I thought I’d better post something before someone prematurely starts writing my obituary. I’m still adjusting to offline changes in my life, but I’m also happily carving out stolen moments here and there to enjoy watching hot wrestling. My thanks to those who periodically check-in when you notice I’m quiet for a while. It’s always nice to be missed. And a big word of humble gratitude to man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams who not only noticed my absence, not only dropped a comment on the blog asking how I’m doing, but also let me know that he’s thinking about arranging an opportunity for me to see him wrestle in person.
Fuck, that’ll bring me back from death’s doorstep anytime. Honestly, if you ever find me in cardiac arrest, skip the CPR and just get Scott Williams on the line letting me know when and where I can get a live show of him making Ty Alexander cry and beg. I guarantee you that’ll be an instant miracle cure.
If you know me, you know I’ve got opinions piling up about the best and brightest new releases that have come out over the past couple of months. While I’m assembling my thoughts and trying to sort through a backlog of reviews, this post is mostly just to let you know I’m still kicking. And in that spirit, here are some hot, decisive kicks that make my heart beat harder.
I’m two months behind in anointing a HWOTM, so today let me turn the time machine back to May of this year. There were some sensationally hot releases in May, many of which grabbed my attention, turned me on, and got me off repeatedly. As is so often the case, there were several past HWOTM winners, and I heaped adoration on several releases in fawning reviews. It’s a close call this time around, but my cock tells me there’s just one hunk who finally earned the title….
Denny’s performance in Jobberpaloozer 14 elevates him to the rarified status of a 3-time HOWTM winner. If anything, it actually catches me by surprise that this is only Denny’sthird title, because I key off on everything that Denny is in, anytime I get the opportunity. As I’ve mentioned before, there’s something magnetically real about Denny. There’s an authenticity about him that makes me believe every word out of his mouth, every cry of pain, every superhuman feat of strength and dexterity. Continuing a recent theme I touched upon concerning the limits of what a 6-pack will get you, I’m infatuated with Denny’s proportions. He’s got thick, powerful thighs capped off with a sensational bubble butt that I’d love to ride for days. His lush, meaty pecs and rock hard, wide shoulders make me believe every whimper he squeezes out of an opponent with a bearhug. His face is a tad too pretty to be believed; those eyes, that chin, and his babyface smile could easily charm me out of my pants, my bank account, and any shred of dignity. But fuck, I so love that sexy, understated, pillow-top gut of his. Of all the erotic fantasies Denny can inspire in me in still frame, my favorite ends with his sensational, lily white gut and juicy pecs covered in a liberal coat of our cum.
Being insanely pretty is almost never sufficient to get a hot hunk to the front of the line for the HWOTM honors, though. In Denny’s case, his work in Jobberpalozzer 14 epitomizes what makes him such a prominent fixture in the pantheon of my favorites. That “everyman” vibe he exudes with nothing more than his beautiful body stripped to trunks and boots is perfectly accentuated by his superlative babyface persona. He’s more than just eager and earnest. He comes across as a legitimate competitor before an opponent even steps foot into the ring. His prematch warm-ups show off the flexibility, strength, and speed of an honest-as-fuck competitive wrestler. That no-hands, neck stretching, super high arching backbend in the middle of the ring is a work of erotic art all on its own, and conveys a preparation for competitive wrestling that instantly far outclasses the likes of Naughty Nick Naughton as soon as the waves hit the jersey shore. Nick is all about the glitz and misdirection of the magical arts of pro wrestling. Denny comes across as real as fuck, someone who rips an average joe apart like barbecued chicken. Nick just smirks and struts and rolls his eyes to sell his role as the dirty, no good, cheating heel. Denny stretches and lunges and balances on the head of a pin in a way that sells me every last ounce of believing that he’s been competitively wrestling for years.
Context plays a little role in my choice of Denny as HWOTM, I have to admit. Jobberpaloozer matches don’t often hit my sweet spot, because squashes aren’t nearly as evocative for me as competitive matches. I’m still chewing on the final match in Jobberpaloozer 14, trying to decide how to review it without dripping too much contempt all over that Howdy-Doody chump ass waste of space hollow man pretty boy Luke Lonza that SP is so infatuated with (unsurprisingly). The jobbers in these collections typically put up jack shit, and the best we can say is that they suck down mountains of humiliating suffering admirably (except for Luke Lonza, who cries and whines and bitches and gives up at a rate of about 20 times per minute). However, Denny is absolutely no pushover. Even with his abysmal ring record, I’d go so far as to say he’s arguably nobody’s jobber. So when he opens up some whoop ass all over Nick Naughton in early days, it’s a delightful surprise. When he battles back from deficits again, and again, to actually school the jersey shore smart ass, it’s actually a little shocking. Sure, I know how Jobberpaloozer matches go, and STILL Denny has me half believing well over halfway through the match that he could very well heap so much class and skill all over the overly tanned manboy in front of him to actually beat Nick like his naughty ass so overabundantly deserves.
In this David vs. Goliath battle, of course, David gets finally upended and then beaten into a withered, impotent pool of sweat and tears. This match squeaks into the Jobberpaloozer end of the pool mostly thanks to the gut wrenching suffering that Denny sells better than I’ve ever seen him sell. Nick dashes his dreams and then stomps them into grape juice. Denny really does suck down gallons of anguish, defying the illusory promise of any quick submission to end his suffering (hey, Luke, fucking take notes!). Denny sells this so outstandingly that he makes it all about him, even as big Nick is flexing and strutting overtop of Denny’s limp, crumpled, soaked body broken before him. I feel an overwhelming compulsion to rush into the ring, scrape the pieces of Denny off the mat, nurse his wounds and soothe his trounced ego. Knowing my tastes, it’s a little surprising how sensationally turned on and compelled I am by Denny’s epic destruction. So, I know he’s this month’s champ, because he takes me places I was not expecting to go.
If Denny ever needs someone to massage out the soreness, to kiss it and make it feel better, and to worship every inch of his boy next door body, I pray to the homoerotic wrestling gods he looks me up. In the meantime, Kid Karisma and Eli Black need to scooch their magnificent asses over to make room on the 3-peat throne for my May 2017 homoerotic wrestler of the month, Denny Cartier.
I get the impression that I may be Denny Cartier’s most infatuated fan. Not that Denny doesn’t have plenty of fans. But I sense that my level of enthusiasm for him may be higher than most. I try not to speculate too long on what others don’t see that I see. But the raison d’être of this blog is to explore in excruciating depth what I see, what I appreciate, and what turns me on. And Denny Cartier turns me on.
Denny is back out of his natural habitat in his new release Jobberpaloozer 14. Even casual Denny fans know that he’s a beast on the mats, but more often than not gets his gorgeous ass handed to him once he steps foot in the ring. So there are dark clouds looming over his head with Denny climbing into the BG East ring as part of a Jobberpaloozer compilation. There’s also something ominous about the fact that this is another “from the vaults” new release. Denny is an even babier baby face than usual. This was taped long enough ago that Denny was not yet sporting any visible tattoos. He has more hair and less mature muscle mass than the shoot master on the mats we’ve seen of his more recent competition. And he’s wearing those white trunks with blue trim that he wore in several early career matches, and as I think of them, they’re sort of his jobber uniform. His chances for victory aside, I must say I first fell in lust with Denny in this youthful, unblemished, curly haired early career incarnation. There’s something more accessible about his lean, taught gut in contrast with the ripped, crystal cut eight-packs of so many other gym bunnies and body builders who climb into that same ring. I once went on at length about my attachment to him as a dizzyingly sexy hunk who could legitimately be a boy next door, a real guy who just happens to have a leading man dimpled chin and who strips to next to nothing to wrestle for the pleasure of gay fans. His sweet, thick thighs are unshaven. He’s probably manscaped his torso a bit, but there’s an unselfconsciousness about his look. In a world full of clones and genetic freaks and gym bunnies and go go boys, Denny strolls in like Pinocchio transformed, a real boy with functional muscle strength and dreamy eyes and a real life propensity for copious sweat and a complete lack of self awareness of what a sensationally sexy object of lust his beautiful ass is.
Oh, yeah, Denny has an opponent. Nick Naughton. I fucking hate this guy. Too tanned. Too primped. Overadorned. He’s a little like the anti-Denny. He knows he’s fucking hot, and if anything, he overestimates his appeal. He certainly overestimates his wrestling dominance. He could probably be forgiven for strutting in and assuming he’ll squash Denny like a bug, standing nearly half a foot taller and bringing with him a reported 50 pounds more weight (though I’m suspicious… he doesn’t seem THAT much bigger) than Denny. I’d cut him some slack for his lack of any glimmer of humility if he didn’t irritate me so fucking much. He has no respect for Denny, and what’s worse, he shows little respect for pro wrestling. He’s all blunt force trauma and muscle bullying. He openly scoffs at Denny’s pre-match stretching and shoot practice. He has nothing but contempt for Denny’s earnestness, and has no more detailed a plan than to beat the living fuck out of his opponent as quickly as possible so he can head back to the Jersey Shore and pick up a pair of tits. Of course, anyone who can inspire such loathing from me is a sensationally accomplished pro wrestling character. I respect him like hell for almost instantly making me hate him, for making Denny that much more my babyfaced hero, for setting the table so nicely for another brutal battle of good versus evil. Fuck, I hate that guy.
Like Joe, a squash goes only so far for my wrestling tastes. I’ll pick a competitive match with convincingly sold suspense over a lopsided squash 99 times out 100. Denny and Nick’s match on Jobberpaloozer 14 is the only one of the 3 on this DVD that treats us to suspense, really, which is probably why I’m drawn to review it first. I strongly advocate for a read of the pro wrestling cannon that distinguishes between a squash and classic jobber vs. heel match. Squashes are, by definition, one-sided maulings. They have their place. They can make sense with an appropriate narrative frame. Denny vs. Nick is not a squash. Those opening notes of doom, that dark cloud hanging just over Denny’s handsome head that I mentioned earlier is the piece that nudges this match just over the line into a jobber story for me. Without that, I’d say this was more legitimately a competitive babyface vs. heel battle. Because Denny fucking dominates more than a third of this match. If you didn’t know how the ring is Denny’s Achilles heel, if you couldn’t read the jobber uniform signals, if you didn’t know better, over halfway through this match you’d have to admit that this thing could absolutely go either way. Which makes it a stretch for a jobber match for me. But while I quibble with the canon, I fucking love to death the drama here.
Nick is a lumbering oaf. Denny is just too sensationally fast and decisive. Nick lunges forward for a lock up, and Denny ducks underneath his outstretched arms effortlessly. Denny throws his back into the ropes and bounces off, launching super high off the mat for a running drop kick. Nick takes it in the chest and stumbles backward, and in that time, Denny has spun to his feet, thrown himself into the ropes, and his soaring like a cruise missile for a second drop kick to the upper chest. Nick is rocked backward farther, clutching his chest, literally mouth gaping open in shock. And yet again, Denny has already scrambled to his feet and is soaring off the ropes a third time to put the big, overlay tanned lug nut on his ass. David is beating the living fuck out of Goliath, and I’m hard as El Capitan.
Tables turn on a dime. This is professional wrestling after all. So when they’re back on their feet and Denny launches for a cross body off the ropes, it’s gaspworthy to see big Nick catch him, take a couple of stutter steps backward, and then right himself before slamming the shit out Denny’s back to the mat. Nick starts stomping all over Denny’s hot body, making my babyface hero flinch and flail, bouncing off the mat, clutching each most recently assaulted appendage in turn. “You know, you got me going for a minute,” Nick admits, smiling as he watches Denny squirm like a fish underfoot. “I thought I was going to have a little bit of a work out, but I guess I’ll just be whipping your ass.” In my mind, I’m thinking that this is the cliff that Denny gets tossed over again and again. Signal the jobber violins, because the inevitable is right now turning into reality.
Nick scoops him back up, cradled across his chest for another slam. Or OTK. Whatever he had in mind, Denny shifts his center of gravity, rolling Nick to his shoulders and, no shit, pinning his leather-skinned ass to the mat for a totally legitimate, no rush 3 count pinfall. Denny bounces to his feet, already sweaty, pumping his fists in the air in victory and congratulating himself. “That’s freakin’ bull shit!” Nick snarls, climbing to his feet and bitching, bitching, bitching. Again, if it weren’t for the title on the packaging, I’d say this was the opening salvo in a hotly contested babyface vs. heel match.
Nick repeatedly wings Denny with blunt force trauma. Denny’s laying down blurring speed and high flying acrobatics and perfectly balanced holds designed lovingly to work an opponent into jeopardy, and Nick is grabbing him by the throat and throwing him into a corner. On the receiving end, Denny suffers beautifully. I don’t remember my crotch responding so instantly to Denny’s panicked cries and whimpers in previous matches. Nick neutralizes his technical skill and hours of practice with heel stomps to the gut. He counters Denny’s finesse and precision by using the jump rope Denny was using to warm up in order to strangle him in a hangman, my babyface hero turning purple and submitting in a panic across Nick’s long back. Again, I think the essential element of inevitability in a jobber match is finally settling in. Maybe Denny will make a run or two, but surely he’s getting steam rolled now.
But no, it just isn’t that match. Denny doesn’t just make a couple of runs, he schools Goliath. Denny showcases his ground game, persistently outmaneuvering the big oaf until he snaps down sweaty, hairy head scissors. Fuck, watching Denny’s big thighs flex and glisten makes me ache to get my hands on that boy next door muscle. Nick pummels his gut, tries some elbow stabs to break the hold, but Denny is having none of that cheap ass shit. He takes the jabs and keeps bearing down, actually growling like an animal with its prey in its teeth. Nick shifts his legs underneath him and uses that raw power to pull Denny off the mat, still attached to his head. You can hear Nick’s thoughts working out how high he has to muscle Denny off the mat in order to pound him back down and earn his escape. A fraction of a second before he does, Denny launches himself over Nick’s shoulder, rolling the big man to his shoulders and ripping his legs apart in a totally humiliating, crotch ripping spladle. Point and counterpoint, Denny is two moves ahead. He’s faster. He’s smarter. He’s got the only legitimate wrestling strategy in the ring. And no shit, he demands and quickly secures another screeching submission from naughty Nick.
This is a competitive match. This is genuine suspense, and Denny is persistent and talented and totally in contention to upend the lumbering big baby crying and complaining as if Denny has used anything but superior skill to school his bronzed ass. It’s a [babyface] jobber versus heel match because that cloud of inevitability is still hanging over Denny’s head. He’s the designated whipping boy. He’s going to go down, because this is a Jobberpaloozer match. But this is no squash. Fuck, I love this.
Blunt force tramua eventually beats the speed right out of Denny. Suplexes and stomps and revenge headscissors wring the fight out of my fantasy next door neighbor. There’s a relatively long and steep slope that Nick rolls him down to the bitter end, and Denny sucks it up like the earnest young hunk I adore so much. He gets the shit kicked out of him, returning again entirely within the lines of the ring jobber that he’s been for so long. And he just keeps selling the back arching agony, the silently gaping screams of pain, the shattered dreams and shocked humiliation with a passion equal to his fierce babyface earnestness that he started with.
Nick stomps out of the ring at the end boasting about needing to go to the gym for a “real workout,” but he doesn’t fool me. He wins, sure. He beats his smaller opponent into the mat, turning his skills and strength into an impotent puddle of sweat. But Nick and I both know that if it weren’t for Denny breaking holds when Nick grabbed the ropes (because Denny is a babyface), if it weren’t for Nick’s overwhelming fire power and much more compromised morals, he’d have been fucked like Goliath on this day. Nick’s words are all about his contempt for Denny, but the tone of voice and the rather unceremonious way he retreats from the ring tell a different story. He’s lucky not to have been the humiliated object of an epic upset, and he’ll know better than underestimate Denny Cartier ever again.
I love watching Denny wrestle. I love watching him pumped in victory. I love watching him gloat. And, frankly, I’m incredibly aroused witnessing him writhe in his own sweat, heavy lidded eyes, slack jaw sucking down air, muscles aching after taking a nasty beating from a much, much bigger opponent. All that beautiful, battered hotness makes me want to climb in the ring, strip him naked, and give him a deep tissue massage to help his imminently fuckable body recover. And it occurs to me, yet again, how enticing I find Denny’s accessibility. There’s that solid, real, unadorned quality about him that translates me into the ring with him. Win or lose, he owns my loyalty because he’s both beautiful and real, a boy next door fantasyman.
So clearly, Joe at Ringside at Skull Island is determined to keep poking me with a stick. I can be magnanimous and say, “We may have differing opinions.” I can be conciliatory and say “Maybe one day, we’ll see eye to eye.” I rise above the fray and simply encourage readers to judge for themselves. But then today, Joe comes back at it like a dog with a bone, insisting that the was right all along, and that BG East’s Ringwars 19 is the superior new release, over and above what Sunshine Shooters 4 offers.
It’s not that I think anything that Joe says, precisely, is wrong. I just quibble with the calculus that adds up, at the end of the day, with Ringwars on top and Sunshine Shooters an honorable mention. As Joe mentions, like he, I was given the generous opportunity to see for myself what Ringwars 19 has to slap down on the table. It’s awfully meaty and good. Awfully good, damn it. And I’m on the record many times over for having a special kink-reflex in favor of ring action.
The match that Joe commends most for Ringwars 19 is Trent Blayze’sface off with Jayden Mayne. Like Joe, I’m slightly distracted by the extraneous “y’s” flying across this marquee, but aside from that, there’s a ton to commend this match. First of all, I had to watch this match twice, once to soak in the overall action, and once again just to delight in tracking Trent’s sweat stain as it slowly grows across his pink trunks. It starts early, stretching out from his ass crack, and progressively and entertainingly soaks him front and back. Trent’s ink is also astonishingly gorgeous, and he has a highly erotic way of talking out of the side of his mouth (literally) that’s a major turn on. He also manages a very enjoyable reversal partway through this match, after suffering meaningfully between Jayden’s whipcord thighs in an agonizing body scissor. Still trapped between Jayden’s knees, Trent crawls to his knees with Jayden still attached to his mid-section, then his feet, and with impressive strength and balance slaps on a bearhug that leaves the long-n-lean one limp in his arms and screaming.
It may just be because I’m feeling contrary. And I’m the first to admit that I’ve been accused of possessing an oppositional-defiant personality disorder, at least periodically. But I have to say that the boy in the ring here that turns me on the most is actually Jayden. He’s not as beefy as Trent, by any means. The two of them give me the feel of boys just out of college, Trent having been a frat boy and football player, and Jayden having been a frat boy (different frat) and soccer player (explaining the lack of love lost between them). I know that some snarky bastard is going to point out that Jayden is the more classically “pretty” face of the two, as if I should somehow be ashamed of that. But Jayden’s doing it for me in this match more so than the pink-trunked bully. I think Jayden should intern and eventually tag-team with Jonny Firestorm, because he has the potential to be another spitfire, wiry, dangerous, pit bull of a ring wrestler. He tells a hot story, too, going for Trent’s relatively soft core with satisfying boot strikes and an internal-organ-rearranging leg scissor. I’m not typically a blood fetish guy at all, but I have to say that Jayden earns himself a cut elbow that drips blood down his thigh in this bout, and I’m simply, instinctively aroused by it.
Match two for Ringwars 19 has Caleb Brand beating the crap out of Shannon Embry. Caleb has an impressively packed pouch, displayed awfully sweetly as he bridges high in the center of the ring more than once in this tussle. But it just has to be said that it’s Caleb’s ass that steals the show. He sports what looks like a painful wedgie from start to finish, which defies even his occasional attempt to pick it out. Hot, tanned, smooth, spankable glutes are surely value-added to any wrestling match, and Caleb is sporting just that. The action showcases sweet pro skills, telling a compelling story of advantage and reversal teetering on a knife’s edge for the first half of the bout between these two high class professionals. There’s fun pacing, a mix of holds, blows, and joint torture. But the best part, other than Caleb’s already mentioned ass, is Caleb’s use of the ring to heap on insult to injury. He tortures Shannon’s knee, arm and back in the ropes. He leaves his pale opponent hanging vulnerably over the edge of the ring to deliver a nasty looking assault on Shannon’s back, and he further sticks to the back abuse mercilessly working Shannon over in the corner (now that’s what a wrestling ring is for, damn it!). Caleb has hot pro strikes, boots and knees flying and plowing into Shannon at every angle as the catcher suffers admirably.
Match 3 is another highly entertaining piece of wrestling art. Whereas watching the sweat stain growing on Trent Blayze’s trunks was worth a second viewing of match #1, watching the sheen of sweat grow in the valley between Alexi Adamov’s fit young pecs is worth an entire viewing or two (with many pushes of the pause button) over and above the ring action itself in match #3. The ride Alexi gives Nick Naughton as the sexy-one hangs from the rafters would be a sell-out at a homoerotic wrestling kink theme park. I’d wait for hours for a front seat! Nick also spends a whole lot of time camped out on the mat with his head stuck high and tight between Alexi’s long, hard thighs, which would surely also be a feature ride at the homoerotic wrestling kink theme park (if anyone ever opens one, I want creative credit). Alexi packs a pair of square cut trunks awfully nicely, particularly from behind. Nick’s smuggling citrus fruit in the front of his tight, tight blue trunks. They bring some very sexy, intense, acrobatic action. These are two rookies, however (early in Alexi’s career with BG East), and it shows. There are a few odd cuts. There’s a bell off camera to give the action some needed borders (which makes me again long for some homoerotic wrestling with a ref and an audience). Nick forgets to use his finisher, and has to come back from the showers well after Alexi is beaten and done with to tie up his rookie-loose-ends.
So, Joe is so right that Ringwars 19 is extremely high quality homoerotic wrestling action. But I still say Joe goes one step too far when he concludes that this collection puts a schoolboy pin overtop of the action in Sunshine Shooters 4. Like Joe, I don’t think that the Z-Man/Patrick Donovan match is really the goods that shine the most for Sunshine Shooters 4, despite the likely strong appeal for many fans of seeing the Z-Man get the BG East treatment. But the intensity of all three Sunshine matches, including Z-Man’s pecs and abs turning fluorescent red from the pounding that Patrick gives him, the incredibly slippery and non-stop shoot between Cole and Tony, and particularly the exhausting, ferocious face-off and strip down between Mitch Colby (back to #1 contender for my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy) and Brook Stetson, still makes this decisively the one purchase to prioritize. Ringwars 19 puts up some awfully nice looking boys in impressive ring action. But if you’re in the mood for big, powerful, relentless men in action (well, apart from Z-Man… he’s still got a boyband feel about him), you’re going to turn to Sunshine Shooters 4 every time.
But now that the new releases are available for the masses to order, I’m feeling the need to contradict Joe. Perhaps less a contradiction than a contention, I’m feeling that if you own no other new release to emerge in 2011, you’ll want it to be Sunshine Shooters 4. Joe argues that all-time need-to-own would be Ringwars 19. It’s not that I doubt Joe’s tastes in the least. But I jumped on the Sunshine Shooters 4 wagon at the earliest possible moment, and was blown away. This release includes three matches that hold my attention and turn me on, non-stop. Most newsworthy for most, though, will be the fact that cover boy, Playboy model, and internet softcore it-boy, Z-Man Zack Vasquez, has dipped his foot in the deep end of the pool that is BG East wrestling.
I’ve had a love/hate (or at least a lust/antipathy) relationship with Z-Man for some time. Ever since I first saw him ham it up against Alexander years ago for Thunder’s Arena, I was both captivated by the Z-Man’s incredible physique and aggravated by his salesmanship. Following his progress with Thunder’s and in the early crop of matches with Rock Hard Wrestling, I’ve been adamantly proscribing a stern, merciless lesson in being introduced to actual pain in order wipe that irrepressible, smarmy, “this-is-all-play-acting” smirk off his truly beautiful face. I’ll marvel more about the details in a future post, but for now, let me just bow down to the perfectly tuned stylings of veteran Patrick Donovan who delivers exactly what the doctor ordered.
Frankly, I suspected that bringing along the Z-Man could be a bit of a gamble for BG East. In my estimation, BG East’s strength is in their high quality, all-in wrestling, so a half-assed, smirking performance by even a Playboy model could be an embarrassing ding on BG East’s fine reputation. But the Boss rolled the dice and damn, did it pay off! The pacing and action here make me gasp. The wrestling is completely engaging and astonishingly hot. Patrick seriously beats on Z-Man with his fists in a way that totally satisfies me. The audible thumps followed quickly by Z-Man’s reflexive grunts are just about as stellar as the sight of the Z-Man’s gorgeous pecs and eight-pack abs turning bright red from the relentless assault. Z-Man (and Patrick, for that matter) has never looked more tasty, more toned, or in skimpier wrestling gear. Z-Man-addicts, and I know there are many of you, will find this bout simply fantastic.
Next up, there’s Cole Cassidy and Tony Vencini working up a sheen of sweat that continually makes me press “pause.” Cole never disappoints me. This is my first Tony match, and he’s one big, solid brute of a battler. Their grappling is astonishingly high quality, with incredibly intense and relentless pacing that tires me out just watching it (for many reasons). But again, just like my assessment of Patrick and the Z-Man, I have to say that having adored Cole’s body many, many times before, he’s simply never looked more stunning, shiny, hard, and ripped to shreds, working incredibly hard against an accomplished and bigger boy. Another truly entertaining match.
Seriously, I’d pay money (but probably couldn’t afford) for Cole to slide my head between his devastating thighs and squeeze, and I’d tip him a whole lot extra to let me me reach up and squeeze those meaty pecs of his at the same time.
But as I mentioned a couple of days ago, I’m totally smitten with the amazing match-up of beefy bruiser Brook Stetson going muscle to muscle against my inaugural favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy and regular fixture in my fondest wrestling fantasies, Mitch Colby. Like all the shoots in this collection, these boys (okay, I like the term boys, but in this case, I simply have to call these studs men), these men are working their asses off. Just as importantly, they work their singlets off and are both quickly coated in each other’s sweat. Something happens inside me though, when Brook hog ties Mitch’s wrists behind his back using Mitch’s own jock strap as bindings. Mitch’s beautiful ass is wedgied high and hard, and for the first time in this entire match, Mitch’s endless tenacity simply can’t keep him fighting against the overpowering behemoth. Brook is understated, but unmistakably pleased with his handiwork as he slides Mitch face-first high between his oak-tree thighs for an astonishing face-to-crotch, hands literally tied behind Mitch’s back, head scissor submission. Holy fuck.
That “something” that happens to me, by the way, is the completely out-of-the-blue return of Mitch to the top rankings of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboys. It was a brief tenure that DJ enjoyed as the top contender for the title, and I wouldn’t count DJ out of the running for long with the way he’s been tearing through the competition at Naked Kombat as of late, but Sunshine Shooters 4 unquestionably bears witness to a shocking assault from behind, in which Mitch manages to gorilla press DJ’s lightweight, ripped to shreds body over head, leave him hanging and gasping in shock and terror for an eternity, before tossing DJ right out of the ring, leaving Mitch the undisputed top contender staring down my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Trent Diesel.
Perhaps I might think differently once I get a chance to enjoy Ringwars 19. Perhaps you might think differently with both products in hand and well-scrutinized. But I’ve just got to say, I suspect for many of us, if there’s no other new release we buy in 2011, we’d simply have to own Sunshine Shooters 4.