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.
During my visit to BG East during a week of taping matches this summer, I enjoyed an extra rare pleasure of getting to conduct a full interview with a wrestler before BG East has even released his first match. Ash DeLeon is the newest, most earnest kid on the BGE block. He’s adorable. He’s passionate about gut punching and wrestling. And best of all for me, he knows the BG East catalog backward and forward. I LOVE talking everything from classics to new releases with a wrestler who is as big a BG East fan as Ash clearly is.
My thanks to The Boss for not only allowing me to release this interview before Ash gets published, but even instructing the office boys to hand over some photos from the week during which this interview was recorded, as Ash stepped in front of the BGE cameras for the first time.
In the first part of our interview, Ash gave us a little background into his gut-punching origins. He named his top picks as wrestling objects of his schoolboy crushes. And I do believe that he may have, quite possibly, made it onto the ass-kicking shortlist of several heels with some provocative comments about fantasy-forward pro wrestling.
Ash DeLeon Interview – Part 1:
In the second half of our interview, Ash reflected further on the classics of BG East wrestling. He shared his first-hand experiences of showing up and wrestling for BG East for the first time, and Ash and I bonded just a bit over that surreal, larger than life moment of meeting wrestlers as iconic as Kid Vicious and Kid Leopard in person.
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 know of wrestlers who nearly lost their balls getting caught smuggling behind-the-scenes pics out of BG East shoots, so I continue to applaud Our Man Inside (OMI) who once again has dropped a manilla envelope full of random, unpublished BGE candids on my doorstep. This envelope was huge, so I’ll try to refrain from taking up too much space with my comments or speculations. Though, who am I kidding? I can’t restrain myself from speculating. In any case, OMI, you are my hero!
First up, we’ve got a whole bevy of poolside hotness. I have not appreciated Mad Mykel’s magnificent ass nearly enough until now. On the other hand, Ty Alexander and Richie Douglas’ asses have been on my radar for years. Honestly, who do I need to fuck to get to see more of Richie Douglas incredibly tasty body!? And ever a safety nut, I hope Mykel, Ty and Richie know that I’ve got to hands and a bottle of sunscreen at the ready. Anytime.
Next up, we get a sensationally rare treat of unpublished photos from the BG East ring. I’m instantly titillated by the site of an as-yet-unreleased match pitting papa Shane McCall ripping my long-time infatuation, Drake Marcos, limb from limb. The double team by Kayden Keller and Jonny Firestorm Camel-Crabbing flyweight phenom Charlie Evans is instantly huge drama making my mouth water. But holy fuck, I need to send OMI a gift basket as gratuity for a couple of extremely rare action pics of Kayden working over the stunningly handsome, hot as fuck classic hunk and declared man-of-my-dreams, a contemporary Scott Williams. Please, homoerotic wrestling gods, hear my prayer that this foreshadows new releases starring the Man of My Dreams!!!
So it appears OMI may be a creeper with sensationally good taste, because this next batch has a ton of BGE stars in various states of sleeping, waking, or possibly just cuddling in bed. Such intimate vulnerability. So many slack, supine, defenseless hunks on display. I have an incredibly strong urge to slide under the covers with Kayden and spoon him awake.
This next batch I’ve filed under “letting their hair down.” As I’ve said often, there’s something potently sexy about seeing the ring warriors of my homoerotic fantasies with their guards down, relaxed, happy, and as is evident in these stolen shots, abundantly goofy. And the goof-in-chief most definitely appears to be The Boss himself, who I hope to the homoerotic wrestling gods never finds out who dished me these cutting room floor shots of him hamming it up. This also reminds me, why haven’t we seen more of sensationally hot boybander, Baby Boy Nino Leone?
Finally, this last batch of relatively random shots I’ve compiled under the heading of BGE boys doing what they do best, namely, looking gorgeous. Reigning HWOTMChase Addams eats shirtless, Drake rehydrates after that match with Papa Shane, and KL, Kayden and Charlie prove how devastatingly handsome they look all cleaned up. And then there’s Ty, Kayden and Jonny looking like they’re acting a Shakespearean scene. Shirtless, of course.
Again, OMI, my deepest gratitude and promise of pseudo-journalistic integrity when it comes to never, ever, under any circumstances up to and including corporal torture, will I disclose anything I know about your true identity. Keep the good times and behind the scenes goodies coming. And all of you BGE boys outed for your handsome smiles and adorability in stolen moments of candid life, keep looking gorgeous. Don’t change a thing.
I went to college at a very, very small liberal arts school with a very, very unsuccessful Division III football team. They sucked. A lot. Literally, years went by without a single victory. Not that I was involved in the program, but it was no secret that recruiting for the football team was a major bitch. No scholarships. No pro career prospects. Very little hope of ever tasting victory before they graduated or, even more likely, they’d burn through eligibility while hanging on by the skin of their teeth to skimming by in their academics and finally just walking away to dig ditches. Our football team literally shrunk while I was enrolled in college, each year’s freshmen getting smaller, while bigger players went elsewhere. My junior year, the football team recruited a wide receiver who was, I kid you not, 5’2″ tall. Thing is, though, he was fucking fast, with big, powerful thighs, an exceptionally stellar muscled ass, and gorgeous, Tom Cruise-ish good looks. Despite their abysmal record, I suddenly took an interest in football that year.
This pint-sized wide receiver with big league glutes and a baby face starred in many a homoerotic wrestling fantasy in my imagination. Just writing about him now is making me hard. There was just so much fabulous potential wrapped up in his tight, taut, petite jock body. In the never ending erotic wrestling tournament in my head, the little wide receiver inevitably got muscle bullied around the ring by bigger guys. I always pictured him getting picked up and thrown from corner to corner. Tall, ripped, cocky hunks (typically from our extremely successful and wildly popular basketball team) would, in the no holds barred wrestling matches in my collegiate imagination, deliver a barrage of high impact, high altitude power moves on him, gorilla presses, scoop slams, one-handed choke slams, spine-tingling suplexes that catapulted his magnificent, muscled ass from corner to corner.
Rereading my interview with Charlie Evans and perusing several of the comments to that interview remind me of that hot, gorgeous little wide receiver firecraker with a supremely fuckable ass. As I’ve mentioned several times lately, the difference in size itself became erotically charged for me. But far beyond just visuals, I crushed hard on the little stud because of the drama of a vastly undersized hottie audaciously running out onto the field and climbing into the pro wrestling ring in my imagination (through the bottom two ropes, of course) and staring fearlessly up at the overwhelming odds towering above.
I was relatively agnostic about my all-time favorite wide receiver’s win-loss record in his homoerotic wrestling career in my mind. Like the very best babyfaces, he was always dangerous and perpetually vulnerable at the same time. I distinctly remember him getting his jock strap ripped to shreds and having his rock hard muscle cheeks plowed hard by a particular, hot, muscled black power forward. I also have clear memories of him turning the tide on a certain aloof, blond, aristocratic shooting guard who was schoolboy pinned and force fed the beer can cock of the smirking, flexing wide receiver. Win or lose, he was a favorite object of my homoerotic wrestling imagination not despite his stature, but because of it. And not just because of his stature, but because of the inherent drama of an ambitious, earnest, hard working little stud throwing himself headlong at the big boys.
As I told Charlie, I continue to nurture a crush for David vs. Goliath homoerotic wrestling matches. I like big vs. little matches where the differential is massive, the odds are long, and the action is brutal. I love seeing audacious little studs hoisted over head and pounded into the mat. I love seeing them take every ounce as brutal an assault as any heavyweight and then keep peeling their battered, petite, bite-sized bodies off the mats and defying the big boys demanding that they submit in body and soul.
While I don’t care for many matches in which one competitor is just furniture, getting moved and manipulated and owned effortlessly, a match in which a seriously undersized wrestler is defiantly sucking down a mountain of abuse is in a squash-class of its own for me. If the little guy walks in with his head up, clenches his jaw in the face of fate, and demands respect by just surviving a magnificent beating, I will so get off on that just like I did when I staged wide receiver getting his sensational ass tagged in the middle of the ring by that power forward.
However, I think my hardest David vs. Goliath fantasies flip that script with a vengeance. When the audacious little underdog battles back against the barrage of muscle and mass, now that is fucking hot. When he starts accumulating riding time on a thoroughbred 50 pounds bigger, my adrenaline pumps into overdrive. And when I pictured my pretty little wide receiver slapping down a big, cocky all-American who’s never tasted defeat before, when he wears the big boy the fuck out, slapping that beer can in Goliath’s shocked, humiliated face, then little David is fucking king of my world.
I hold heartedly agree with the implication of Charlie’s argument that every homoerotic wrestling roster needs the little guys. Ever roster needs the underwear models and the bodybuilders. Ever roster should have raw edged street punks and square jawed All-American heroes. They should all have daddy’s little rich boys and ripped, raging, beautifully endowed sex brawlers. The industry should invest in recruiting hard edged pros and hot, inexperienced nerds. It should put up flat footed pornboys and fierce, lanky, long-distance runners. Personally I’m longing for a snarling radical fairy doing battle with a white collar stock broker on the homoerotic wresting down low.
The homoerotic pro wrestling industry is as susceptible to the tyranny of the capitalist market place as anything else, of course, so I certainly understand when, occasionally, it seems like everyone climbing through those ropes looks and moves and suffers alike. But as someone who has watched a TON of homoerotic wrestling (not even counting that running channel in my imagination of round the clock homopro), I’m always longing for producers to fill those niches Charlie and I talked about. Tickle those erotic fantasies we didn’t even know we loved. Populate our screens and imaginations with the great diversity of dramas, bodies, races, ages, etc., that makes oppressively straight real life bearable.
And most definitely, gives us pint-sized baby face heroes audacious enough to climb into the ring with beasts a foot taller and 80 pounds heavier, and to tell us a compelling, seat of our pants, crotch-tugging homoerotic wrestling drama that reflects real life writ larger, more erotic, and completely improbable, but yet, speaking to our real lives.
And now, excuse me. I need to go dig out an old college yearbook.
I’ve had my eye on adorable little Richie Douglas from day one. Cute as a fucking button and smooth as a baby’s bottom, Richie is the boy next door I had a raging crush on all my life. His opening forays into BG East competition had a distinct lamb to the slaughter vibe about them. Austin Cooper seriously ate him for lunch, and the EPIC beatdown he took at the hands and boots and pecs and fucking every last inch of Lane Hartley was almost (almost) hard to watch, it was so brutal. But like so many homoerotic wrestling fantasymen, little Richie was phenomenal to watch for the visual feast of sugary sweet, innocent muscle massacre, but I was starting to put him in that sad category of wrestler whose wrestling is “gay” mostly because I’m watching it, rather than anything he says or does in a match.
I stand corrected. After watching Richie face big, gorgeous Goren Ford in Sunshine Shooters 8, I have had to reclassify lovely Richie into a whole new category. No longer fresh meat. Not lamb to slaughter. And not rigid straightboy all buttoned up and carefully chaste amid the low down, musky eroticism of the homoerotic wrestling universe. No, Richie is none of those things. What he is, is a compact cock tease with a no longer secret fetish for red lace undergear and making a big, muscle hunk suck his balls.
You read that right. There’s an unflinching erotic scrapper with boatloads of amateur wrestling cred and an achingly prettyboy jock body all wrapped up nice and tight in that suction packed wrestling singlet. And in Sunshine Shooters 8, gorgeous Goren quite literally unwraps all of that and introduces us to the sexiest little erotic bon bon who’s been hanging out right underneath our noses all along.
I popped my cork all over Goren’s Dark Knight debut a while back. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. And he shows up out of nowhere and slaps down one of the sexiest daddy domination matches I’ve seen in a longtime. In contrast to Richie, Goren burned up the mats and scorched my retinas with his overt, sensationally secure, firm but gentle (well, not really gentle) boy taming of notoriously petulant pretty boy, Ty Alexander. Who the fuck does that? Who just shows up on day one of their homoerotic wrestling career, gets naked, looks like a Greek god, and physically and psychologically dominates an industry veteran into being his boy toy? It was a rhetorical question, but the answer is Goren Ford, that’s who.
So Sunshine Shooters 8 is a promising pairing from the start. Chaste, ripped boy next door gets interrupted while running drills for his upcoming wrestling tournament by older, wiser, Greed god and erotic savant. “If you want to practice, you can practice with me,” Goren smirks when Richie bitches about having reserved the mats. Big Goren pulls off his t-shirt and flexes those lean, meaty pecs in the boy’s face.
Goren is no amateur wrestler, though. He’s the first to admit it. So when little Richie repeatedly outhustles him and takes him to the mat, no one is shocked. However, when Richie slides into a schoolboy pin and starts to taunt the proven whip cracker, I’m a little surprised. “Come on, submit,” Richie smirks, staring down. “No fucking way, man!” Goren refuses in disgust, “not to a little guy like you.”
“This little guy’s kicking your ass right now,” Richie smirks, dialing the sexy up to 11. “What do you got to say to that?” Goren has a lot to say, mind you. He’s almost half a foot taller and over 30 pounds heavier, even ripped to the bone like he is. He muscles his way out of several jams and uses all of that superior size and strength to bulldoze the sensational pretty boy underfoot. He still looks new to the wrestling game, but that same calm, overpowering, hungry expertise in bending a hot boy to his will comes shining through time and time again. Big bad Goren makes little Richie hurt. A lot. And then he gives the squirming jock a little breathing space to decide if he’s ready to willingly be big Goren’s personal plaything. Chaste Richie stubbornly refuses. He rejects the erotic overtures. He denies the ripped muscle god bearing down on him the satisfaction.
It’s all going according to plan, I’m thinking, right up until the moment that little Richie has the big man all snug in headscissors. The little jock looks over his shoulder and smiles, clearly enjoying the sight of Goren’s face crammed nice and tight up next to Richie’s munchable ass. And then he reaches down and rips the baggy shorts off the big man. “You don’t need these,” Richie smirks, suddenly using them to choke him. It’s playful, but deliberate. It’s overtly sexual and all about the erotic domination. I don’t think Richie is going to be able to translate that move to his upcoming amateur wrestling tournament.
So that’s eyebrow-archingly sexy new stuff from Richie. I’m liking it even more when he schoolboy pins the big man again and quite deliberately shoves his crotch in Goren’s face. It isn’t just dominating. It’s not a playground nohomo move. It’s erotic and hungry and sexy as hell.
“So you like shoving your balls in another man’s face?” Goren says once he’s eaten crow, submitted, and been taunted by the hot little jock bouncing on his feet in front of him. It’s a fair question. I totally expect chaste little Richie to shrug it off and keep this RHW-straight laced. “Maybe,” Richie smirks. What the fuck?! Richie just said that, maybe, he likes shoving his balls in another man’s face!!!
Goren does not need an engraved invitation to turn the burner to high. He shoves Richie to the wall and playfully toys with the kid’s singlet, tugging it down. Richie just smiles and lets him. All the way down. Little Richie Douglas just leans back and lets Dark Knight Goren peel his singlet off him, all the way down to red lace briefs.
“I wonder what else do you like,” Goren says, playing with the kid’s sweet pecs and taking a hands on measure of the heft of the package hanging between Richie’s thighs. “Why don’t you find out?” Richie teases.
I just was not expecting this. This is so not a narrative built around the battle between lasciviousness and chastity. This isn’t that familiar morality tale about dabbling on the dark side and getting trapped in hedonistic flypaper. Richie wants it. More than that, he’s ready for it. More than that, he’s a fucking sensational at taking the heat and zinging it right back at the amorous Greek god. Goren flings the kid to the mat and climbs on his back, grinding his crotch into those aforementioned munchable ass cheeks. Far from any gay panic defense, Richie works his way on top and slaps down another schoolboy pin on the big man. And now in those seductive red briefs, little Richie slides forward and smothers the Dark Knight with his balls.
At the risk of repeating myself, I was NOT expecting this. Goren opens wide. He sticks out his tongue and laps at the low hanging fruit in his face. He turns his head to the side and slides his tongue slowly up Richie’s smooth inner thigh to the base of his balls. And not-so-chaste-afterall Richie just smiles down and shoves his hips forward another fraction of an inch.
The visuals in this match are stunning, and I don’t just mean the two eye-poppingly pretty bodies stripped down to next to nothing. I’ve been writing often about that extra kick I get from size differentials, from starkly mismatched bodies bearing down on each other. 6’1″ Goren muscling his way all over Richie’s 5’8″ fantasy body makes me swoon. And value added still is little Richie Douglas absolutely turning the tables on the Dark Knight and physically, psychologically, and sexually dominating the big man like the unabashed homoerotic scrapper he obviously was all along. He works the big man convincingly. He owns him with speed and skill, but really puts him away with that big, bulging pouch repeatedly shoved into his gaping mouth. It’s a big vs. little scenario where sensationally sexy little grabs the bull by the horns and makes this big, muscled beauty his own.
“See you in the showers,” Richie says over his shoulder as he saunters that bon bon ass out of the mat room. It isn’t a salutation. It isn’t a sportsmanly gesture of respect. It isn’t any reference to water under the bridge, the way it might look like in print. It’s a command.
And Goren shakes off the ass kicking he just took and trucks his magnificent, muscled ass right after little Richie Douglas.
As anticipated, BG East has posted their poll for the Bestie awards, recognizing the fan favorites for their wrestlers and matches featured in 2015. Drake and I did our pre-scout report last week, but now that we have the actual nominees in hand, I wanted to do a quick comparison in the interest of aiding voters in making the best choices. I’ll just stick to the individual categories because you only have until midnight this Friday to submit your votes. First up, lets take a look at the faces of the nominees for Top Babyface.
Next up, let’s compare the awesome abs nominated for Best Abs of 2015.
I’m not the first person to note that a prominent 2-time champion of the Best Abs Bestie was not nominated this year, despite appearing on the mats in 2015 for BG East. I don’t know if the academy intentionally snubbed Eli Black, or if there was a calculated judgment that Eli’s killer abs were truly out distanced by the 6 lovely, lean hunks above. In any case, just a look at the abs that are not in contention this year…
I’ll take a look at the field for Best Body and Best Bulge tomorrow…