I have no way of predicting when I’m going to receive the proverbial brown paper package, sans return address, with a new batch of smuggled pics of the inner sanctum of BG East from the anonymous benefactor I’ve dubbed, simply, Our Man Inside (OMI). This latest batch was actually signed “OMI,” which makes me chuckle… and worry a bit that the fans’ spy may be getting cocky. Speaking of dangerously cocky, did I mention how fervently Drake Marcos denied being OMI when I visited him at BG East’s South Campus last fall? Regular readers may remember that Drake was one of the first to smuggle pics to me from behind the scenes at a BG East taping. However, he also got caught, and rumor is, got his ass handed to him long and hard for dabbling in corporate espionage. So Drake brought up the topic all on his own last fall, pointedly clarifying that he isn’t the one who has continued to sneak peeks to me from behind the curtain at BG East. There was a slight tone of desperateness about his unsolicited denials that makes me think whoever OMI is (and I’m not saying that it definitely ISN’T the Cheshire Cat), I hope he continues to fly under the radar, because it sure seemed to me like hottie Drake was reliving some personal terror as he adamantly denied continuing his smuggling operation.
Whoever OMI is, I’d make him my honorary favorite homoerotic wrestler insider, if I could post of picture of him and give credit where it’s due. Of course, that would defeat the purpose. And I don’t want that purpose defeated, or OMI found out, because once again he slipped out what appear to be some cutting room floor shots from behind the scenes of BG East homoerotic wrestling tapings. There’s a brand new mountain of blond muscle who looks like he belongs in some Beach Blanket Beefcake flick from the the 60’s. Most of these appear to be from recent releases, so hopefully we’ll see Blond Bombshell Biff in action soon. And thank heavens for more candid, between takes reveals of fantasy studs like Lon Dumont, Jake Jenkins, Kayden Keller, and Jonny Firestorm. Seeing these gorgeous wrestlers without their game faces on makes me that much more infatuated with watching them suit up, slip into the ring, and go to town.
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.