to clarify that I’m willing for us to be considered friends, just so you know.
Charlie: (laughing) I have lots of buddies who got very, very jealous, and would love to meet Steel Muscle God, but I will absolutely put you at the front of the line.
Bard: Nice! I appreciate that! Good, well then maybe this interview will see the light of day.
Charlie: (laughing) There’s got to be blogger perks.
Bard: I’ve been doing it for, what has it been, six, seven years? Eight years now?
Charlie: I think you’re due.
Bard: I’m due for some blogger perks!
Charlie: You’ve put in your time. I think it’s time.
Bard: (laughing) That is so funny. I appreciate that! You mentioned you making opponents look good. What do you mean by that?
Charlie: I want to carve out a niche. Every roster needs a little guy. And I want that spot. I want to be the go-to little guy in any roster I’m on.
Bard: I think that’s fantastic, and I agree. I like that, the sense of there being something particularly engaging about a size differential, you looking uphill, and then battling uphill. I think that’s very cool. I’m interested in the idea, though, that you make someone else look good. Do you not like the way you look? Do you think guys are just looking at your opponent and thinking “that guy’s hot,” because he’s in the ring with you?
Charlie: I think you’ll find a lot of wrestlers have body image issues.
Bard: I’ve gotten that impression, sure.
Charlie: Personally, you will never find me raving about the way I look. It’s one of those things where anyone who looks in the mirror is going to see flaws in themselves. You have to have enough self-awareness to take a step back and go, even if you might not care for your own personal appearance, other people might. And now that I’ve been out there on the scene for a little while now, the feedback has been fantastic, and for a kid like me, it definitely makes it easier to keep putting yourself out there when you might not have the highest opinion of your look, but you seem to be picking up fans left and right.
Bard: Yeah! Good.
Charlie: But like I said, I’m perfectly content to be the little guy. I don’t want to become some jacked muscle beast. That is horrifying to me. In fact I keep trying to lose a little bit of weight here and there, and everyone is telling me I’ve got to put on 5 or 10 pounds. But I personally think you’ve got to play up the size difference. That’s my one big advantage. You stick me next to a middle weight, and they look like a heavyweight. You stick me next to a heavy weight, and they look like Godzilla.
Bard: Right. And like I said I think there’s a ton of potential in those differentials. There’s a ton of cool potential on the side of a middle weight who can hoist you up over their head, when they can’t necessarily do that with most opponents.
Charlie: Absolutely. Let’s just say a lot of wrestlers don’t necessarily break a sweat when they’re tossing me around. And now one of my go to functions sometimes behind the scenes, I’m pretty much a living, breathing wrestling practice dummy for some of the guys. If we have to be planning matches, some logistics, you don’t necessarily want to tire the wrestlers out. So, let’s send in Charlie. You aren’t going to tire anyone out. They can practice some suplexes, powerbombs, gorilla presses. Make it look good, and then they can kick ass for somebody a little bigger. I’ve got lots of talents and uses in this business.
Bard: (laughing) Very cool! I’m not going to let you go on your body quite yet though. What kind of feedback do you get? Have you got fan feedback? Do fans of Charlie Evans reach out and tell you, “I like what you did?”
Charlie: Yeah, and I don’t always know how to respond. I have a very hard time seeing it. I never even liked my red hair growing up, but now I kind of love being a ginger.
Bard: Oh, wow! Of course, I bet you get feedback on that.
Charlie: Yeah, I’m kind of like a unicorn on the wrestling scene. There’s not a lot of small, twink-like gingers running around. So I’ve got the little guy space carved out, and now I’m trying to make inroads and claim my top ginger status. I know there’s another contender by the name of…
Bard: …Kid Karisma. Yes, I love that you’ve got your eye on the top ginger title. And I will agree with you from your summer match with Blaine that regardless of how that match turned out, I don’t think he made inroads into legitimately claiming top ginger status.
Charlie: Not even close. But Kid Karisma, though, he’s got a shot.
Bard: (laughing) A shot? Yes, he does!
Charlie: And there might be enough space for the big giant muscle bodybuilder Kid Karisma and little old me over here.
Bard: I would hope that you don’t always stay on opposite sides there.
Bard: I would love to see that match up. Have you ever thought about a ginger-on-ginger Kid Karisma match?
Charlie: What about a tag team?
Bard: Ahh! Fantastic! See!? My gosh, the ginger moves… you couldn’t stop naming ginger moves.
Charlie: The Ginger Express. We’d just be kicking ass!
Bard: I think that would be golden!
Charlie: I think it’s time for the gingers to rise up, you know?
Bard: Yes. Yes. So fans like the ginger.
Charlie: Oh, they love it apparently.
Bard: Fans like the lean, small guy thing.
Charlie: I call myself scrawny, but they think I’m more lean.
Bard: Anything else fans rave about?
Charlie: Apparently I come across as very earnest in the ring. I wear a lot of expression on my face.
Bard: You do!
Charlie: I’ve got this kind of wide-eyed thing, I either wear a smile or I’m screaming in pain. And apparently, they do like how expressive I can be.
Bard: Absolutely. I’ve referred to that as presence. When wrestlers are present in the moment, and I get the impression they’re not thinking about something else, they’re actually experiencing this moment.
Charlie: I have a laser focus in my matches, on my opponent and what is coming at me.
Bard: I can see that.
Charlie: You know, what you see when I’m in a match, that’s me. That’s just 100% Charlie. There’s no filters or anything.
Bard: That’s how you come across. How many of your fans have mentioned your ass?
Charlie: (laughing, turning red) Ohhhhhh.
Bard: I’m not the only one. No chance.
Charlie: Well, you know, this is an uncomfortable topic, because I know a fellow wrestler who has a very high opinion of his ass.
Charlie: And he doesn’t like competition.
Bard: I think I know what wrestler you’re referring to (laughing).
Charlie: And so when I’m getting complimented on mine, someone is feeling a little threatened.
Bard: I could see that. I would have thought that whole thing might have already been put to rest by the match record thus far, but no?
Charlie: He might not take win-loss records as an accurate commentary on his ass.
Bard: Fair enough.
Charlie: Honestly, I never had too much of an opinion about my ass.
Charlie: Yeah, but fans do seem to like it. So, you know what, I’m going to throw myself into contention for best ass. For the fans.
Bard: As one of those fans, I think that’s fantastic. I’m whole-heartedly in support of that. I think there are lots of fine qualities to different types of asses, and I think you definitely should own that, that you’ve got an ass that attracts attention.
Charlie: I will say, I don’t know for what reason, but a lot of wrestlers in the ring tend to like giving me massive wedgies. Or spanking my ass. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed that.
Bard: And for that, your fans are thrilled.
Charlie: I mean, my entire ass is on display. And that is not how I go into the matches, but boy, it is happening more and more frequently.
Bard: I’m going to watch for that because I think that is something to watch for! So, how do you describe your wrestling style?
Charlie: I would like to think I’ve got speed and agility to my advantage. One of the other things though is my pain tolerance is through the roof. I am tougher than just about anybody my size. I have taken some insane beatings, from some of the biggest guys on the scene and you’ll never hear me complain or whine about any of the bumps or bruises or welts that I walk away with, and there’s been TONS of those! So my stamina, my endurance, my toughness in the ring are definitely some of my biggest advantages. And I’m trying to ramp up my high flying abilities.
Charlie: Yeah, so in the future look for more hurricanas, flying headscissors, splashes. I want to be someone who jumps on the ropes and jumps all over the place and catches everyone off guard.
Charlie: Literally throw my entire HUGE body weight at my opponent and catch them off guard. Or maybe they’ll just catch me. Who knows?
Bard: I will definitely look forward to that. And in underground wrestling circles, that’s definitely a rare breed, so I think that’s definitely awesome for you to have your eye on that.
Charlie: I like to use a lot of submission moves that use my weight to my advantage. Like I already said, I’m pretty bendy, so I can literally wrap myself around an opponent, and they have to support my entire bodyweight as I’m cranking on their arms, their necks, their legs what have you, so it’s kind of the double edged sword.
Bard: Very good! Any wrestlers that you haven’t wrestled yet that you would enjoy, that would be on your list of “that would be a fun match?”
Charlie: Anybody on the online wrestling scene?
Charlie: I’d love an official match against Jonny Firestorm. He’s kicked my ass a few times behind the scenes. He’d be a phenomenal opponent. He’s a master of submission moves and he definitely knows how to throw out a beating. But maybe there’s a slim chance I could catch him off guard.
Charlie: I mean, with strictly enforced tag team rules, I’m not going to put myself too far out there and say I could take them both on at the same time, but maybe, that may be another match that I wouldn’t mind.
Bard: I think that’s fantastic, particularly since we’ve just seen Jonny and Brute and Guido in a 3-way match that for the most part ends up being a 2-on-1 that then goes into a melee. And Jonny got pretty much bulldozed, I have to say.
Charlie: Sure, and those two guys could pick me up and toss me back and forth like a bag of potatoes.
Bard: But you’d enjoy it?
Charlie: It would be fun.
Bard: That says a lot. I think we’re getting to know Charlie Evans.
Charlie: I think people underestimate Charlie Evans. So. Any other wrestlers that I would love to take on… You’ve got Kayden Keller. A little bit of a force of nature.
Bard: And another big guy.
Charlie: Yeah. I have a tendency to want to challenge myself against the best. Oh, and any time a certain Ty Alexander wants to try to take me on in a singles match, I’m game and maybe we can put other questions to rest.
Bard: I think between the outcome of your tag team match this summer, and between the potential that Ty could possibly even be said wrestler who we were referring to earlier as someone who really prefers to hold the best ass accolades all to himself, I think that could be a sensational grudge match.
Charlie: I will neither confirm nor deny that he was who I was referring to.
Bard: (laughing) Excellent.
Charlie: I’ve actually got a long list of guys, because I’m going to be around for a while, and I’m going to want to take on everybody. But another person is Drake.
Charlie: Your buddy Drake. Generally I like to pick a fight with the big guys. But Drake’s been around, and he’s shown his chops. I’m a little threatened that maybe he could take a beating maybe almost as well as me. So I would kind of like to throw myself at him and see what the outcome might be.
Bard: Well, from first hand experience, let me just say he can definitely suffer. He suffers like a champ, in fact. And, because I feel for the guy, you know… take it easy on him.
Charlie: Oh? (laughing) I’ll keep that in mind.
Bard: (laughing) Good.
Charlie: We’ve already talked about Kid Karisma. So I’m just kind of going through the whole Rolodex of wrestlers, you know.
Bard: So who would Riddle Man like to size up in the ring based on their ass? Because we know Riddle Man is into that.
Charlie: Really? He wasn’t more of a ball person?
Bard: (laughing) He was back and forth. And I do think in the end he went for the balls as the primary target, but based on my own interest in Damien’s ass…
Charlie: All right, who would Riddle Man want to take on? Well, first, Bat Stud. Come on, now. That has to happen.
Bard: Yes. That and your muscle worship release recently, I would just have those on back to back, back to back constantly.
Charlie: Now I’m trying to think if I could cross the fed. I will say this, I’m a big comic book fan and into company crossovers. So, I think there would be a lot of potential for there to be inter-federation fights and challenges, and let’s leave it at that.
Bard: That’s fair. You have been wresting for a while, but you’re fairly new. Your first MDW match has been out just about a year. And then the 2 matches from BG East this summer. So fans are still getting to know Charlie Evans. So anything else about Charlie Evans, not just as the wrestler, but what would fans want to know about Charlie the human?
Charlie: I know wrestlers aren’t supposed to talk about how nice they are. We’re supposed to project a very tough, take no prisoners visage. But I am one of the happiest go lucky people you’ll ever meet. You’re not going to see me doing a lot of cheap shots. Maybe in desperation, but if I did, I’d feel really, really bad about it. I’m somebody who, if I lay out my opponent, I kind of have to fight the urge to offer him a hand back up before the match is even done. That’s something I’m working on.
Bard: (laughing) I think you’ll need to work on that. A pro wrestler who feels guilty along the way seems like a formula for disaster.
Charlie: How can I not feel bad when I’m kicking someone’s ass who’s 50 pounds bigger than me, and they’re taking a beating from the little guy. You know, you’ve got to feel bad.
Bard: I’m not sure “bad” is how I’m feeling when I’m watching you do it, I have to say. But whatever intra-psychic thing you’re dealing with in the moment, I guess I have to honor that what’s coming out on screen is pretty damn entertaining.
Charlie: Another thing, I will always push myself to get better. I would like to show my fans and fellow wrestlers that every single year you can see improvement. New repertoire of moves. Better physical fighting condition. Hopefully an even more impressive win record, although I’m doing pretty okay for my size as a newbie right now.
Charlie: And I’m in this for the long haul. So hopefully the fans are okay with that, because I’m kind of hoping to stick around for as long as I can.
Bard: When we start to see more of those wedgies happening, I think fans are going to be just fine with that, just so you know. And I appreciate you taking the time to let me pepper you with questions and get into a little psychoanalysis here and there and get to know you a little bit better.
Charlie: Well, how could I ever, ever not help out one of my favorite bloggers?
Bard: You’re too kind. And I’ll believe it when I get the invitation to be one of your friends when SMG is in town next.
Charlie: You keep writing amazing reviews, and I will make that happen.
“Another day in this fabulous facility, and once again, I’m going to crush someone,” Morgan Cruise crows as usual as the scene opens on Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Daddy’s Home 7. “Dominate them, really.” He flexes, looking seriously fucking good with aesthetically cropped body hair and a magnificent cheetah print thong. “Make them understand what a true alpha male I am.”
Uuuggggghhhhh. The infamous alpha male script. I’m just going to get something off my chest here and now. I fucking hate hearing homoerotic wrestlers utter the words “alpha male.” I have some ambivalence about whether there may be some inherent internalized homophobia behind the alpha male banter, but honestly, it isn’t that. It’s just too fucking overdone. And I’m just going to put it out there at the risk of offending someone: Muscle Domination Wrestling in particular has overdone the alpha male shtick. It’s typically a set up for a squash, with the self-declared alpha male crushing an opponent without the suspense or contest that really gets at the heart of my gay wrestling fetish. Morgan is probably the biggest offender of slipping too easily, too formulaically into the alpha male song and dance. I see his hot, hot body and hypnotically beautiful eyes (I mean, fuck, those babies literally glow!). Then he opens his mouth and utters the words, “alpha male,” and I want to slap him. Hard.
In strolls Matt Thrasher. There’s a reason Matt is my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month. Actually, there are a lot of reasons. Muscle daddy Matt is also instantly arousing to me. The grey hairs peppered into his beard make him stand out from the crowded field of young, juicy cuts of veal in homoerotic wrestling. His mammoth pecs drive me fucking nuts. I longly wait for the day an opponent uses the massive, sweaty crevice between those mountains of chest muscle to grind out an explosive pec frottage satisfaction. A hairy ass typically gets you docked points on my scorecard, yet somehow, muscle daddy Matt works the look to perfection. And there’s something “real” about his wrestling persona. His cockiness is tempered by maturity. His high appraisal of his strength and wrestling never stretch far too far away from the raw, bulging, beautiful facts. When younger opponents (they all are) chide him about his age, he never overreacts, as if his magnificent physique paired with wisdom and experience are somehow a bad thing. And I can’t remember him ever, ever using the phrase “alpha male.”
“You’re pretty big,” Morgan smirks, stating what is plainly obvious as if we were all waiting for him to make it true by saying so. “But how long can you keep up before you have to get back to that rocking chair?” Another dig at the age differential. Morgan flexes his impressive guns in Matt’s face to intimidate him. Textbook Morgan Cruise. Cue the unstoppable squash scenario. Morgan’s about to tease his muscle worship YouTube fans with another domineering beat down.
Matt pulls off his t-shirt and flexes his huge biceps. He crunches his massive pecs (making my cock quiver). “Does that surprise you?” Matt asks, pumping his own gargantuan guns in the Mastodon’s face. Morgan seems unable to restrain himself. He reaches out and palms the mammoth peaks. “That’s a little surprising, yeah,” he admits to being impressed by Matt’s rocking muscle daddy bod.
“I’m undefeated,” Morgan points out, still working the psychological assault. “I’ve had hundreds of matches,” he explains. “I don’t know if you’ve seen them, but I kick a lot of ass.” Now, it probably should be pointed out that this match takes place in one particular homoerotic wrestling universe. If you follow the scene, you may have seen Morgan ultimately conquer and take possession of Matt in an ancient Rome period fantasy piece based on gladiator slave combat. This match does not take place in that universe. This match also does not take place in the homoerotic wrestling universe in which Morgan and Matt squared off on opposing tag teams in BG East’s Tag Team Torture 19. In that universe, Morgan has most definitely already seen Matt’s mouthwatering body, and not only was Morgan unimpressed, but he also completely had his way with Matt as a flat footed, completely green rookie.
No, this is the homoerotic wrestling universe in which Morgan chews up and spits out opponents, big and little, endlessly monologuing and ultimately appeasing the fans who never get enough of watching him dominate. So you’ll forgive me when, in that universe, he and Matt lock hands for an opening test of strength, and my eyes almost pop out when Matt almost instantly and commandingly goes over the top, driving Morgan to his knees, and making the Mastodon whimper in pain. Holy fuck, did that just happen!?
“I think you’re going to be my bitch today,” Matt growls in that sexy, back of the throat baritone of his. He let’s Morgan get back up to his feet. Morgan takes a solid swing, jabbing at the most massive target within reach, that huge, huge chest on Matt. The stunning strike often makes Morgan’s opponents shatter at his feet. But not this time. Matt literally catches the fist in one hand and stops it cold. “Nice try,” the muscle daddy smirks, cranking that arm into a hammerlock, driving Morgan to his knees, and mounting a gorgeous standing surfboard that looks like it could pry Morgan apart at the shoulders.
“You are going to learn a lesson today, you little shit,” Matt snarls, stomping on Morgan’s muscled back. “You’re going to be daddy’s bitch.” Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! Is Morgan Cruise about to slapped silly and humiliated by, let’s face it, a hot piece of ass with a seriously inconsistent match record?!
He grabs him by that FUCKING pony tail and pries Morgan’s head backward. Oh my god, I hate that pony tail so much. When it shows up on “alpha male” Morgan, I typically scream at the screen the entire time for his opponent to drag his hot, muscle ass around the ring by it, but they never do. But fuck, yes, yes, yes, Matt does. “Mr. Undefeated?” Matt whispers in Morgan’s ear. “Is that what you said?!”
So the Daddy’s Home franchise has been an enticing genre at MDW. Inaugurated by Matt, it has often, but not always been a sweet mash up of one-sided wrestling, muscle worship, and bear daddy cub training. I’ve always thought there was a kernel of brilliance in the Daddy’s Home formula that has yet to be fully realized. I’m saying here and now, Daddy’s Home 7 has fully realized that wildly sexy, intense, terrifying, will-bending potential that the genre has been promising all along.
While I can totally get off to a smaller guy upending a bigger dude, I’ve often felt a little cheated when Morgan has accomplished this without the barest acknowledgement that he was playing catch up to physically bigger, more massively muscled opponents. So when that formula starts to completely fall apart for him in this match, it’s like watching the end of an era. In the new MDW universe, Morgan Cruise is mortal. And I, for one, am turned on by him about 27 times harder than I ever have been before because of it.
The odds are stacked against him. Matt’s bigger, stronger, more experienced. So when he bodyslams the Mastodon like pounding down bread dough, there’s something so shockingly right about it. Big Matt stomps on the hairy beast viciously. He schoolboy pins Morgan, his big, jock strap pouch dangling in Morgan’s face as the muscle daddy flexes his quickly sweat covered chest and arms over top of Mr. Undefeated. Morgan strains, grunting, working to somehow magically toss his rising muscle daddy’s 225 pounds of glistening marble like he probably could have in every other single match he’s every wrestled (in this homoerotic wrestling universe). And Morgan can’t move daddy Matt an inch, mother fuckers!
Matt grabs Morgan’s throat in a one-handed choke and muscles the gasping hunk into sweaty, swallowing bodyscissors. “Feel those legs? I could stay here all day,” Matt smirks, leaning on one elbow, propping his head leisurely on his hand like a Play Girl centerfold. Morgan starts to squirm and squeal in panicked agony. “Fight it, fight it,” Matt coaches, letting Morgan suck on the pain until just before the kid looks like he’s going to cry.
The pace is persistently catch and release, catch and release, which, frankly, is the way I prefer my squashes. Matt is almost compassionately teaching the cocky young punk a lesson he’s needed for far too long. He buttons him up with body slams, chokes, scissors, demonstrating that he can take Morgan’s muscled ass at will. Any fucking day. Any fucking hour. He spanks that ass ferociously. You can see the raised, bright red welting hand prints on Morgan’s cheeks. Matt explains again and again that he’s bigger, badder, and destined to make Morgan his bitch. Then he releases him again to prove the point all over. “I… I can’t win!!!” Morgan gasps, shocked at the sound of these words coming from his mouth for the first time in his life. Matt crushes him with total command in spinal adjustment bodyscissors, toying with Morgan’s nipples, playing him like a piano. “Wait, wait, I thought you were Mr. Undefeated,” Matt taunts, dialing him in like a ham radio. “Oh… oh, fuuuuuck!” Morgan groans in that particularly intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure.
“Feel my weight on you?,” Matt asks, whispering in Morgan’s ear as he stretches out on top of his back, grinding him into the mat. “That’s 225 pounds of daddy muscle,” Matt explains, flexing his hairy ass, swiveling his hips forward, grinding his hungry cock between Morgan’s vulnerable cheeks. “You though you could take me?,” Matt asks, more like a statement, just letting the absurdity of it marinade as he humps the muscle kid’s ass. “You thought you would leave here undefeated?” Matt climbs to his feet, his gorgeous cock stretching a good 2 inches over the top of his jock. “And yet here I stand, you below me, and you’re my bitch.”
Morgan sells this match body and soul. I have never been so completely taken in by what Morgan is putting out there as when he’s fucking weeping, terrorized, and then suddenly, almost shyly, reaching up and stroking his muscle daddy’s superior muscles. I totally believe Morgan’s sincerity as he kneels at his master’s feet, hungrily sucking at Matt’s nipples. I believe he wants it so, fucking, much well before the eager head of Morgan’s cock pokes over the top of his thong almost shyly asking to come out play. Morgan has totally bought and sold me that he’s gagging for it well before Matt face fucks him furiously, sweat pouring off Matt’s chest, grunting with pleasure as he holds the back of Morgan’s head and pounds his hips forward, again and again.
This is by far the most sexually explicit work that I’ve seen at MDW, and it plays like a masterpiece. The “competition” is over well before both hunks are naked, but the suspense remains as to just how far daddy will go with the crushed, cocky phenom. He makes Morgan oil his already glistening muscles. He rolls him up and mounts his vulnerable, naked ass, pounding his daddy maker into the base of Morgan’s balls. Prying open Morgan’s knees, muscle daddy Matt kneels between his legs and grabs hold of both rods in his big hand and molds them together into one pulsing, hot, rock hard mass. “You want daddy’s load?” As if he needed to ask. “Yes!” Morgan gasps, gagging for it. “You get a nice big load from daddy, then you’ll really be my bitch, yeah? I own you!” Matt face fucks him until he cums, Morgan deep throating him like a champ.
I was NOT expecting any of this. From MDW. From Morgan. From Matt (well, maybe from Matt). This is epic level shit, taking one of the untouchables from the MDW shelf, one of the franchise players who built the brand by being unstoppable, by being irrepressible, by being an alpha male ad nauseum, and turning him into a hot pile of vulnerable muscle hunk getting owned, but good.
I feel the need to repeat myself. This is epic level shit. MDW doesn’t just stretch their boundaries. They rip them to shreds. And they don’t just do something that I find completely unexpected. They do it really, really well.
Personally, Morgan, Matt and MDW’s stocks are skyrocketing for me. If this is a one off and Morgan is slingshotted back into being Mr. Undefeated, pretending this never happened, bulldozing opponents twice his size like a super villain and monologuing about alpha males, I’ll be disappointed. But damn it all, let’s see more of what the Daddy’s Home franchise has been dabbling with all along. A big, mature, gorgeous muscle daddy bending, breaking, and molding a hot, hard, shocked muscle boy into his groveling, chastened bitch.
I confess that Steel Muscle God (SMG) continues to be a sentimental favorite of mine. I remember the first time I caught glimpse of him. Someone had captured a brief clip for YouTube of SMG doing a private cam show, dressed in a sensationally tight wrestling singlet and glasses (I swoon). In his eastern European accent, he flexed and snarled and promised to dominate and destroy any wrestling opponent with his godlike muscles. I wasn’t the only one to discover him and click “like.” His fan following grew, motivating a personality driven SMG muscle worship site. Oh, yes, and inspiring a series of fictional wrestling scenes that I wrote for this blog, featuring him in a magnificent muscle battle against another European cocktease muscle man.
Back near the beginning of my SMG infatuation, I offered to pitch in to buy him a plane ticket to the US to hook up with one of our domestic producers of homoerotic wrestling products to really polish him to a blinding shine. Muscle Domination Wrestling teased just that a while back, producing and publishing MDW stamped wrestling videos starring SMG. But they were contract pieces. SMG was still in eastern Europe, facing, albeit sensationally sexy, local talent there. But my way back fantasy of SMG hopping a plane and landing in the US for an all-American welcome to homoerotic wrestling stardom just came true. MDW brought him here (and I didn’t even have to pay for his plane ticket!), and he’s now available for viewing in Super Men 5.
“That prick will definitely get what he deserves,” and angry Batman Super Bat Stud murmurs to himself, his sense of justice tweaked. SMG is cast as the dark knight, driven with a passion for justice that frequently shoves him right over the edge of vigilantism. He’s in the MDW garage ring, in painted-on black trunks and boots. He flexes and monologues, like any good self-righteous superhero does, before donning his Bat Stud cowl and sucking down a little liquid courage to really pump himself up for facing the reigning bad boy in Gotham Boston, the Riddler Riddle Man.
“Looking for me, Bat Stud?” Riddleman arrives, laughing ominously, as if he knows something the impressive Bat Stud doesn’t. Morgan Cruise has managed to yank the Riddler tights onto his massively muscled frame without ripping it to shreds, which I think proves that he is, indeed, superhuman. The last Riddle Man to don that suit was somewhere around half the man Morgan is. The sheer mass of Morgan’s out of control curly locks could probably pin Charlie Evans for a 3-count. I’m bitter that Morgan’s hairy body stays entirely suited throughout this match, but fans of muscle-stretched lycra will probably find this value added.
“You’ve been doing your shenanigans for a long time, but you need to be brought to justice!” Bat Stud snarls threateningly. Bat Stud with an eastern European accent instantly grabs me right at the base of my balls. That mouthwatering ass of his squeezing out here and there from the confines of his too tight trunks doesn’t hurt matters, either.
I argue that MDW is the leading company in producing narrative-driven homoerotic wrestling, and particularly for that distinction, they keep me on the line. In this case, Riddle Man has spiked Bat Stud’s shot of courage that he downed moments before donning his mask (SMG fans will appreciate the homage to his muscle worship site gimmick of sucking down tonics that do all sorts of things like turning him into a giant). Bat Stud is weak, helplessly bullied by the boy in green.
“I’m going to drain you!” Riddle Man promises, manhandling the masked muscle man with relish. “I’m going to suck out all of your power, all of your strength, and I’m going to make it mine. And I’m going to get my hands all over that body!” Here’s the other strong suit that MDW brings to the table lately. Some (not all) of MDW’s roster unflinchingly charge headlong into the explicitly homoerotic text that their audience enjoys. Some other companies are still producing matches as if the homoeroticism, the muscles dominated, the implications of physical intimacy and sexual foreplay aren’t on our minds. Of course, some other companies are specializing in wrestling-as-sexual-foreplay, with seemingly every wrestling narrative rushed through in order to set up two hot pornboys fucking each other’s brains out. MDW is one of just a couple that I can think of that charts a middle way, dabbling here and there in explicitly sexual content, but for the most part, dialing up the homoeroticism by simply overtly acknowledging erotic lust as a factor in the wrestling narrative. Not that I don’t get off on some g-rated fratboy, mainstream pro imitation hot bodied wrestling matches. And not that I don’t saddle up frequently for enjoying full, fuck stakes pornboy grappling foreplay (I usually don’t linger on the fucking). But I really appreciate the respect MDW (and BGE) are giving their audiences, at least at times, by just treating our lust as something other than their dirty little secret.
“This is NOT happening!” Bat Stud groans in shock. Our superhero is accustomed to outmuscling his opponents. The vigilante hunk is used to flexing and sneering in the faces of rule breakers on the way to manhandling them right to jail. But his spiked tonic is making him raw meat for Riddle Man to torture mercilessly.
“Getting my hands all over these muscles, I must confess, I’m pretty excited,” Riddle Man confesses, again cementing my allegiance in the match to the forces of evil and injustice. He strokes SMG’s torso. He slaps his ass. At this rate, whether on camera or off, I’m pretty sure Bat Stud is going to be getting his hot ass fucked for days just like Super Stud did to a red-headed twink Riddle Man not so long ago. SMG suffering long!? SMG dominated and humiliated, provoked and possessed!?! Oh, fuck, yes.
Long-time fans of SMG will not be surprised when I reveal the spoiler that Bat Stud miraculously, inexplicably (okay, so plot holes abound in MDW’s enthusiastic efforts to produce narrative-driven homoerotic wrestling) regains his super strength. Riddle Man’s punches to SMG’s rock hard core bounce off harmlessly (except for bruising Riddle Man’s knuckles). Bat Stud spends the last third of the match bullying and preening. He backs Riddle Man into a corner and beats him to his knees.
“Wh-wh-what are you!” Riddle Man stutters, in a direct quote from the 1989 Batman movie, proving yet again, as if we needed further proof, that MDW is masterminded by the sexiest pack of muscle nerds to dabble in gay wrestling. What he is is a decent nod to the dark side of the Batman franchise, the vigilante who starts to get a kick out of not just bringing badboys to justice, but bullying them first, dominating and terrifying them. This is a superhero who clearly is starting to get off on the highlight reel he’s recording in his head of making a hot, beefy, (too) hairy muscle hunk like Morgan Cruise cower and quiver and beg.
“You win, Bat Stud! Send me to prison!” Riddle Man pleads for reprieve, begs for straight up justice under threat of the boundary crossing vigilante who’s starting to enjoy this delivery of corporal punishment too much. How far might a steel muscle god in black go, with revenge on his mind and a growing sexual taste for turning muscle bullies into fuck puppets?
Okay, that last bit is mostly me extrapolating the juicy homoerotic wrestling narrative that Super Men 5 seeds. And, of course, that’s a skill I’ve learned after decades of enjoying the homoeroticism of wrestling, having learned how to take the barest thread of a storyline and add all the sexual heat and lustful intent that I need to to feed my homoerotic wrestling kink. MDW doesn’t make me work so hard, though. They know it’s me (and you) tuning in and getting turned on, and they aren’t embarrassed to appreciate their audience for exactly who we are.j
Now, if I may make a request, let’s see SMG face Matt Thrasher in a Daddy’s Home episode, because I’ve been waiting to see SMG bent over some muscle daddy’s knee and spanked into weeping submission for years!
“What’s your name, you Irish fuck!?” Morgan Cruise asks precisely what’s on my mind as I queue up Muscle Domination Wrestling’s new rookie debut in the inaugural title Gorilla Press. The flaming red head with a handsome face is Charlie Evans. He’s mouthwateringly fresh from the meat counter, with his alabaster smooth skin that burns bright red like a relief map charting every stomp, slam, and squeeze that the Mastodon has in store for him.
In the first 45 seconds or so, the newbie is a smart ass, poking the big bear with a stick. He’s all bluster and false bravado, standing there dwarfed in the shadow of a massively beefed up Morgan. Morgan can’t quite believe the kid’s temerity. “Who have you even beaten?” the veteran demands to know where this lightweight gets the balls to predict he can upend one of MDW’s perpetual heels. “I haven’t beaten anybody yet,” Charlie has to admit, “but it’s going to happen!”
Morgan’s fans are treated to a shaggier, more lumbersexual version of the Mastodon than is typical. Sure, the title of the product comes from the four gorilla presses executed over the course of this match, but it could just as genuinely apply to the primal, unkempt, massively muscled and furry body of the heel here. He’s sporting a muscle belly and gargantuan thighs squeezed barely into a grey tights. The contrast with his achingly green opponent is astonishing, really. I’d venture to guess that Charlie’s waist is pretty damn close to the same circumference of just one of the Mastodon’s upper thighs. Charlie is so new he doesn’t have a wrestler profile on MDW yet, so I don’t know exactly what his proportions and vital stats are, but just eyeballing the situation, I’m guessing he’s giving away at least 35 pounds, despite being a couple inches taller than his charging opponent. Honestly, if he scored even one submission on the Mastodon, I’m pretty sure the earth might very well drop out of orbit and crash into the sun, for the seismic upset that would be.
As you might have noticed, the earth is still orbiting the sun. And this is MDW. Buckle up and prepare for a breath stealing 20 minutes of unremitting babyface beatdown. When Charlie has the audacity to suggest his biceps may be more impressive than Morgan’s (someone needs to do a mini-mental status exam on the kid, because that’s just fucking delusional), Morgan cannot believe his ears. “You want to fuck around with me, boy!?” he demands, instantly locking the newbie up in a full nelson and parading him helplessly around the ring. MDW has been shaking up their reputation as the squash factory lately, but this, my friends, is a complete and total squash.
But unlike many MDW matches, wrestling takes center stage. When it’s a Morgan match, wrestling fans will appreciate the attention to and breadth of wrestling drama. He introduces the red headed bon bon to surfboards, camel clutches, bearghugs, headscissors, and, yes, multiple gorilla presses. The plot development is less weighted to the psychological domination side of things that so many MDW matches rely on, and Morgan executes some sweet, high impact, breathtakingly painful-looking holds and maneuvers that make a wrestling kinked fan like me sit up and take notice. And alabaster angel Charlie Evans sucks on the agony long and hard, riding the terror like a trooper.
Two things stand out in this match for me. First, Morgan Cruise wants to fuck… that… ASS! I mean, so much of the homoerotic wrestling universe is relatively closeted itself, relying on innuendo and the imaginations of its audience to bring the eroticism to the table. Morgan is the most explicit I’ve seen him in a while in Gorilla Press, though, and his blunt aching to pound Charlie’s beautiful ass is like a cool, refreshing breeze. He rolls the kid up in a small package, virginal ass to the sky, and slowly pries apart Charlie’s long, smooth legs to expose the big, bouncing bulge the newbie is unsuccessfully smuggling in the front of his trunks. “I”m going to split you right in half and play with those fucking balls,” Morgan narrates as he does just that. First he grinds his boot hard into the newbie’s vulnerable testicles. Then he suddenly starts gently, seductively stroking Charlie’s balls and ass crack with the heel of his boot. Then suddenly he jams his heel hard one more time into rook’s testicles, eliciting a panicked scream of agony. Pain. Pleasure. Pain. It’s a recipe the Mastodon returns to over and over again in this match.
“You know that ass is mine, don’t you?” Morgan asks rhetorically, climbing on top of his battered opponent and stroking, then slapping, then kneading the kid’s beautiful butt cheeks. We’re treated to a fleeting glimpse of the lily white glutes when Morgan drags the rookie up off the mat by the back of his trunks and a handful of red curls. He pounds the kid, grinds him, slams him to the mat over and over. Then he crawls on top of Charlie’s back with a hungry smile, sliding his hips back and forth as he positions his crotch resting in the kid’s vulnerable crack, then flexes his ass cheeks as he locks on a deeply intimate full nelson. “You know, I may just take what I want right fucking now!”
In addition to Morgan’s entirely convincing desire (nay, plan) to claim fuck-stakes winner’s rights, the other delightful revelation in this match is Charlie’s sell. There was something deceptively disarming about the kid’s big, broad, bright smile on his handsome face in the opening seconds of this confrontation that makes the stark terror in his baby blue eyes that much more compelling throughout most of this match. When Morgan looks like he very well may twist the kid’s skull right off his spine, I swear you can read Charlie’s panicked thoughts telegraphed through his wide-eyed astonishment as his eyes dart from side to side, as if scanning the scene for any prayer that he’s going to survive.
Near the end, when Morgan drags his helpless rookie ass off the mat again with a handful of those luxuriously thick red curls, Charlie’s pale white body, riddled with the hand and boot prints of his opponent in stark red relief, glistens in patches with Morgan’s sweat. As Morgan strokes and squeezes that rookie ass, you can watch Charlie renegotiate his bottom line best case scenario. First, he honestly thought he’d show some surprise rookie offense. When that clearly wasn’t going to happen, he thought he’d demonstrate his toughness by holding out against his opponent’s demands to submit. About halfway through the bout, when Charlie is screaming obedient submissions a fraction of a second after Morgan demands them, the rookie looks like he’s just holding onto a determined hope that he won’t be left so wasted that Morgan literally follows through on his promise to initiate him with a post-match fuck. Finally, at the end, I get the impression that Charlie just hopes his ass can take it.
“Who’s in control?” Morgan demands as the kid writhes in blinding agony.
“Who owns your fucking ass?”
“Who’s going to take your ass when this is fucking done?!”
Welcome to our world, Charlie. I hope Morgan didn’t ride your sweet ass right out of the homoerotic wrestling business!
Despite my explicit preference for homoerotic wrestling fare with an element of competitive suspense about it, I’ve been finding myself watching, and enjoying, quite a number of one-sided matches lately. The “squash” is a particular subgenre that I can enjoy, but, like I’ve said, I tend to prefer to see more give and take, more narrative suspense. So it’s interesting to find myself sitting in front of a whole lot of lopsided squashes. Sampling more than my typical diet of them, I’ve been reflecting on what almost always does work for me in a squash, what can but doesn’t always work, and what almost never works for me in a squash.
First, what almost always works for me is seeing a dominant pitcher deeply delighted by the feel of mastering his opponent. This is what I’m talking about when I prattle on about “owning,” when one wrestler doesn’t just beat the other, doesn’t just make him tap out or submit, but takes visceral pleasure in controlling an outmatched contender. Obviously, the absence of this element can make a squash a bore for me. The squash where the dominant stud seems thoroughly dismissive, so out of his opponent’s league that he can barely be bothered to pay attention to the suffering he’s causing, tends to disappoint me. I’ll feast for days off of a viscious, dominant heel who obliterates an opponent in a landslide and convinces me, one way or another, that he could very well need to rub one out soon before or soon after the camera’s are turned off, because he’s just too damned turned on. Frankly, this doesn’t even need to be entirely about sexual tension. I’m less interested in whether the winner wants to fuck his opponent’s ass in victory than I am in whether the experience of conquering, controlling, and possessing an outmatched opponent in and of itself seems capable of giving the winner erotic pleasure. Whether he cums all over the catcher’s face on camera, or just leaves me believing that he needs a little “alone time” in the locker room to pound one out on his own, I’m buying it, if he’s selling it.
A lot of examples come to mind. Most of Kid Vicious’ catalog falls neatly into this category. If KV doesn’t bust a load all over a lamb-to-the-slaughter opponent, I feel 99% certainty that he took care of it soon afterward. He always looks to me like he’s mentally getting off on destroying an opponent (the prettier, the harder). Kid Karisma taps this consistently as well. His recent Undagear 23 match with reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month Marco Carlow is a perfect example. Kid K looks like he’s eating this squash up with a spoon, and when he rips Marco’s gear off, poses overtop of his fallen prey, and beats a hasty retreat from the mat room, I’m convinced it’s not just a hasty retreat he’s about to beat. Jake Jenkins muscle mauling of it-boy Kip Sorrell in Backyard Brawls 8 is another specific example. I think of JJ as one of the most G-rated wrestlers on the scene, but his laughter, his luxuriating in Kip’s total destruction beneath him leads me to write the off camera script that has JJ needing a moment to himself to celebrate beating the living fuck out of that ridiculously pretty pin-up boy.
There are other elements of a squash that can, but don’t always, work for me. A predator who plays with his food, for example, can sometimes turn me on, other times no. I’ve written my appreciation for trash talking taunts in the wrestling ring for ages, but in a squash, withering derision can seem more like dickishness than homoerotic tension. Personally, I find taunts more erotically provocative when the battle is close, when there’s suspense as to whose brash boasts will be born out as true, and who will be humiliated in regrets for winding up his betters with checks he couldn’t cash. In a squash, taunting trash talk and verbal humiliation are tricky for me. Sometimes I’m stoked hotter. Somtimes not. Cathweight squash scenarios also can go either way for me. When the opponents are so clearly, ridiculously mismatched in size, a big-beats-little squash can sometimes work for me in a big way, but at other times leave me a little bored with what turns out to be the forgone conclusion. Competitive catchweight matches or, even, little-beats-big squashes typically float my boat big time, all else considered, but it’s a touchy thing if it’s a big-beats-little squash from the start.
Guido Genatto’s matches teeter back and forth with me around some of these coin toss elements. He won’t relent in physical or emotional abuse until an opponent is a pool of sweat and tears, sometimes just this side of the line for turning me on, sometimes just the other. For the big beats little squash dilemma, big Joe Robbins similarly sometimes comes up heads, sometimes tails.
Finally, it’s a little hard to put my finger on precisely the element that almost never works for me in a squash. I know it by how I feel, rather than by the specific content of the wrestling. When I’m left genuinely feeling sorry for the loser, when I have this impulse to call the principal’s office and report an incident of homophobic bullying in the halls, then I’m totally not on board. When it’s so one sided and the dominant stud is heaping on misogynistic insults, questioning the battered boy’s masculinity, then it touches a nerve that makes it hard to stay in the mood for. There’s a particular stripe of sadism that’s more sociopathic than homoerotic, that delights in inflicting suffering but seems more likely to end in the winner pissing on the loser than cumming across him. That schtick is not in my wheelhouse (no judgment implied, though if it is in yours).
My most recent experience with this is the third match in Undagear 23, in which Ethan Axel Andrews fucking brutalizes delicately gorgeous Jayden Mayne. I’m not just saying this because Jayden charmed the pants off me in his interview here late last year, selling the living fuck out of being an earnest, ambitious babyface on the rise (though that, he did). And fuck, Ethan’s turned my crank more times than I can count. But then there’s this crime scene that unfolds in Undagear 23. Ethan mauls Mr. Hollywood in such a way that I’m sort of hoping for someone on the camera crew to break this shit up. I’ve seen Ethan sell me over and over on his erotic delight in owning an opponent, but here, he just strikes me as a bully. He’s just mean, not because he’s getting off on it, or he cares if you’re getting off on it, or he secretely intends on stripping Jayden’s fine, fine ass bare and taking the spoils of victory with a Trojan on. He just comes across as enjoying hurting defenseless creatures, just because he can. Call PETA. There’s a sicko who enjoys torturing puppies!
Now, I’m 100% certain that there are plenty of homoerotic wrestling fans for whom Ethan’s mugging of Jayden is pure gold. Jayden is genuinely outmatched and outclassed from start to finish, and there’s an undeniable beauty in his spoiled masculine innocence. I’m not suggesting that anyone else does or should feel about it the way I do. I’m just musing, in my own little corner of the internet, about this thing that can take me a little by surprise: a homoerotic wrestling match that simply, essentially, fails to push my buttons. Squashes are just like that for me.
“You think it’s going to be that easy?” Morgan Cruise asks incredulously. He’s been beating the shit out of adorable boyband beauty Joey Carter for several minutes already. “I hope,” Joey says, with more than a little smart ass tone in his voice. “Then you don’t know a damn thing about wrestling!”
While this moment happens partway through the match, this pretty much sums up Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Back Buster 5 from start to finish. Joey, literally, and yes, I literally mean literally, doesn’t know a damn thing about wrestling. Morgan and I don’t just mean that Joey’s got zero wrestling offense. We don’t must mean, as Morgan states explicitly, that Joey has absolutely no clue about executing a reversal or counter move. It’s so much worse than that for dimple cheeked Joey. He doesn’t know the first thing about selling his own suffering.
Those who commented on my recent post advocating for more mature wrestlers on the homoerotic wrestling scene, who said that young, barely legal boys do nothing for them, well, I’ve got bad news. Joey looks like he was handed his high school diploma yesterday (at best). He’s smooth and supple and with dimpled cheeks that need either pinched our slapped hard. If the achingly young, unspoiled baby-babyface is not a character who can move you, Joey will do nothing for you. However, I am not so burdened, thankfully.
The action starts with Morgan tossing the kid into a corner and “bashing” him in the chest with a forearm. It’s a showy move, meant to convey high impact brutality. But obviously there’s little actual force behind Morgan’s blow. I say “obviously,” because Joey literally, and yes, I literally mean literally, looks at the camera and smirks. It’s like he’s struggling not to laugh at the melodramatic play acting. There’s almost a hint of “Fuck, you’re paying me to do this shit?” in his twinkling, dreamy eyes.
“Please, you’re stronger,” Joey pleads for mercy as Morgan locks on yet another in a long series of back-busting pro holds. I say “pleads,” but there’s no panic in his voice. He’s fucking underselling this like a chump! Maybe he’ll be able to go back to his buddies and save a little face by pointing out that this was all just paddy cake, but in the homoerotic wrestling universe, Joey Carter is a fucking chump! If there’s any cardinal sin that offends the homoerotic wrestling gods (and, more importantly, the fans), lazy ass underselling has got to be one. I’m thinking early on here, please, oh please, Morgan, actually hurt this beautiful twink just so we can hear him literally, and yes, I literally mean literally, cry.
So there are a ton of elements here that should mean I hate Back Buster 5. A totally unprepared, uncommitted rookie twink. A start to finish, no suspense, frankly little drama squash. And Morgan delivering exactly everything that we’ve come to expect from him, not a penny less, not a penny more. I’m supposed to be sitting here and writing a scathing review, or, as has been my default in the past couple years, just ignoring this match entirely because I don’t have anything good to say about it.
But I do. Shocking even me, I have to say, this match turned me on harder than the average homoerotic wrestling fare I sample these days. What the fuck, you may be asking. I’m asking that myself. But if I have to put my finger on the one thing that spins this train wreck right back around and tosses it squarely in my wheel house, I know what it is. Joey Carter’s ass. And yes, I’d literally like to put a finger (and both hands, and other body parts) on that ass!
Holy fuck, this kid has got a phenomenally beautiful ass! If MDW did year end awards (which they couldn’t because Muscle Master Kevin and Morgan would have to win everything or else it would damage the “alpha dog” shtick), I would both nominate and be campaign manager to get Joey the title of Best Ass. Whoever writes the online match descriptions for MDW knew that the real break out star of Back Buster 5 would be the rookie’s sensational butt. The match description is as fixated on Joey’s ass as I am. The text mentions Joey’s ass 5 times, which is exactly 100% more often than Morgan does during the match, despite the heavy innuendo throughout the description implying Morgan wants to fuck that tantalizing butt hard. I feel a little like an American shorthair who’s just been tossed a toy full of catnip. Fuck, I cannot tear my eyes away from Joey’s ass!
It’s not just his ass though that manages to redeem this match for me. Truly, Morgan pries and pummels the kid, pushing his tolerances enough that near the end, with Joey finally screaming his pleas for mercy, I’m almost believing him. And I suppose there’s the sufficient suspense that grabs me. That’s the narrative that I’m always saying I crave in my wrestling. In this case, the narrative that captures me is wondering if Morgan is actually going to hurt the kid enough for me to hear the sincerity wrenched out of Joey’s lickable young body. The rook says all the right things. He weeps and moans. He screams and sobs. But moment to moment I’m still trying to decide if I buy it. Is this punk still going to go back to his bros and talk shit about homoerotic wrestling as full of pussies and playacting? Or can I believe that the kid is going to wake up tomorrow honestly bruised, aching, and wondering if he has what it takes, and if it’s worth it, to pick up the phone when Muscle Master Kevin calls to try to book him and his sensational ass in the ring again?
I go back and forth on the verdict, frankly. It’s not like I’m ever totally sold, but I enjoy watching Morgan press the envelope, and I get a kick out of watching Joey scream just a little louder, humiliate himself just a little worse, as the minutes tick by. And in those moments when his phenomenal ass isn’t in the spotlight, I’m completely mesmerized by Joey’s eyebrows. Those fucking eyebrows sell about 20 times better than anything that comes out of his mouth. His eyebrows dance and bounce, as if pain is washing over his face. They pucker up in an anguished Darwin’s V, and then arch as if astonished by the pain. His mouth may be saying, “All right. I’m pathetic. I’m sorry,” almost like a petulant child, but his eyebrows are fucking working it like an Oscar winner.
In the end, Joey has conceded that Morgan is stronger and more handsome than he is (definitely, do not try to put that to a vote, Morgan!). He’s repeated over and over that he understands truly and deeply that he is now and forever Morgan’s bitch. He acknoweldges that his only reason for ever stepping into the ring and getting his “pretty little face” bashed in by anyone else will be for him to assure his future tormentors that Morgan Cruise punished him worst of all. He will be Morgan’s bitch. He will be his spokesperson. He’ll be his ring announcer.
As long as he shows off that sensational ass and continues up the learning curve of both selling and wrestling, I’ll buy it.
Congratulations to all of the homoerotic wrestling fans who are gay married or have plans to be soon. I’ve got a tight leash on my cynicism so that everyone can get drunk and party without Debbie Downer here ruining it for everyone. However, this whole moment in history does remind me of my long standing infatuation with the notion of tag team partner lovers.
I’ve heard sad news that Christian Taylor and Skip Vance have split in real life, which is particularly tragic for fans like me who absolutely swooned over their 2-on-1 ring match in Tag Team Torture 16: Boyfriend Beatdown against Morgan Cruise not that long ago. I sincerely hope that both Skip and Christian are in a good emotional space, that they’ve stayed friends, and that they’ve moved on in a healthy way [pssst, Christian: call me].
But ever since I watched Tag Team Torture 2, in which bear daddy Brian Powers and his adorable cub Liam Ryan wrestle Brooklyn Bodywrecker and Shane McCall, I’ve been smitten with the concept of tag team lovers. Brian and Liam are into each other as they climb into the ring. They’re foolishly confident, stealing some intimate strokes and kisses when they should be paying attention to the sensational heels about to crush them. Big Brian is supposed to be the anchor of the loverboys, so BBW and Shane isolate him, incapacitate him, and tie him into the corner, forced to watch as his boyfriend is needlessly double-teamed, decimated, and forced to suck Shane’s cock in the middle of the ring while BBW and Shane make out, kneeling over top of him.
So, with marriage the law of the land, I’m left to fantasize about other devoted couples who, if the wrestle gods were just and true, would climb into a wrestling ring as a high stakes, homoerotic wrestling team. Here are the couples that I know of who should be competing.
First, let me briefly handicap Matt Bomer and his husband Simon Halls. For raw sex appeal, I give them an 8 out of 10. I’d donate a kidney to ride threesome with these two hot studs. Bomer loves his silver fox daddy passionately, holding the ropes for him when they climb into the ring, rubbing Halls’ shoulders, grabbing a gratuitous grope of his cock before the bell rings. When it comes to ring skills, I’d score them 7 out of 10, with Bomer being a high flyer, including his favorite finisher, a top turnbuckle drop kick that makes opponents’ hearts skip a beat. I picture Halls as more grounded, laser focused, no showboating, just long, punishing, mojo-sucking holds like headscissors and a knee-busting Indian death lock. He enjoys throttling opponent’s cocks for ages in lusciously long OTK backbreakers. For strength, I score them a 7 out of 10, with Halls’ maturity and Bomer’s dazzling beauty and athleticism making them a team to beat. If there’s a weakness, I’m picturing Bomer as impulsive, perhaps a little too distractible, possibly a bit too quick to want to do a victory stripper dance over top of a battered opponent.
Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka are a pair of twink daddies who need a hardcore sex-tape leak. For sex appeal, I give them a 6 out of 10. Harris has that incredibly sexy humor paired with such pretty pecs, but Burtka needs a shot of charisma. Mind you, I’d blow a gasket to get lubed up from head to toe with the both of them. Ring skills: 9 out of 10. I see these twink daddies as one of those teams that tags out devastatingly fast and furious, leaving opponents bewildered and bashed. There’s tons of teamwork, like Harris Irish whipping Burtka across the ring to pummel the fuck out of a momentarily dazed opponent hanging in the corner. Burtka scoops up opponents as Harris drops to one knee, letting his hubby pound their prey viciously across Harris’ thigh in a power OTK backbreaker. For strength, the skinny boys are surprisingly power-packed, but still, they’re skinny, so I give them 5 out of 10. They’re a total twink heel team, double-teaming opponents in the corner, not waiting for tags, interfering whenever the partner in the ring is looking vulnerable. Burtka gets off on ball clawing, and Harris can’t keep his hands off his rod when he’s got a wasted opponent nice and snug in headscissors. For weaknesses, it’s got to be size. They’re dangerous as fuck, but susceptible to getting shoved around.
Jason Landau and Cheyenne Jackson make one dazzlingly beautiful pair, and would be one sensational homoerotic wrestling tag team. For sex appeal, I give the power couple a 9 out of 10. If Jackson wears a thong to the ring, I could easily be negotiated up to a 9.5. The two always look so fucking intensely into each other, which would instantly exponentiate the erotic factor in any match. They’d be sucking face and groping each other aggressively until the bell rings. For ring skills, I’m giving the them a 6 out of 10. I picture them coasting a bit on Jackson’s size and strength, with Jason mostly a support player who’s lucky to hold his own when his muscle hubby tags him in with momentum already on their side. As a team, I give them an 8 out 10 for strength, with Jackson carrying more than his fair share. Have you seen his thighs?! He would totally be the muscle brute who would rack his opponents across his huge shoulders and do squats in the middle of the ring to humiliate them. Fuck, I’m picturing beautiful Jason letting Cheyenne use his own lean bod for barbell curls, just because both of them get off on that sort of thing. They’re mostly a babyface team, with fucking on their minds more than winning (thus, the weak link). When they win, it’s because of Jackson’s dominating power. When they lose, it’s because they’re outwrestled and lost in lust for one another and/or their opponents.
Nate Berkus and his beefy hot husband Jeremiah Brent would make a way hot tag team. I find it hard to rank their team sex appeal because my assessment of Berkus varies so widely, day to day. One day, I’d totally tap that. The next, meh. I do think he’s significantly sexier with his man candy hubby on his arm, though, so let’s just score them a 6 out of 10 and move on. When it comes to ring skills, I’d give the duo a 6 out of 10. I picture Berkus as more of a poser, leaving Brent to do the heavy lifting. Brent would be all about leverage and joint manipulation in the ring, plenty of figure-4 leg locks, headlock suplexes, and hammerlocks. As for strength, the babyfaces are thickly muscled, so let’s score them an 8 out of 10. Berkus likes to flex his biceps in the faces of opponents being owned by Brent. They like to muscle smaller opponents around the ring when they can, lording it over them, trash talking about what weak pussies they are. They’re nominal heels, though it’s Berkus’ narcissism that mostly defines the character of this tag team. He takes all the credit, does less than half the work, and works up a load of celebration across the chests of the opponents that Brent puts out cold with figure-4 chokes. Biggest weakness has to be the potential for Brent to reach the end of his patience and go ape shit all over his own partner.
My final tag team lovers handicapping is for boybander Lance Bass and his hubby, crazy sexy Michael Turchin. For sex appeal, I’d score the an 8 out of 10, though there are some modeling shots of Turchin online that may merit the boys a higher score on any given day, depending on Turchin’s conditioning. For ring skills, I give them 7 out of 10, with evenly matched technical wrestling aptitude and speed. I picture them both as barefoot high flyers, with a flair for side-by-side mirrored standing drop kicks. Bass loves to schoolboy pin, trash talk in the face of a flat out opponent, dick whipping opponents’ faces with a laugh. Turchin loves to use the ropes, frequently trapping opponents arms there and exploiting their predicament to mix knees to the gut with lustful gropes of muscles and bulges. When it comes to strength, these two are solid, but not powerhouses. 7 out of 10 for strength, though again, if Turchin is in top condition, you can dial that up. I see this lover tag team as homoerotic specialists, which I think can look like heels anywhere else, but is just middle of the road sex-wrestling in homoerotic circles. They’re hot for one another, hot for sexy opponents, and hot for the feel of controlling and dominating opponents into total submission until they’ve lost their loads all over their losers’ faces.
So that’s my take on gay marriage. Only thing left is to wonder who beats who, how, and what holds and moves get me to rewind and replay over and over again? Any other tag team lovers you’d like to toss into competition, and who do you think would be reigning tag team lover champs?