The year-end awards season often seems to focus disproportionate attention on the big boys in homoerotic wrestling. Superlatives like “best” seem to inevitably lend themselves to “biggest,” which for many fans may be just fine, but not for me. I have a well documented appreciation for small wrestlers, the lean boys, the “scrawny guys” as Charlie Evans proudly self-identified. In fact, I’ve got a whole lot of lightweight love to give this year, so I’m unilaterally handing an award to my favorite lightweight who I enjoyed seeing wrestle in 2017. I’m also unilaterally deciding to focus on wrestlers under 150 pounds for this honor. It seems to me Wrestler4Hire and BG East have the deepest benches of lightweights, which I’m sure reflects something about the wrestling content across the industry. In any case, here are my favorite lightweights from action in 2017.
My third favorite lightweight homoerotic wrestler in 2017 was W4H’s Dashing Dustin. Dashing Dustin is paradox to me. On the one hand, he looks skinny enough to snap like a twig. Cameron lists him as 5’8″ and 140 pounds, which is seriously lightweight. But on the other hand, there’s something substantial and fierce about him that makes him seem like he’s bigger than he is. He is, indeed, dashingly handsome, and if he really is James Quarterstaff’s boyfriend, I hope they’re wrestling like gladiators and fucking like bunnies morning, noon, and night. Strike that. I actually think that Dashing Dustin is way out of James’ league, and the Dashing one ought to consider trading up to a cuter boyfriend/blogger.
My second place pick is the super tall drink of diet water Fabrice via BGE. At a reported 6’1″ and 145 pounds, it’s hard to put a finger on a “scrawnier” wrestler in competition. Like Dashing Dustin, Fabrice is deceptively substantial though, and he’s a nasty son of a bitch on the mats. I don’t think I ever realized how much I need a tall, skinny mouthful with a seductively sexy vicious side until I saw Fabrice in action. I’d still like to see quite a bit more muscle on this gorgeous boy just in the interest of good health, but he’s an incredible lightweight homoerotic wrestling contender as he is.
My favorite lightweight of 2017 is easily the boyband lead singer-come-wrestler, baby boy Nino Leone. At 5’8′ and 140 pounds, he regularly tackles (quite literally) opponents 50-60 pounds heavier. I greatly enjoyed the opportunity to meet Nino in person this summer at the BG East compound, and I was delighted to discover that he possesses a razor wit and disarming charm to go with his hot, hairy, beautiful body. Nino’s epic takedown of bodybuilder Calvin Haynes this year is a perfect demonstration of how the homoerotic wrestling world is infinitely sexier and more surprising with fierce, tough, sexy “little” guys in it.
There are plenty more lightweight wrestlers who more than deserve honorable mentions for putting up with size-obsessed wrestling fans, including Charlie Evans (5’8″, 130 lbs), Eli Black (5’7″, 130 lbs), Ricky Vegas (4’9″, 90 lbs), and Kid Romeo (5’5″, 130 lbs).
I admit to having quickly developed an infatuation with Chase Addams. I’ve indulged that infatuation with conducting now three interviews, all for a rookie wrestler with just that same number of published matches. There are many elements to what intrigues and seduces me about the Charming One. Of course there’s the hot, lean body and those oft-mentioned nipples. You don’t have to scratch beneath my surface far to know that any openly gay wrestler who seriously loves professional wrestling will hold my attention. He wrestles an excellent story, too. But there’s still more that keeps me coming back for more. So little wonder, given the opportunity, I sat Charming Chase down at BG East during my visit this summer and put him on the record and on audio this time.
In the first portion of our conversation, I learned a little about what a typical day of wrestling for BG East looks like for Chase. He discussed that breakout moment when wrestlers he’s crushed on from afar have returned the respect and interest. And Chase and I discuss which newbie BG East wrestler he and I (and apparently a broad swath of fans) currently hate on most.
Chase Addams Interview – Part 1:
As our conversation continued, Chase offered his take on what it’s like to be surrounded by smoking hot gay wrestlers roaming the grounds of BG East all at one time (from which the title of this post comes). And Chase gives some insight into what it’s like to go all out to pry an opponent apart piece by piece, and then find yourself hanging out between the matches at a later date.
Chase Addams Interview – Part 2:
Finally, Chase gave me a glimpse into the headspace it takes for him to prepare for a match. We speculate on which merit badges you can earn at a taping as we explore an extended metaphor of BG East to summer camp. We conclude with attempting to speculate how it could be possible to oversell the promise, potential, and pure wrestling entertainment value of Chase Addams.
As I mentioned, on my last pilgrimage to BG East North this summer I was given the thrilling opportunity to sit down, face to face, and interview several BG East wrestlers in those moments between them taping matches. Ty Alexander seemed particularly keen to cozy up to my mic, and it is no surprise to me in the least that my interview with the Trophy Boy was long, intense, and peppered with several unexpected twists and turns. If you listen to our interview below, you’ll hear what I mean when I say that Ty is the master of the inside joke. I’ll do my best to let you in on the jokes, but honestly, with Ty, I always feel like there’s another layer of meaning I have yet to discover. It may help (or not) for you to know ahead of time that Ty has repeatedly called me out to kick my ass, and the more muscular he gets, the more actively I’ve tried to steer clear of a Trophy Boy ass kicking (judge me if you will). It also may, or may not, provide helpful context to know that a little while ago, Ty gifted me with the pair of Calvin Kleins that he and Drake fought so bitterly over in Babyface Brawl X. As with my interview with Kayden, Ty’s tightly toned body was distracting, and I don’t believe that’s by accident. Ty wore the least amount of clothing of any of my interviewees, and he drew attention to his tanned muscles repeatedly. On the one hand, if you know Ty, you know it’s always about Ty. On the other hand, I strongly suspect that there was considerable method to the Trophy Boy’s madness in showing up to his interview in his green Nike compression briefs and pretty much nothing else.
In this first portion of the interview, we learn about the ongoing evolution of Ty, both physically and his prospects to dig himself out of the deep jobber hole he’s been in. Ty discusses what fans really long to see, and what the chances may be of there ever being a Ty heel-turn. Learn about Ty’s big weakness, and his impression of how BG East is living into the age of social media.
Ty Alexander Interview – Part 1:
In the next portion of our interview, talks about his favorite classic BGE wrestlers, and exactly what it’s like to meet your gay wrestling hero in person (and get your ass kicked by him). He explores some of the differences between Ty the wrestler and Ty in the rest of his life. Hear Ty’s response to my direct question of whether he is Our Man Inside. We bond over the prototype of the wrestling nerd hunk. And as further evidence that he is the master of the inside joke, delve into the mystery of who Ty may, or may not, be roommates with.
Ty Alexander Interview – Part 2:
In the final portion of the interview, learn about the likelihood of seeing Ty naked in a future match (hint: it’s really, really high). Discover how this post got its title, and how that relates to a description of Ty covered in cum strolling around BG East after a particularly explosive match. I give a shout out to Kid Leopard for my next invitation to visit BGE (Ty is involved). Ty answers the question of which BGE wrestlers are hooking up with each other (“who isn’t!?”). And finally, listen to how this particular interview ended with Ty’s hands down my pants. No kidding.
A recurring theme here has been my perpetual self-reflection on what it is about homoerotic wrestling that speaks to me. A regular point of perseveration has been what makes a wrestling match particularly “homoerotic.” I can get off on mainstream straight pro wrestling probably almost as much as the next guy, but my bread and butter continues to be this particular industry marketed specifically to gay men. And I know that within this industry, there are straight wrestlers, and the erotic heat that emanates from a lot of matches is what I’m bringing to it as a viewer. And I’m okay with that, as long as the whole interaction effect isn’t cloaked in a closeted wink-wink, where the producer and we know that this is marketed with a gay eye in mind, but the whole thing is kept strictly on the straight side of the fence so that a fan can exercise plausible deniability if they’re caught with an incriminating browser history (“I was just checking out some underground pro, bro”). Yawn.
But it also isn’t just an issue of wrestlers pulling out their porn-ready cocks and wrestling hard and naked. Though there’s nothing wrong with that, as far as I’m concerned. In fact, I’m advocating for more straight forward naked wrestling, not just the last 2 minutes of a match before it devolves into out of control face sucking (not that I have any problem with that, either!). But what I key off of isn’t just the explicit homoeroticism of naked bodies, by any means. There’s this sweet spot right in the middle of straight-up pro with me supplying all of the erotic subtext, and hardcore porn with a clumsy grapple as appetizer.
It’s sexy because of intention and attention. Like when a wrestler acknowledges that his opponent looks hot. The phrase, “Nice ass,” or “sweet pecs,” is pure gold when it comes to dialing a match squarely into the territory that grabs me hard. Of course a “no-homo” disavowal will totally kill that buzz, but happily I see less and less of that in the wrestling I watch these days. They don’t have to get their dicks out. Just notice, appraise the obvious assets of an opponent, and you’ve drawn me into the match. I’m invested 10 times more if the wrestlers state the obvious fact that they are both gorgeous specimens. I never see this in straight-up pro (not that I watch it much anymore), and I think it’s an angle that’s probably even more disruptive of heteronormativity than even getting your gear ripped off. Guys look at guys. Guys appreciate guys. Guys can be turned on by getting their hands on guys. The eroticism peaks long before (and even in the absence of) any cum being added to the recipe.
I’ve mentioned before that I regularly push rewind around the time I get to more explicit sexual content at the end of harder-core matches. Like when I was following Naked Kombat, I would skim over the sex round to see if anyone comes close to Rusty Stevens’ perfect mix of corporal punishment, humiliation, and wrestling domination (naked pony rides, leg scissor armbars used like an accelerator pedal to taunt, tease, and torment a loser by commanding them to jack off just shy of orgasm again and again). The fucking itself, even the acrobatic, artistic fucking of professional porn stars who somehow are able to stretch and maneuver into positions that I’m pretty sure would dislocate multiple joints if I attempted them, comes across as downright pedestrian to me. The erotic heat is the sweat-inducing wrestling competition. It’s the suspense and the battle. It’s the passion to dominate knowing that the loser is going to get fucked, rather than the loser getting fucked, in and of itself.
So I love the story of a wrestler having to battle with his own lust to stay focused on beating his opponent. The erotic offense of one hunk destroying his opponent’s defenses with a nibble of the ear or a stroke of his hot body strikes me as the height of homoerotic. There’s a fantastic, frustrating, intensely provocative tease near the end of some matches where the lines between competition and giving in to total lust get so blurred that I can’t tell what’s an openly erotic trap and what’s just mutual submitting to the intimate passion of bodies grinding into bodies. So when one wrestler is ready to just get down to hooking up, and the other is just playing along long enough to snap shut a sleeper, or pound out a finishing OTK, or slip on a knee-breaking figure-4 leglock for the final, screaming, totally vulnerable submission, fuck that puts me over. Whipping out cocks and sucking and fucking at that point is totally vanilla, as far as I’m concerned. I’m pushing rewind to watch that look of shock wash across the loser’s face when he realizes his lust just walked him by the nose into becoming the property of his new master.
My tastes are broad and varied. I can get off on a wide spectrum of homoerotic content, from barely implied by the copyright holder to blistering hot fuck stakes consummated. But that sweet spot that I crave most in the middle of the normal distribution is unmistakable, and yet resists the easy out of sliding too quickly into hardcore porn. It’s an open nod to me, the audience, and an intentional grappling with the erotic potential between two smoking hot hunks hell bent on dominating one another. It’s a look, a groan, a nibble, a slap, a gasping grope, an unfocused reverie. It’s stating the obvious, that two barely clad studs pounding, grinding, and crushing into one another is potently intimate and powerfully arousing. Guys like guys. Wrestling ensues….
I told you that last batch of BG East contraband was the fucking motherload, now didn’t I? Just to add context, this 3rd installment is still not all of it. It is, however, sweet, because of all the smuggled goods that OMI dishes out, my favorites are always the captured moments of my favorite BG East wrestlers relaxed, chilling, smiling, clearly enjoying themselves apart from the drama in the ring. These are the shots that make me admire these hotties that much more because they’re unpackaged, (relatively) candid, and somehow make them that much more crushworthy because they’re real. Speaking of crushworthy…
Fuck, every last one of these boys are adorable. No game face. No bloodlust. Just hot young hunks who can beat the living fuck out of each other one minute, and then kick back and chill when all is said and done.
I think this batchlet speaks to OMI as much as it does to the sensationally tasty hunks featured. We know precious little about the identity of OMI, but I can’t help but infer that he is equally as infatuated with Mad Mykel’s ass and Chase Addams nipples as I am. Just as an aside, Mad Mykel has made some tragic gear choices in the past, but I am incredibly anxious to get to see him in action in this jungle boy loin cloth.
And finally this last subcollection for the day features sizzling hotness all around, including the most elusive interview get of my blogging career, Kid Vicious. I’ve begged, borrowed, and stolen to convince KV to sit down with me for an interview. I’ve made promises. I’ve done favors. I’ve had him halfway to the table on at least a couple of occasions, only to have the most vicious tease in the business take a call and turn away at the last minute. I’m still working on figuring out who I have to fuck to get him on the record with me, but once I do, you’ll be the next to know.
I know for a fact that OMI has been taking some heat, in cognito, from the powers that be at BG East for his corporate espionage/fan fantasy fulfillment. Send your kindest wishes and prayers for safety to the homoerotic wrestling gods that OMI remains our man inside. And pass along the word to anyone you know with strings to pull that Kid Vicious gives that sit-down soon.
Sometimes, I wonder what in the hell a wrestler is thinking. Take little Nino Leone. Baby Boy Leone is reported around 60 pounds lighter than his Catch Weight 8 opponent, Calvin Haynes. It isn’t just the raw size differential that defies belief, though. I’m pretty sure Nino’s waist is no bigger around than one of Calvin’s gargantuan, muscled thighs. The astonishing contrast is in obvious strength. Calvin could snap Baby Boy like a twig.
Where they may diverge when it comes to body types, there’s something sensationally congruent about the pairing of these two relative newcomers. I like to think (though I have no evidence) that Nino signed up for this catch weight match because he wanted a taste of that 2016 Hottest Liplock that Calvin slapped down in his debut match. I further would want to write the backstory that Calvin signed on the dotted line on the promise of getting to suck down the supercharged erotic passion that Nino burned up the mats with in his debut match. Sure, on the one hand, this is a total mismatch. On the other hand, Baby Boy and Calvin seem cut from the exact same cloth.
Calvin creeps as Nino stretches out his beautiful, lithe body in the matroom. The voyeur hot-button in my master mixer of erotic tastes is already dialed way up. They’re both in singlets, both tasty as fuck, each in his own way. When Nino finally notices he’s got an audience, Calvin strolls in and smirks. “Where’s the rest of you?” Nino doesn’t skip a beat, replying “I don’t think you can handle the rest of me.” Where the fuck does little Nino find the balls!? “Can you handle this grade-A beef?” Calvin asks, flexing a magnificent, huge double bicep down like a total eclipse of the sun. Again, without skipping a beat, Baby Boy replies confidently, “Definitely.” Nino gets to his feet and doesn’t wait for an invitation to get his hands on the flexing filet mignon. “Do you like this?” Calvin asks, with a smile that says he already knows the answer. “Oh, yeah,” Nino coos.
My reluctance to tuck in for another all out squash starts to make me worried as big Calvin immediately and thoroughly muscle bullies little Nino all over the mat. It’s not like the bambino doesn’t try. In fact, it’s pretty compelling, watching him throw himself into the bodybuilder with everything he’s got and get swatted to the mat like a fly. Calvin molds his opponent’s lithe body into position for a schoolboy pin, time and time again, at will, completely in control. Every so often he flashes one of those mountainous biceps in Nino’s face and chuckles. “Are you enjoying the show?”
The first redeeming quality about what appears to be a total mismatch squash-in-the-making is the earnest, almost desperate muscle worship Nino engages in even while he’s getting buried. He’s gasping a lot, and sure, it’s at least in part due to getting squeezed and crushed and ground into dust. But there’s a little more to Baby Boy’s breathlessness. He’s sucking on air because Calvin is turning his dial to 11, also. Nino is palming every inch within reach. He cups the softball sized biceps. He slips his fingers inside the edges of Calvin’s supertight blue singlet. If he’s going to get crushed, Nino is clearly going to grab every opportunity to enjoy the ride.
The other redeeming quality about this squash-in-the-making is that, no shit, it’s not a squash. Not even fucking close. And it doesn’t quite follow the script of barely plausible narratives of little guys impossibly overpowering big boys. No, seriously, Nino’s got moves. He’s wrapped up tight in Calvin’s swallowing full nelson, with the bodybuilder just lying on his back and ripping the bambino’s shoulders out at the sockets. Out of nowhere, incredibly flexible Nino pulls his knees to his chest and reverse summersaults backward, over Calvin’s face, popping his arms free and instantly snapping down sexy, hairy headscissors. True enough, Calvin keeps marshaling all of that muscle and powering his way free, but Nino is undaunted, as if every grunt and power escape is exactly according to plan.
Astonishingly, it’s Calvin who throws the first ball claw. What a bitch move! I mean, you outweigh your opponent by 60 pounds, but you’ve got to be the one to fight dirty first? He makes little Nino cry in a way that all of his size and muscle advantage just wasn’t able to pull off. What the fuck, Calvin?
So I’ve climbed aboard team Baby Boy, for better or worse, well before Calvin sneeringly opens his arms and gives Nino a “free shot.” “Anything you want to try,” Calvin offers like the preening, overconfident muscle beast he is, “just try it.” Even I can see that Nino’s first impulse to lock down a bearhug on the bodybuilder’s massively wide upper torso is a misfire. Calvin literally just exhales, and he pops free, laughing at the frustrated lightweight. But when the air comes rushing out of his lungs as Nino starts punching the fuck out of his gut, the laughing stops. Nino pins him against the wall and lands punch after punch, making Calvin’s handsome face screw up in humiliated pain.
Calvin’s abs are a brick wall, so you know the punching bag offense won’t keep Nino in the driver’s seat for long, once the bodybuilder catches his breath. Happily, Nino knows that as well. So just when Calvin looks like he’s about to, yet again, fling Nino’s hapless body from one side of the mat room to the other, Nino reaches down, wraps his fingers around Calvin’s balls, and twists hard. Mind you, Calvin started this shit first, so Nino is still the bigger man, at least when it comes to ostensible pro erotic wrestling decorum. Calvin is just getting served what he dished out first.
Well, and then some. Nino doesn’t just twist the bodybuilder’s balls. He yanks on them. He throttles them. He pries at them violently forEVER, as big Calvin whimpers and snivels and spasms like a bowl full of jello. I’m getting a whiff of a giant-killer in the making as Nino refuses to let up on the ball torture, even as he uses his free hand to keep worshiping hungrily at Calvin’s magnificent physique. “Flex for me,” Nino barks like a boss. Calvin’s upper lip curls in defiance as he refuses. “You flex,” Nino instructs calmly, like a physics teacher explaining the laws of nature, “or I’ll pull it off.”
And, holy shit, Calvin flexes for him. He’s reluctant, which makes it that much sweeter. He repeatedly tries to refuse to continue to feed Baby Boy’s hunger for the muscle show, but another twist of Nino’s wrist puts the bodybuilder right back into his rightful place. The bambino owns the muscle beast. He strums him like a guitar. Like a pro with plan all along, Nino slips behind and snaps on a sleeper, barking commands for more of that gargantuan gun show, even as shocked Calvin goes limp.
The homoerotic wrestling universe is overdue for another giant killer. I am crazy in love with a catch weight match that features a lightweight out thinking his opponent and legitimately and totally selling me into believing that he can tame the beast and turn a muscleman like Calvin Haynes into a slack jawed, compliant play thing. And I love how the camera lingers well after Nino has put the big man down. There’s something even more intimate about watching Baby Boy stroke and savor every bulge. He kisses and caresses Calvin’s biceps. He rouses the big man by sucking hard on his nipples. He strokes and playfully teases Calvin’s pouch, and as the big man regains consciousness, he’s instantly returning the adoration, squeezing and stroking Nino’s thighs and ass hovering just overhead.
This did NOT turn out the way I expected, and of course, I’m thrilled by that misdirection. Judging by the all-in making out as the scene closes, both of these boys are pretty fucking happy with how this “mismatch” plays out, because despite the stark difference in the packaging, they’re both equally and passionately turned on by wrestling underneath it all. And just to drive home the point that this sport plays by its own rules, big, bulging Calvin Haynes continues to struggle to get traction on his foray into homoerotic wrestling, while sexy, ultra lean little Nino Leone is, yet again, on top and calling the shots at the end of his sophomore match. I’ve got a hard, hard spot for a inked up, buzz cut blond, blue-eyed bodybuilder with perhaps a secret-no-more passion for getting played and turned into putty. And I’ve got an even harder spot for a dazzlingly pretty, delicate little 140 pound boybander who can turn the big boys into puddles at his feet.
As I mentioned a while back, I had the biggest drop of BGE photo contraband left on my doorstep a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been strapped for time, so I’m just now sorting through these gems, doing a little latent class analysis to come up with implicit categories, and ready to share a few more. I identified today’s theme based on the 90 degree/90% humidity hell I’ve been surviving for the past couple of days. In other words, here are some OMI treasures that I file under both “hot” and “staying cool.”
The phrase “fun in the sun” doesn’t quite capture just how sexy and delightful these photos are of BGE boys at poolside in Florida. By the gear, these pics all appear to be shot around the time of the taping of Wet & Wild 7: Pool Tournament. If you haven’t seen that lovely competition, check it out for the hot bodies, the surprisingly intensely competitive round robin, and the post tourney groping and liplocks.
These post-taping pics of Jonny on clean up duty after the Pool Tournament raise a host of questions. 1) What put a headliner like Jonny in such a doghouse that he’s on janitorial duty? 2) Why the fuck didn’t we get to see the tournament competitors’ trunks come off, since clearly, they came off?! And, 3) what ever happened to those lime green briefs that Drake wore in the Pool Tournament, got fished out of the pool by Jonny, and then reappeared as the prize in the shockingly bitter Babyface Brawl X? After so much sweat and cum was spilled over that hot gear, one wonders just where that sexy swath of fabric ended up.
And finally, this latch batch of smoldering hotness I just file under “the future’s so bright, you gotta wear shades.” Baby Boy Leone is wearing me out with his shirtless, hairy hotness and retro, oversized lenses. And the posed, dockside hunkfest is now my desktop image, because it inspires about two dozen homoerotic wrestling fantasies on continuous loop in my imagination, about half of which feature Christian Taylor getting double-, triple-, or quadruple-teamed by this particular incarnation of the boyband.
As always, let’s all voice our gratitude and say a little prayer to the homoerotic wrestling gods for OMI’s safety, so that we may enjoy many, many more behind the scenes treasures like these in the future!