Squash Me Just Right

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.

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Morgan squashes Joey in Back Buster 5.

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.

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Kid Vicious owns opponents just right, every time.

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.

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Kid Karisma glistens with delight as he crushes Marco’s every luscious muscle.

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.

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Guido walks the line muscle bullying baby-babyface Kirk Donahue.

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.

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Big Joe Robbins is a big-beats-little Catch Weight veteran.

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).

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Ethan beats Jayden in the first 3 minutes, then just taunts and tortures the pretty kid for 15 more.

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!

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Ethan just keeps fucking the kid over.

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.

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Yes.

Sometimes they turn me on hard.

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Not as much.

Sometimes they don’t.

“I’m pathetic.”

“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!”

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Devastatingly pretty Joey Carter

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.

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Morgan puts him through the ringer, but Joey isn’t nearly juicy enough.

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.

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Morgan turns up the heat, but Joey can’t keep a straight face.

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.

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Morgan mauls the kid, but only slowly does Joey cotton on that this hurts.

“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.

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Joey spends a lot of time hiding his face, so Morgan has to force the kid to stare into the camera and try to sell.

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.

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The breakout star of Back Buster 5: Joey Carter’s ass!

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!

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Morgan never mention’s Joey’s ass, or seems to pay much attention to it, but MDW already knew what I was going to be obsessing about.

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!

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Suddenly, the rookie’s struggle selling isn’t what I’m paying attention to!

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?

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Come on, Joey, sell it!!!

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.

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Perhaps the first time I’m turned on by eyebrows?

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.

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As long as that ass is in the picture, I’ll saddle up for another ride with Joey any day.

As long as he shows off that sensational ass and continues up the learning curve of both selling and wrestling, I’ll buy it.

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Come on, Joey. Scream for me!

What’s Love Got to Do With 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.

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Barefoot babyface boyfriend bearhug: Morgan makes Skip and Christian watch each other in agony.

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].

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Shane McCall & Brooklyn Bodywrecker crush Liam Ryan between their cocks while Liam’s trussed up lover watches helplessly from the corner.

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.

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Team Muscle Magic: Halls & Bomer.

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.

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Team Twink Prodigies: Burtka and Harris.

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.

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Team Broadway Beef: Landau and Jackson.

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.

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Team Dastardly Designers: Berkus & Brent.

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.

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Team Boyband Beefcake: Turchin & Bass.

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?

Their Best Side

I’ve been obsessing lately on magnificently muscled asses. You know the kind I’m talking about.  The sort that takes more than two, big, eager hands to grab hold of entirely. That type that contracts into rock hard slabs of squared off granite that could grab hold with a grip like a vice. Of course, the finest specimens belong on the backside of handsome, hunky, athletic wrestlers. Sampling the new homoerotic wrestling releases is feeding my obsession nicely.

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BG East Best Butt winner for 2014, Cameron Matthews shows that awesome ass of his as he prepares for Barefoot Babyfaces 1.
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Kid Karisma shows off why the title of BG East’s Best Butt is always in contention with his ass around. Perfect muscle sculpture as he poses in preparation for Gazebo Grapplers 17.
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Muscleman Chace LaChance is sculpted beautifully from every angle, particularly from behind, as he prepares for his most explosive match yet, Ring Releases 2.
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In Fan Fantasy 2, Jonny Firestorm gives this fan exactly what I crave: Chris Bruce’s magnificent, meaty, wedgied ass.
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Eye of the Cyclone’s serial “Hard as Ice” includes three of my fondest things: a naked, muscle shower scene, beautiful, glistening glutes, and the fantasy man superhero SubZero.
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Jake Jenkins hot, firm ass is perfectly suited to his acrobatic antics, and that backside may have never looked sweeter than pumped and primed for his Barefoot Babyface battle with Morgan Cruise.
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And speaking of the Mastodon, his beautiful, beefy butt is a totally different sort, but no less obsession-worthy.
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Supersized glutes (and bulges) feature prominently in Eye of the Cyclone’s “Who Do You Voodoo?” serial, with superhero partners Flex and HALO forced like puppets on a string to grope and grind one another.
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Primally hot Zach Reno’s lovely ass is simply stunning as he prepares to get trounced by Kid Karisma in Gazebo Grapplers 17.
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Hello, Sam Sellers, big, beefy, bulging rookie from BG East’s Mat Scraps 3. Nice ass, rook!
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In “Idle Hands,” villainous minions of bodiless hands go for the gold in their assault on Eye of the Cyclone’s Archangel. That’s a heavenly, hotly muscled ass!  

And the nominees are…

Mere hours are left for you to register your votes for the 2014 BG East Besties. The last 4 categories I have to reflect on are what I think of as the most dramatic and titillating. Like saving “best picture” and “best actor in a leading role,” I’ve held off on reflecting on these because these mean most to me in any ways.  First up, let’s look at those who sold the most compelling characters this year, beginning with nominees for Top Heel.

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After a bumpy start in BG East his first go a couple of years ago, Morgan “the Mastodon” Cruise has been a perennial heel. Vicious, merciless, with no regard for life or limb, much less rules or good taste, he’s very on point at all times. His monologues tend to be constant, regardless of his opponent, and I long for new depths of sadism fro him. But he’s got a ton of fans.
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Guido Genatto has a boatload of nominations for Best Ring Match, Best Squash, Best Submissions, Best Overall Match. He doesn’t just heel, he obliterates. He’s a steam roller who delights in cheating because, fuck, who’s going to try to stop him? Definition of a heel.
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Lane Hartley has so much swagger and he’s so damn pretty, he nearly slides out of heeldom when I picture him in my mind’s eye. He’s relentless and deeply sadistic. He takes great pleasure in the screams and tears of his victims.
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My reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler Kid Karisma drips with contempt, supremely confident that his muscle and might will roll right over every victim placed in his way. I don’t think of him as a dirty tricks wrestler, because he’s just so fucking dominant, why would he need to rely on cheating? Sadistic as shit, yes, but the top heel?
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Cage Thunder is a top shelf heel at all times, even though his appearances in 2014 were scarce. The mask, the body, that awesome cock… everything about him is perfectly tuned to inspire terror. He did what he does fabulously, but with just one match on the books this year, will he claim Top Heel of the year?

Shockingly, the reigning Top Heel the past two years running, Jonny Firestorm, was absent from this year’s slate. Was Jonny’s work somehow less dominant, less dastardly, less sadistic? With him suspiciously out of the way, however, someone is definitely taking the crown for the first time. I’m leaning toward Guido because of both quantity and quality of his matches. His trash talk alone is terrifyingly hot, but his muscle domination and indy pro heel superiority are absolutely soul crushing. I’m guessing fans will break his way or possibly Morgan’s. I think Cage Thunder is a long shot this year solely because he didn’t put up more evidence of his heel mastery in 2014, but he very well could be the sentimental favorite of long-time fans.

Top Jobber is crazy competitive this year. I would argue a jobber is not someone who just gets squashed, but someone who sells that he whole heartedly believes he has a fighting chance, even mounts some offense and keeps the suspense building, but sooner or later, inevitably goes down in crushing defeat. A jobber isn’t a pushover. He’s not a joke. He inhabits a full story arc, even if the outcome is as certain as the sunrise. You and I know a jobber is doomed from the start, but he doesn’t.  Let’s take a look at the contenders for this nuanced category.

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Ty Alexander has been a house on fire his debut year. I think he’s a clear frontrunner for Debut of the Year, and he quickly developed the narrative of his legitimate skill and enthusiasm doomed to be crushed under foot. At times I wondered if his masochism was too far in front, if he wanted to be beaten so bad that he collapsed the suspension of disbelief. But he assembled an army of fans who I’m sure are behind him (because the view is so damn fine from back there).
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I got harassed for discounting Kirk Donahue’s qualifications to be in the Best Butt contention, so I realize I may be asking for it again when I say that, although he made my crotch stir hard with an epic sell jobbing in 2014, it was just one match. The suspense lasted about 17 seconds before Guido was grinding the kid into pulp, which he sold like a champ, but still, was it enough to say he was Top Jobber for 2014?
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Jake Jenkins carries so much water at BG East it’s amazing. Total top tier, multi-award winner babyface, he took major beatings in the ring in 2014 establishing a fantastic claim to be considered Top Jobber. Ignore his mat work. That’s a whole different JJ, and BGE deploys their boys in different genres with entirely different aptitudes. In the ring, though, in those “beat me” American flag trunks, he was an incredible jobber.
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Drake started the year first jobbing hard for Mason Brooks and then getting pissy with me for admiring what a hot jobber he is. The handsome jobber fucking HATES being called a jobber, which somehow merely makes it only that much more certain that he’s such… a… JOBBER. To top it off, after searching the ranks of bloggers to find someone he can finally beat, he still ended up in a tree of woe with my heel grinding into his defenseless chest. What a jobber…
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Kip Sorell is one tasty muscle jobber. His claim to Top Jobber seems clearer than his contention for Top Babyface, as I mentioned earlier. However, I’m not entirely sure Kip honestly believes at any point leading up to or during any of his matches that he has a snowball’s chance in hell. That makes him blur somewhere between a doomed character in a Greek tragedy (aka, a jobber) and a helpless victim of a mugging/attempted rape (aka, a farce). Fans love him every time he suffers hard, though.

Tough call, with a ton of blurry lines depending on exactly what you think and feel about jobbers in general.  Two-time winner Rio Garza was not nominated this year, leaving the field open for a first-timer to be guaranteed the crown. With the fond memory of him out cold, stripped naked, and with his trunks stuffed down his throat in the middle of the ring after coming face to face with a certain blogger, though, I have to punch Drake Marcos’ ticket (once again) for Top Jobber. I think his biggest competition for this one is Ty, with the difference being, in my mind, mainly the certainty that Ty would love to be Top Jobber, while Drake would hate it. Paradoxically, I think that gives Drake the edge here.  Long shot I think is JJ, mostly just because some people will vote for him regardless what the category is.  He’s so complex, though, and you have to partition out his mat work to fully justify him as Top Jobber.

Hottest Liplock may not be a category others think of as the top tier choice to make, but I fucking LOVE this category. Like “Best Submissions in One Match,” the context isn’t entirely clear.  A particular liplock? Perhaps not, since the nominees are just matches.  I love wrestling liplocks, though, so however you slice it, I’m so into this category.

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Babyface Brawl X was sexy as hell and a fantastic concoction of bitter aggression and full on sexual arousal, which is one of my favorite formulas. Drake and Ty were fighting for victory, for dignity, and most of all, for Drake’s trunks. Some of the hottest liplocks are NFSW, but every one left me wondering whether it would be interrupted by more bitter fighting, which makes everyone of them hot, hot, hot.
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Wrestle Shack 18 was full of full on homoerotic wrestling lust between Gabriel Ross and Christian Taylor. This was a fantastically sexy pairing, with tons of value added for the stark contrasts between their bodies. Christian is reigning kissing champion of BG East in my book, but I don’t know if Gabriel was as convincingly committed to the liplocks.
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Holy shit Trey Dixon and Skip Vance were on FIRE by the end of their Gear Wars 4 match. How no penetration appeared on camera is a mystery to me, because Skip’s rod is visibly throbbing and Trey looks like a starved man sitting at an Old Country Buffet. This particular jockstrapped, cock-sitting, body-scissors-oh-fuck-it-let’s-suck-face moment brings a tear of ecstasy to my eyes every time.
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Raunchy Rookies 7 saw the seismic double debut of Kayden Keller and Ty Alexander, putting up one of the sexiest, most explicit, fully erotic wrestling matches I’ve ever seen a rookie (much less two) manage. Kayden looks like he could eat the face off of adorable Ty, but the corporal domination leads ultimately to merely a double explosion in the middle of the ring. Sizzlingly hot liplocks, particularly once the gear is stripped.
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Pain & Punishment 1 has locked down a boatload of nominations all over the place, so yet again consider the fine eroticism of Mason Brooks squelching Drake Marcos’ screams of anguish with an intoxicating liplock. Not nearly as many liplocks in this bitter, bitter feud as for other contenders, but the aggressive, dominating, domineering face suck is enacted to perfection.

So many fantastic liplock moments that speak to the very heart of what moves me most about homoerotic wrestling! If I could vote for all of the nominees, I would, because they all rocked me dizzyingly hard. Just one, though? Fuck.  It’s razor close between Babyface Brawl X and Gear Wars 4. My vote finally goes to the homoerotic jobber wonder twins, Drake & Ty, whose Babyface Brawl X was incredibly innovative and pushed the envelope in all the right directions.  I have no idea what the majority will vote for in this category. I won’t be surprised for whoever wins, though I’m pulling for the jobber wonder twins.

Now for Best Overall Match of 2014…

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Guido Genatto once again complicates the field with two entries, first for Demolition 17 against Jake Jenkins. I don’t know if a squash is likely to win because of the constituency that just doesn’t like them, though this one was incredibly tasty.
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Demolition 18 found Guido again crushing another jobber like a grape, this time wunderkind Kirk “don’t-discount-my-ass” Donahue. This match definitely made me most genuinely concerned for the life and limb of a wrestler this year. Was it best overall?
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Mat wrestling entries for Best Overall Match include Passion & Punishment 1’s Trey Dixon v Skrapper. Intensely, intimately, shockingly erotic without an ounce of hot, hard, painful wrestling action spared. Incredible match. Totally legitimate finalist for this category.
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Yet another Pain & Punishment 1 entry is Drake Marcos getting schooled like a stubborn pup by sexy as hell philosopher king Mason Brooks. This match pushed all my buttons a lot. Awesome drama that extended well beyond the narrative on camera. Fantastic wrestling, awesome suffering, sweat, luscious bodies… I’m convinced, but I’m slightly surprised it pulled the nominating committee to include it.
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Pretty boy ring feast, Ring Hunks 2 makes a surprise entry here (as far as I’m concerned). Truly a watershed moment to watch Z-Man really come into his own and set the pace, control the tempo, and tell the story (not to mention fucking own every inch of Kip Sorell). Another squash though, making all 3 ring match entries in this category way one-sided. Not judgment on my part, just an observation.
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Submissions 9 puts in the last contender with Cameron Matthews and Lorenzo Jake Lowe chaining together one dizzyingly hot hold after another until everyone is coated in sweat (and most of us on this end of the screen coated in other bodily fluids). Highest quality mat wrestling, big egos, energizer bunnies, bitter aggression.

I’m fascinated that all three ring match entries are squashes. That, along with Guido’s double entry, really fucks with my confidence in predicting a frontrunner. My vote is going to Mason and Drake because of several factors, including Mason’s gorgeous naked ass, Drake’s horrified whimpers, bitter trash talk, a gallon of sweat, and the ball rolling that would lead to me snapping Drake’s photo flat on his back under my foot about 9 months later. Extremely close 2nd place for me is Trey and Skrapper. Holy fuck that’s one over-the-top hot, hard fought, insanely sexy match. My barely better than a random guess for the majority on this one is Cameron and LJL, mostly because of Cam’s fan following. I think long odds are on Guido & Kirk.

If you haven’t voted yet, this is your Bard approved final ballot to point your way to where my tastes take me:

Best Abs: Lon Dumont

Best Bulge: Pete Sharp

Best Butt: Kid Karisma

Best Body: Kid Karisma

Sexiest Match: Passion & Punishment 1 – Trey Dixon v Skrapper

Best Mat Match: Passion & Punishment 1 – Drake Marcos brought to whimpering tears by Mason Brooks

Best Ring Match: Tag Team Torture 17 – Dumont/Baynard v Reno/Walsh

Best Debut: Ty Alexander

Top Babyface: Denny Cartier

Best Squash: Jobberpaloozer 13 – Austin Cooper v Leo Tomasi

Best Submissions in One Match: Wet & Wild 7 – Trey Dixon’s face-to-crotch headscissors on Mason Brooks

Top Heel: Guido Genatto

Top Jobber: Drake “damn-it-I’m-not-a-JOBBER!” Marcos

Hottest Liplock: Babyface Brawl X – Drake Marcos v Ty Alexander (aka, the homoerotic jobber wonder twins)

Best Overall Match of 2014: Pain & Punishment 1 – Drake Marcos sniveling and choking like a jobber punk beneath Mason Brooks

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

We’re well into the month, so it’s about time I settled down and made the tough call as to who should be the new homoerotic wrestler of the month around here. For those of you just tuning in, I pick the wrestler who, appearing in a homoerotic wrestling match over the prior month, turned me on most. As always, this could go in many directions this time around, but based on recurring roles in my sweat soaked erotic dreams, there’s one particular hunk who worked me hardest and stayed with me longest.  The new reigning HWOTM is…

 

 

 

 

 

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Matt “Marcus the Gladiator” Thrasher.

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In Muscle Domination Wrestling’s September Release “Gladiator,” Thrasher makes his sophomore appearance with the company and, as far as I know, in the world of homoerotic wrestling. Similar to his debut role as the stern disciplinarian bear daddy in Daddy’s Home, Thrasher’s role as Marcus the Gladiator is that of a hyper masculine, scorching hot, fiercely dangerous muscle fighter. Unlike in Daddy’s Home, however, in Gladiator Marcus is chattel to the upper class elite who buy and sell him.  His reputation in the arena is as unconquerable champion, but when a rich boy purchases him and gets his hands all over that hot body, Marcus’ bitter, barely contained contempt pulses off of the screen.

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I’ve already reviewed Gladiator, so I’ll try not to retrace my steps, but I will say that this scenario captures in a novel way the power and beauty of erotic seduction wedding intimately with muscle combat. Hunky Matt plays the raging warrior boiling just beneath the surface in a delightfully engaging way.  As he permits his more diminutive title holder to dominate him, push him around, feel him up and down and up again, the champion of the arena bristles and flexes, but submits his hotly muscled body to his owner’s whims.  The subtext is clearly that hardbodied Matt could pummel the aristocratic youngster into dust, but he knows his place, he knows the consequences of open disobedience, and he permits the hungry young blue blood to quite literally walk all over him.

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But here’s where the drama gets really interesting, because the rich boy who possesses his papers and fondles every inch of luscious Matt Thrasher intentionally provokes and prods the muscled gladiator.  He lords over the beast of burden with relish, but he weaves an intoxicating spell of physical domination, erotic manipulation, and a good old fashion mind fuck that makes the massively muscled gladiator vacillate between preening cockily and stewing furiously, spilling over with blood lust but then just spilling over with astonished, pure lust.

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The young/old, big/bigger, blue collar/aristocrat contrasts are played as skillfully as masked Morgan pumps Matt’s organ to a sweat soaked, climactic crescendo. Matt sells his genuine surprise at being manhandled by the little rich boy, and that big, juicy cock sells even more convincingly just how aroused this muscle domination session is for him.  With that salt-and-pepper beard and big, juicy pecs, I get a strong whiff of Joe Manganiello, and regular readers of this blog and my wrestling fiction know just how mind-blowing that comparison is for me. Whatever you think of the likeness, I argue that big Matt has a look and a persona that make him one of the most unique and, for my money, engaging athletes in the homoerotic wrestling scene today.

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Masked Morgan casts his spell so subtly, so seductively, that hardbodied Matt doesn’t quite realize the point at which he crosses the line from indulging his audacious new master to being truly and completely owned, body and soul, by the erotic master who works him into a pliant mountain of glistening muscle stroking his rod like a marathon runner. Honestly, the jack off scene lasts for ages, not because Matt is having any trouble whatsoever keeping it up, not because there are awkward editing cuts and camera angles, but just because Matt Thrasher is quite obviously a thoroughbred, aged to perfection, with a phenomenal endurance to milk every groaning ounce of ecstasy from being molded like clay in the hands of an erotic master. Spread eagled there in the middle of the ring, Morgan cranking on those nipples, grinding his crotch into Matt’s back from behind, whispering sweet words of total domination in his ear, Matt cums.

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And as Morgan flexes in victory from behind, the look of shocked pleasure that washes across Matt’s handsome face is priceless. “You are definitely my master,” the champion of the arena gasps, stating what is obvious for everyone to see. He’s been tamed and turned and there’s no turning back now.  Kudos to Morgan for more than ably selling this story on his end, but it’s the conquered gladiator, the handsome alpha male erotically convinced to fall into line, the beauty and muscles of Matt Thrasher become consumed by the master that haunts my fantasies now.  Nice work, Matt. Hope to see much, much more of you!

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High Drama

Morgan Cruise is “looking for someone who can entertain both physically and erotically” in Muscle Domination Wrestling’s new release Gladiators. I instantly find myself irritated that the seductive tease of Damien Rush in a toga is window dressing.  Handsome stud Damien isn’t a combatant in this wrestle-erotic melodrama, damn it.  I forgive MDW, however, when I learn that masked Morgan’s co-star is none other than salt-and-pepper stud puppy Matt Thrasher who so captured my imagination in MDW’s last catalog release (and I mean RELEASE), Daddy’s Home.

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Damien Rush has “treated and trained” his wares in precisely the physical and erotic arts that Morgan is looking for.

Mysterious Morgan is, in this ancient Roman period piece, in the market to buy a slave with skills both in physical combat and erotic pleasure.  Holy shit, I was born in the wrong era.  Damien’s brief role is as a purveyor of precisely the sort of man meat that Morgan is in the market to purchase.  At least Damien swears he has “treated and trained” his slaves in precisely the science and arts that masked Morgan is looking for, namely deadly combat and erotic pleasure.  Now that’s a training school I’d like to enroll in!

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All hail the champion of the Colosseum, Marcus!

Enter “Marcus,” the barely clad gladiator who instantly catches Morgan’s eye.  Jumpin’ Jupiter, Matt Thrasher is a fine, fine looking man! Morgan clearly agrees with me.  “I saw what you did in the arena today,” Morgan says, licking his lips and examining Matt from head to toe.  Slapping his meaty right pec, Morgan concludes, “I think this package might work.”  Morgan commands “Marcus” to flex his mammoth biceps for him.  Obediently, the arena gladiator obeys, more than a little pride in his face as he shows off for his appreciative new owner.  “Nice,” masked Morgan mutters hungrily, palming the softball-sized biceps of his high quality property.

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Morgan sizes up his new acquisition.

Morgan explains that he has purchased Marcus for the week to give as a present to the emperor, to float Morgan’s stock higher in the esteem and political machinations of the hardcore, conniving, flattering, favors-for-hire world of decadent modern day US ancient Rome.  You can just about see Marcus’ ego swelling, but sneering Morgan has to break the news to him that “you weren’t all that expensive.”  The gladiator’s inflated ego is bruised around the edges.  His pride flinches defensively. He’s irritated, both at the news and it’s deliverer.  Morgan’s sliding seductively underneath the skin of the hero of the Colosseum.  Marcus refuses to accept either his low stock price or his subservient position to his new owner. “At the end of the day,” Morgan announces, hands on hips, “you’re going to have to remember that I’m the master, and you’re the slave.”  They butt pecs, Marcus staring down from his height advantage into the eyes of his young deed holder. “I don’t think so,” the big stud mutters defiantly.

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The gladiator has an ego proportionate to his bulging muscles.

Morgan commands the gladiator to strip out of his leather cock cover.  Marcus refuses. Morgan doesn’t exactly appear displeased when he announces, “I’m going to have to show you you’re fucking place.”  Erotically charged combat ensues, with the physically superior and arena-honed gladiator finding his hands more than full with the deceptively dangerous masked nobleman.

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Now who’s the master!?

The pretense of Gladiator could turn some away. The backstory, the costumes, the slowly revealed backstory and subterfuges are considerably more involved than typical homoerotic wrestling fare. But I have to say that what could appear as pretentious completely sucks me in.  I’m always provoked most by the homoerotic wrestling matches than have a context, that tell a story.  That’s why I’m so often rattling my cage for a tournament, or a lovers’ tag team, or more through story tracking the adventures/misadventures of my favorite wrestlers across matches.  MDW has been working harder than most to invest in the drama and take seriously the context, giving us a lot of options that move well beyond just having two barely clad hunks climb into a ring and wordlessly go at it.  It takes imagination to suspend disbelief sufficiently to really immerse ourselves in the ritual of two hot studs battering each other in a wrestling ring. I’m happy and aroused to see MDW digging deeper into their own range and my imagination to construct a compelling, very hot scenario beyond just hottie Morgan Cruise and hottie Matt Thrasher throwing some wrestling moves together and then calling it a day.

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Matt Thrasher is big and beautiful all over!

The drama in Gladiator appeals to me on many levels.  I hold a special place for contrasts, such as Matt towering over his shorter opponent, of Morgan mysteriously masked in front of his raw, naked, handsome conquest.  I particularly enjoy an age differential, particularly the way it’s stacked up in this scene with more mature musclestud Matt being physically bigger and more experienced than his upperclass tamer.  There are hills and valleys in the plot that make the destination just a little mysterious, making Gladiator something far from a phoned-in, contextless homoerotic wrestling feature.

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Master Morgan begins to take full possession.

Dastardly Morgan overcomes the gladiator’s superior strength with a full on ball claw that drops the warrior to the mat. Matt becomes more compliant once he’s been stripped, his thick, meaty cock already flying at half mast. The flag runs all the way up the pole within seconds of the master giving Matt’s cock the appreciative attention is so richly deserves.  Morgan strokes and squeezes it. “Look at that,” Morgan coos, “looks like our gladiator is fucking pretty impressive!”  That’s right, Matt crows proudly, refueling his mojo with Morgan’s obvious appreciation.

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Vertical head scissors with a cock claw chaser. Even when he’s on the bottom, Morgan’s on top!

MDW walks a fine line in Gladiator between their strictly domination fare and the wrestling that I particularly enjoy.  The psychological drama places this squarely in their muscle domination catalog, but there’s enough classic wrestling involved to keep me on board.  A test of strength, an OTK backbreaker with a cock claw topper, pec punching, bearhug, ass slapping body scissors… the recipe is complex enough to appeal to my palate, even after Matt loses all pretense that he doesn’t want to be conquered and fucked by his sexy new owner.

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Morgan starts playing Matt’s hotly muscled body like a maestro.

Morgan plays Matt’s body like a concert cellist, stroking and strumming and plucking the big, handsome hunk into a quivering mass of muscled submission.  Working Matt’s nipples furiously from behind, forcing him to kiss his biceps, Morgan positions the bearded gladiator just right for us to watch Matt melt into nothing but a raging hard on getting stroked slowly, suspense rising harder and harder until the muscleman explodes, spread eagled in front of our eyes. “Yeah, oh, MASTER!” Matt groans adoringly even as he cums, his big pecs glistening with sweat.  The look on the gladiator’s face says it all. It wasn’t the exchange of denarii or a signature on a deed of ownership that made big Matt the prized possession of Morgan.  It was being physically and erotically conquered in the ring that binds him in obedience and gratitude to his handsome, hunky young master.

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No one is unsatisfied with the new roles they now play.

Ancient Roman melodrama never looked so good!