Having recently moved, I’m getting accustomed to a lot of new things. The weatherman keeps reporting on “thund-uh-stoams.” There are apparently 100 ticks for every human being in the region. And it’s fucking hot.
That last part makes me rethink my decision to ignore places with swimming pools in my housing search when I moved here a month and a half ago. I’ve always thought of pools as a pain in the ass. And, honestly, this climate calls for outdoor pools no more than about 25% of the year, so it seemed like a waste. But damn. It’s fucking hot.
I’m sure I’ve posted here about my ambivalence about the swimming pool genre in homoerotic wrestling, but I’m too lazy right now to look it up for you (did I mention how hot it is?). So let me just reiterate. On the con side, pool wrestling too often submerges more than half of the available eye candy. Upper bodies are privileged as the only thing we can see most of the time (and neglecting attention to hot legs is another, more global complaint I make often). There’s probably about 80% of wrestling holds that just don’t translate to a pool. A Boston crab would likely lead to manslaughter charges.
But on the other end of the ambivalent spectrum, I love wet muscles. On that point, sweat, shower scenes, and oil wrestling tweak the same kink in me that pool wrestling does. There’s also something inherently playful about pool wrestling. Watching homoerotic wrestlers do it, it certainly appears to take many of them back to the same days of juvenile, carefree summers getting yelled at for horsing around in and around the pool, playfully bullying chums by seeing who can dunk the other, games of chicken, perched on top of each others’ shoulders and seeing who can topple whom.
While I couldn’t stand an exclusive diet of homoerotic wrestling in the pool, like fresh corn on the cob and the sweetest of watermelons, it’s a seasonal treat that can work for me. Though I have to say I prefer it to conclude with bronzed bodies baking in the sun, making out naked poolside.
I frequently get questions from wrestling fans asking for updates about some of their favorite wrestlers who’ve been absent from the scene too long. Do they still wrestle off camera? Will we ever see them join the ranks of the comeback kids? I appreciate that I may seem like a likely source of such behind the scenes information, but typically I have no idea. When I’ve had the opportunity to talk with wrestlers, especially those who’ve been off the radar for a while, it’s always been sheer luck on my part. They’ve reached out to me.
Surprisingly, for me, the most commonly asked about vintage wrestler is lovely, lanky, deceptively dangerous classic mat scrapper, Jeff Kenney. Jeff wrestled in 15 matches released by BG East, starting as far back as catalog 6 (compared to BG East’s most recently released catalog 111). He wrestled exclusively on the mats, including 3 sensationally sexy X-fights. He was the bread and butter of the Matmen series for quite a while, often completely shocking and ripping apart bigger opponents.
He faced off with classics like TNT, Andy Bailey, Chip Slater, and friend of neverland, Shane McCall. He was far more innovative and cunning that polished. Not classically handsome, at least not by my standards, there was nevertheless something intensely erotic about the lightweight stud. He was about as sure to get peeled out of his trunks, and vice versa, as he was to get his curly locks and big ears pulled.
So, unfortunately, no, I have no leads on anything about sexy Jeff Kenney beyond his published work with BG East. I know of several homoerotic wrestling fans who would join me in feeling a special thrill to hear whether he kept busting balls and crushing spirits on the mats. If we don’t get any updates, just let it be known: Jeff Kenney is fondly remembered, frequently replayed, and passionately arousing wrestling fans still today!
Someone reminded me this weekend of my simmering wrestling crush on BG East classic hunk Scott Williams. Similar to how I recently mentioned that I have this distorted perception of Kayden Keller’s height (he always seems smaller in my mind), I think of Scott has having a much longer wrestling CV than he actually does. He stars in just 5 products between catalogs 14 and 25, including his ensemble appearance in the spotlight feature on Philly’s gay amateur wrestling club, Meet theSpartans.
When I had the titillating pleasure of interviewing and being provoked by classic hunk Shane McCall, I mentioned my slackjawed crush on Scott, knowing that the 2 of them horsed around together in the Spartans. My reference to “Scott man-of-my-dreams Williams” got quite a rise out of Shane, who couldn’t resist dishing out some trash talk for his former rival. But I stand by the statement of fact that I have held, for quite a long time, and continue to hold a fanatical infatuation with the beauty, power, and wrestling style of hotty Scotty.
Having been sent down memory lane, I’ve been browsing clips and pics of Scott and instantly getting that swelling feeling in my crotch. Aesthetically, physically speaking, there’s something both classically handsome and atypically tantalizing about his appearance. I say classically handsome because of his gorgeous proportions, his thick, ultra lean muscle mass, the jaw and chin of a Hollywood leading man and the nose of a toga clad Roman aristocrat. My tendency (certainly not 100%) to prefer smooth, lickable muscle men notwithstanding, there’s an effortless, masculine perfection about Scott’s thorougly coated, impeccably groomed hairy torso.
At the same time, I say Scott speaks to me as an atypical wrestlng fantasyman mostly because of his bare pate, which is a downright novelty in homoerotic wrestling circles. There’s something effortless and real about a sizzling hot wrestling hunk with a bald head. Scott’s calm, sneering, underspoken confidence translates into over the top hypermasculinity, not just because of his rocking hot muscled body, but also because of that unapologetically muscledaddy smooth scalp. My hunch is that Scott isn’t all that much older than I am, but premature baldness made him always, from my earliest introduction to his wrestling, a mature, wise, worldly fantasyman that has always and will continue to make me infatuated with any “seasoned coach” wrestling character (hello, Mitch Colby).
I’m sure I’ve mentioned Scott’s sell before, but fuck, I’m on a roll now, so I’m mentioning it again. I absolutely love the way he milks a hold. There are a lot of wrestlers (or at least guys wrestling) for whom I struggle to suspend disbelief. They apply an armbar or wristlock and we can all plainly see there’s no actual pressure on the joint. I never had to suspend anything other than my impulse to pull my hair trigger watching Scott Williams wrestle. He puts his opponents’ joints through their range of motion, so that when abruptly the lucky stud in his clutches goes from halfheartedly groaning to suddenly choking out a cry of pain an octave higher and 20 decibels louder, you can believe that shit just hurt. When any part of some fortunate fuck gets trapped between his wiry, crushing thighs, Scott works every inch of his body into screwing down those crushing scissors as tight as humanly possible. His hips twist to add pressure, he transitions his upper body from angle to angle to dig his legs as deep as possible into every available inch of flesh and muscle.
And then that face. Holy fuck, that face. When he purses his lips in concentration and effort, I’ve got a ravenous need to lock lips with the handsome hunk. He’s not the most demonstrative in his sell. There’s a slow simmer about him that doesn’t rely on a bullhorn to convey his emotional state. Rather, steering with such an even keel, every subtle smirk or gasp, every gutteral grunt speaks louder than most wrestlers’ screams and incessant monologues. You can see every fucking muscle fiber on his fabulous body because he’s just that amazingly lean, so Scott doesn’t need to growl like the Incredible Hulk to signal with complete clarity that he’s flexing, squeezing, pressing, or crushing.
And then that smile knocks my knees out from underneath me. Completely disarming. The kind of face that young, ambitious bucks would bust a nut to get the chance to see deliver an approving look, a nod of respect, a seriously appraising eye.
I’ve heard from the grapevine that Scott continues to wrestle in private, or in front of custom cameras in command performances only these days. Which is a crying shame, as far as I’m concerned. Because I’ve so many Scott Williams wrestling fantasies, and he’s got such an abridged catalog. So, yeah, I’m a big, big fan (getting bigger by the second just thinking about him). In a 2nd golden age of homoerotic wrestling, with classic comebacks like that of Christopher Bruce and Shane McCall, and the long-rumored return of the likes of Liam Ryan to competition, this fanatic will always carry a torch for one of my first, longest lasting, and instantly provocative classic wrestling infatuations, Scott man-of-my-dreams Williams.
I’m venturing into highly contested waters today, so put your life vests on and buckle in. Age. I’ve chatted with homoerotic wrestling fans who consider hunks old enough to legally drink alcohol as getting too old for their tastes. Mind you, the fans in question are more than twice that age, but for the time being, let me just focus on the wrestlers. By the same token, I’ve talked with homoerotic wrestling fans who are a tad creeped out by wrestlers that look too young. Hell, I had an extended exchange with a fan who was gagging for a silver fox bracket of homoerotic wrestling for mature muscle only. I’ve also heard rumor of homoerotic wrestling companies who turn away handsome, magnificently muscled, high quality man meat with impeccable wrestling credentials and a sensational sell because they only work with guys younger than 30 years old. Age is clearly something that factors into the homoerotic wrestling scene in complex ways.
You know me, of course. I can pump out a teary eyed infatuation for hunks across a wide range of demographics. I’ve been known to get off on one of those barely legal babyface kids who, although he’s old enough to vote, has the look of a high school sophomore. Now, I fully endorse limiting the subjects of erotic products to those of legal age to comptently give their consent. I don’t want to see (let me repeat for the morality police: I DON’T want to see) an actual 14 year old, no matter how sweet his ass, step into a wrestling ring to be an object of erotic lust for grown men, much less for him to be groped or ground by an amorous wrestling opponent. If a 21 year old could pass for a 14 year old, and he has that sweet ass I just mentioned, fuck yes, get his legal signature on a contract, throw him into a ring to get slammed, stripped, and sucked, and then pay him handsomely. My line isn’t whether the audience could imagine the hunks to be underage. It’s just a question of whether they are, in the eyes of the law, legally capable of consenting to adult decisions like starring in media targeted toward erotically interested consumers. There’s got to be a line with regard to age, maturity, and capacity to give consent, and I’m just fine with the legal standards that operate in the homoerotic wrestling industry.
So there’s that threshold of age on the bottom end of the scale. But what about the top end of the scale? Do (should) wrestlers age out of being suitable stars of homoerotic wrestling? Of course, I continue to advocate for legal capacity as a requirement. Guys with impaired capacity due to intellectual disabilities or mental health issues, no matter their age, no matter how rocking hot their six-pack abs and sculpted, tree trunk thighs are, shouldn’t be professional homoerotic wrestlers. But other than that small minority of adults, I see nothing wrong with, and in fact see many things very, very right with, wrestlers having no inherent expiration date for steaming up screens.
My thoughts are distinct from, but related to, the occasional wrestling narrative of a younger stud taunting his older opponent. I actually love seeing younger and older wrestlers go to town on each other, though I confess I typically ache to see the more mature guy own the young buck’s ass (and any other body part he wants). When Mitch Colby showed up for his debut match with BG East, wrestling against hottie Alexi Adamov, Alexi was already disparaging Mitch as ready to be put out to pasture. Mitch smirks in response to the “old man” banter, and then lets his gorgeous pecs and bulging biceps give the only answer necessary, laying Alexi the fuck OUT when all was said and done.
Now I’m terrible at guessing ages. But I’m thinking Mitch couldn’t have been over 40 years old when he wrestled Alexi. Possibly early 40’s, but that absolutely requires that he have the genes of a comic book superhero. Look at that fucking rocking muscle bod!? So sure, he’s older than Alexi, and Alexi wants to unsettle this physical phenom of a newbie muscle stud, so the young Russian gets all snarky about the only thing he can imagine sensational Mitch could be, in any way, insecure about. About the time Alexi is doing the backstroke in a pool of their combined sweat, unable to pry is wasted, hot, gorgeous young body off the mat, the “old guy” drama comes to what I think of as a sensationally satisfying end.
Physical maturity, pitched well, makes me weak in the knees. Take Brooklyn Bodywrecker with salt-and-pepper goatee and chest hair bringing us as close as we’ve come to seeing Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) stripped naked and showing off the ballast he carries in his pouch. Joshua tries to get underneath the classic heel’s skin with the “o” word. Bodywrecker tags him, bags him, and takes out the prettiest trash on the planet. How old was BBW? I have no idea. I’m guessing over 40, but like I said, I suck at guessing ages. But one thing I do know for certain: he wasn’t “too old.”
Take Christopher Bruce’s big comeback a few years ago, returning in mindblowing condition after last appearing a decade earlier as a doe eyed, shapely, lean go-go boy, now older, marginally wiser, and stealing the spotlight from every frustrated opponent with that insanely sexy, infinitely fuckable, massively muscled bubble butt. Cole Cassidy, Jonny Firestorm, they keep calling Chris out as some sort of doddering elder statesman, but that’s just the narrative tension in the story. The obvious truth is that he’s a fucking muscle god who, as far as I’m concerned, is about 30 times overtly sexier than he was a decade ago. Proving that it isn’t just the story of the mature hunk schooling a cocky young upstart that gets me off, he’s still getting his ass handed to him most of the time, but the years are absolutely nothing but value added in my book.
So age, age differences, “oldness,” “youngness,” sure all of these things are moving parts, contested, manipulated, foregrounded strategically. But in and of itself, the actual notion that someone is too old, as a function of a particular number, just seems ludicrous to me. Sure, maybe over the course of his years a wrestler has fucked up his knees or lost his strength or gone on blood thinners, in which case high impact, highly entertaining homoerotic wrestling competition may not be for him anymore. But’s that’s about injury, disease, and fitness, not a number.
As with any professional athlete, I’m sure there’s a time when they may choose to do other things than exercise, diet, and train with the intensity it requires to be safe and healthy and successful in a pro wrestling ring. But I’m also sure there are plenty of hunks who are talented and enthusiastic enough to keep climbing through those ropes past their 30’s (for god’s sake), definitely past their 40’s, many, I’m sure past their 50’s and maybe even 60’s. While I know there are those fans who want nothing but barely legals, I’m in the camp (and I know there are many of us) who are happily entertained and fully aroused by homoerotic wrestling hunks of a variety of ages, in a broad array of scenarios, pitching, catching conquering and being conquered by peers and young punks alike. Bald spots and grey hair can grab me by the short hairs, when paired with a sexy body, an engaging attitude, and a skillful sell.
Before I finish what has turned into a very long post, let me just add a word of encouragement and another word of caution to those who are inspired to comment here. First, I always enjoy hearing from readers, comparing notes, seeing where our tastes overlap and where they diverge. Please do let me know what you think about homoerotic wrestler expiration dates. And, as has been my policy for quite a while, note that I won’t approve posts that attack particular wrestlers or that disparage anyone with the balls to climb into a ring and wrestle for a bunch of horny gay men. You don’t have to like the same wrestlers I do. You don’t have to agree with my opinions. But comments are welcome here that are respectful of me and the homoerotic wrestlers who populate the pages of this blog and who deserve courtesy, even if you or I aren’t fans.
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.
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].
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
I had a birthday a couple of days ago. One more year older, one more year closer to perfection. Someone who knows of my infatuation with BG East classics and glimpses behind the scenes gifted me with a few pics I’ve never seen before featuring homoerotic wrestling hunks who have populated my erotic fantasies for nearly 2 decades. Now that’s a birthday present! Knowing the perfect surprise gift to give is surely the sign of a true friend. So climb into your way-back machine and vicariously enjoy my thrill when I received these hot, mostly candid pics of sizzlingly sexy wrestling titans of yesterday (and a couple, still of today!).
This shot of Ian, Sean, KV and KL sunning in the sand is instantly one of my most treasured possessions. Each of these hunks surely owns his own corner in the homoerotic wrestling hall of fame. I’m still torn as to whether Sean “the Kisser” Patrick or Christian Taylor deserves the lifetime achievement award for sexiest liplock. And gorgeous heel master Kid Vicious can pull my trigger absolutely any time. What’s with the Boss being the only one fully clothed here?
I need help identifying the bright-eyed babyface flexing his bicep under Brian Baxter’s chin. Seeing these classic hunks so obviously having fun together is so awesome. Brian Baxter’s marathon ring match with Kid Leopard, with fellow wrestlers off camera flinging taunts and catcalls, is one of the rawest, sexiest, personality-forward homoerotic wrestling matches ever.
Holy crap look at this reunion of pioneers of homoerotic wrestling hotness! The two silver foxes on the left in the back defy me, though I feel like I ought to be able to identify them. Shane McCall and an unmasked Cage Thunder are both classics and ongoing forces to be wrestled with in BG East new releases. Tommy Lopez! Tommy Lopez!!! Just a few months ago I was waxing nostalgic about this babyface wrestling rock star. And if you want to be brought to your knees hard, check out Tommy and Sailor Rob’s photo collection from their full frontal, pedal to the metal homoerotic wrestling match in BGE’s Arena Vintage section. And it’s great to see KL and Sailor Rob are still close after their cut throat, brutally humiliating title match documented in the Arena’s Vintage Photo Story.
Facebook has been offering to package a graphic presentation of how great 2014 was for me. FB doesn’t know shit. Despite ending on a bad note, though, it is certainly true that a lot of great things happened in recently past year. Remembering the best helps put the worst in perspective, so here are my top 10 favorite moments of 2014.
10. In May, Gio Benitez posted a desperately anticipated (by me) shirtless pic. Hot newsboys always grab my attention and stick in my memory, and the dubiously philanthropic fad of dumping buckets of icewater on oneself provided some sweet teases of hot newsboy muscles this year, including Gio and David Muir. But no news was quite so newsworthy as beefy sophomore newsboy Gio Benitez releasing a group photo with him right in the middle showing off his bare, beautiful, meaty pecs.
Jose made sure I also saw this sweet tease Gio released for New Year, with Gio’s muscles pumping and bulging as fellow fantasy man Ryan Hughes “trains” him.
9. In March I enjoyed a novel interview with adorable rookie jobber Ty Alexander all about homoerotic wrestling fashion. It was the first fashion-themed interview I’ve done, and Ty was all earnestness and adorability in dishing out fashion advice and sharing copious photos of his personal collection, both with his bodacious bubble butt in and out of them. Ty continues to impress me as a true native of the homoerotic wrestling universe, and I keep warning Drake Marcos to keep an eye out for this ingenue rising from the fresh meat counter to pick off more established young talents as the young wrestling stud on top of the fan-crush pile. Sure, with Ty it’s all about fashion. And wrestling. And, well, Ty. Just what will he get up to in 2015, one wonders…
8. In May, Clint Morgan sat down with me for a compelling and controversial interview. It should come as no surprise that brutal beast Clint pulls no punches, musing on both the dos and don’ts of the homoerotic wrestling world according to Clint. I’m still praying for that rip-and-strip match between Clint and Tyrell Tomsen to be realized in 2015… in my living room.
7. There are a few wrestlers who I have been angling to interview for a while. Perhaps in 2015 I’ll finally nail down some of those nasty cock teases. But a highlight of 2014 was the reward of tenacity and ingenuity to overcome unusual obstacles and have a thoughtful interview with giant killer Jayden Mayne in October. Hollywood handsome and shockingly brutal, wiry Jayden has plan to beef up and knock the legs out from underneath more big bruisers in the coming year. Cannot wait!
6. In May, homoerotic wrestling fanatic and friend of neverland, Jose, launched his sensational, bilingual homoerotic wrestling blog, La Sustancia P. Jose has carved out a delightful corner of all of the musings about the wrestling we love that’s all his own. The charts and lists and unstoppable powers of deduction bring the art of a homoerotic wrestling infatuation firmly into the realm of science. And science never, ever turned me on as hard as when I’m reading La Sustancia P.
5. August saw the fulfillment of a long-dreamed of moment for me, the on camera appearance of Kid Karisma’s naked ass. The answer of how many times must Kid K win the “best butt” year-end award before those glutes show up unobstructed is 2. In Undagear 22, my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler burned up the mat and crushed and demolished lucky, lucky, lucky Ray Naylor brutally. In a moment of generosity, though, Kid K celebrated his victory by peeling off his sweat soaked undagear and strolling slowly off the mat, bare assed and epically beautiful. I’m hoping this story arc swings into 2015 with actual bare assed, full contact wrestling action from Kid Karisma.
4. Some interviews are the result of begging, pleading and stealing on my part. And then some of my favorite interviews absolutely fall into my lap. When Chuck Flying Tiger Collins dropped me a note appreciating this blog in November, I snapped up the opportunity eagerly. Chatting with the Flying Tiger was like sitting down with an old friend, the back and forth flowing easily. Where I’m often battling nerves during interviews, Chuck had me kicking up my feet and coasting delightfully through the past, present and potential future of homoerotic wrestling. And then I nearly fell off my seat when Chuck sent me a couple of photos of his shirtless self today. Damn, damn, damn, I’m aching to see a Flying Tiger comeback in 2015!
3. In February I saddled up for my first three-way interview, sitting down with both Mason Brooks and Drake Marcos. Coming off of their sizzling hot Passion and Punishment match, I was counting my lucky stars to get to deconstruct their phenomenal confrontation from both handsome hunks’ perspectives. Little did I know I’d have a tiger by the tail in trying to steer both cocky studs through the same conversation. And while I was fully expecting Mason and Drake to throw shade each other’s way, I was sincerely shocked to find Drake irked and annoyed at me, despite my every effort to heap praise and adoration on the world class jobber boy. The interview turned into one of my favorite moments of the year for both the hotness I knew would ensue, as well as the heat that took me entirely by surprise.
2. Speaking of unexpected, my October interview with Shane McCall was simply the hottest interview I’ve ever conducted. I’ve been a slack jawed fanboy of Shane’s from the first moment I discovered BG East. So my heart was already a-fluttering from the get-go when I started talking with him about his epic return to the ring in Catch Weight 6, where he had some harsh words (and harsher holds) for cocky young jobber Ty Alexander. Shane’s retrospective on his early days in wrestling, his insights into the spirit and spirituality of homoerotic wrestling, and his candid thoughts about the near future of the business had me hard, but when Shane sucked me into his big, hairy, bear daddy fantasies, I was literally swooning. I had to hydrate often and towel often even more often, and if you’ve read the interview, it should come as little surprise it was a highlight of my year/decade. Shane also sent me New Year’s best wishes with this photo (above) attached, proving once again he can bend my back across his knee and go to town on my abs any day or night he wants!
1. Hands down my favorite moment of the year was meeting Drake Marcos and climbing into the BG East ring to settle a blogger v wrestler score that was brewing all year long. The whole visit was outstanding, and the entire match, including getting crushed hard between Drake’s crazy sexy legs, was thrilling. But if I had to narrow the whole thing down to that one, distinct, pristine moment that rises to the top, the very best of the best was stepping back to admire the jobber trapped in the ropes, then grabbing my phone in one hand and a handful of Drake’s hair in the other and snapping this keepsake.
So, sure it was “a year to remember” for so many reasons, and even this little jaunt down memory lane turns me on with memories that will surely get me hard for years to come. When it comes to outstandingly memorable moments in homoerotic wrestling blogging, I’d go so far as to say that this one is going to be very tough to beat. But I’m holding out hope that 2015 will have even more awesome, outstanding moments in store. Thanks to all of the fine men who were part of this year’s fun, including all of the hunks who let me interview them, all of my fellow bloggers who kept me informed and motivated, and one particular vanquished buck who proved once again that the pen, and my chokehold, are mightier than the jobber.