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.

5’5″, 140 lbs Drake Wild bears down on 5’11”, 200 lbs Derek Fox in Pro Sex Fight 13

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.

5’6″, 160 lbs Denny Cartier breaks big 6’2″, 240 lbs Joe Robbins down to size in Catch Weight 2

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.

5’7″, 150 lbs Bolt stares way up at 6’2″, 265 lbs Brute in Custom Series 33 from Thunder’s Arena


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.

5’9″, 165 lbs Cody  Cummings is jerked around by 6’4″, 220 lbs Zeke West in Mat Muscle Match 1


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.

Fearless 5’10”, 132 lbs Billy Lodi is just barely bested by 6’2″, 206 lbs Mitch Colby in Catch Weight 6

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.

5’7″, 150 lb Bolt momentarily schools 6′, 255 lbs Brian Cage in Ring Wars 21

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.

5’7″, 120 lbs Charlie Evans shoved into the ceiling by 5’8″, 175 lbs Morgan Cruise in Gorilla Press 1 by MDW


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.

5’10”, 150 lbs Skrapper is crushed by 5’11”, 240 lbs Brook Stetson in Catch Weight 2

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.

Little 5’8″, 140 lbs Richie Douglas makes all the little guys proud against 6’1″, 170 lbs Goren Ford in Sunshine Shooters 8

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.

5’10”, 156 lbs TAK is dwarfed by 6’3″, 240 lbs Freak in Mat Rats 63 by Thunder’s Arena

And now, excuse me. I need to go dig out an old college yearbook.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

As of today, I’m finally catching up with the HWOTM titles.  New releases in May were plentiful and exceedingly hot.  Any number of wrestlers could own the title, making it that much harder to pick just one.  But there’s a particularly handsome, hunky, smart and sexy as hell stud who worked me hardest and stays with me longest…


… Thunder’s Arena’s Marco.

Marco gets a light workout in while maintaining total control over his pup.

It’s been a while since I sampled from Thunder’s Arena. I’m always wishing that Thunder’s was a little (not necessarily a lot, but at least a little) gayer. But I’d already developed a fan crush on smoking hot Marco from reading Joe’s interview with him at Ringside.  I tend to agree with Joe in direction and degree about 97% of the time, so it should come as little wonder that spending about 25 minutes with luscious Marco in Mat Wars 47 was an extremely pleasant interlude in an otherwise totally fucked-up month of May (for me).

TAK refuses to give up easily, showing off Marco’s hot bod to perfection in the process.

I operate under the working assumption that the way a man treats a dog says everything I need to know about his character. This is the reason I’m always suspicious of people who say that they aren’t “dog people.”  So when TAK (“The All-American Kid”) opens this scene cuddling with Thunder’s Arena’s new mascot, French Bulldog Thunder, I’m intrigued.  TAK plies the pup with treats, babying and cuddling him, talking in that sing-songy voice we reserve for infants, the elderly, and the enemies we know are morons. Marco arrives on scene and says exactly what I’m thinking. “Stop babying my dog!”

Look at the look of delight on Marco’s face!

Philosophies of dog training collide as the boys vie for Thunder’s affection. Pushes, shoves. Marco snags one of TAK’s legs and astonishingly props it on top of his shoulder as the All-American Kid dances on one foot (impressive flexibility, TAK!). It all has that playfulness, that coyness about it that sometimes sets my teeth on edge when watching Thunder’s Arena matches. Then suddenly Marco sweeps that remaining foot, and TAK’s last shred of dignity, out from underneath him, and the blond twink hits the deck seriously hard.  I mean, fuck, I can see the cartoon birds suddenly tweeting as they circle the poor kid’s head. This got relatively serious, seriously fast.

“I’ll give you a treat!”

Marco sets about putting TAK in his place like the alpha dog the owner of a stubborn pup needs to be. “Get on all fours like Thunder!” Marco demands as TAK peels himself off the mat and climbs to his hands and knees.  I have a long running simmer for TAK, mind you.  His ass in those breathtakingly tight teal trunks is a work of edible art, and I, for one, am ready to chew on those glutes (not hard… unless he likes it that way). But then again, watching TAK get out hustled, out muscled, and out wrestled by beautiful Marco is just plain crazy hot. “You want a treat?” Marco coos, offering equal parts carrot and stick to his recalcitrant trainee. “I’ll give you a treat.” In a schoolboy pin, Marco shifts his hips forward, dangling his hefty, red clad package in TAK’s face. Holy fuck, that would be enough to make me sit up and beg!

Marco appreciates TAK’s Happy Trail leading the way to one gorgeous, tightly packed cock!

There’s one pivotal point where TAK almost steals the show. Well, his cock almost steals the show.  Marco drops the writhing twink across his leg in a beautiful OTK backbreaker.  He beats the shit out of his abs.  But, although Marco never actually says it, his eyes are doing exactly what mine are: watching that beautiful bulge of TAK’s quiver.  Those trunks are so tight, you can see every mouthwatering inch in detail. Marco gets distracted from battering the kid’s gut.  He even comments on the light blond “Happy Trail” leading like the yellow brick road to the mountainous bulge hanging between the kid’s legs.  There’s a moment there that I’m thinking, “Now, there’s the star of the show!”


But time and time again, it’s Marco who manages to make me peel my eyes away from TAK’s quivering bulge. With speed and strength Marco manages to make the hot young pup sit, lie down, and roll over before the training session is over. I remember in his interview with Joe that there was mention of how effortlessly sexy and erotically charged he is in action.  Truer words never spoken.  A reverse bearhug provides Marco the context for reaching up and appreciating his opponent’s lean pecs. “Puppy pecs,” he calls them, promising that under his tutelage, skinny young TAK would put on muscle mass. With total sell, he suddenly commands the stubborn young pup to flex his bicep.  And here’s the key: submissively, under the physical and psychological domination of his opponent, TAK instantly obeys. Marco trashes the kid’s upper arms as little more than twigs, but there’s this underlying note of appreciation, like a connoisseur sampling a wine before it’s time, swirling it around, savoring it, and recognizing the delightful promise of what is yet to come in it’s maturation.

Marco wants to wrestle naked. You can tell, he wants it bad!

Behavioral extinction is fucking hard to achieve, so little wonder that defiantly stubborn TAK rallies a few times, usually coming from behind with cheap shots. There’s something slightly unbelievable about his offense. I’m just about to roll my eyes when he’s backed Marco against the wall and is delivering a long series of punches to his rock hard gut.  Then Marco suddenly demands, “HARDER!” He demonstrates an awesome feel for this moment, the stretch required for suspending disbelief, and connects it intuitively to the dog training motif the boys established earlier. And even here, the thing that grabs me by the balls is that TAK obeys. Instantly. He punches harder with a mixture of panic that his “offense” is bouncing off his opponent and a Pavlovian conditioned response to the sound of his new master’s voice.

Having just tapped out, TAK is bent over catching his breath and Marco is barely restraining himself from ripping off his own trunks.

The more he exercises control over his charge, the more Marco seems to reflexively tug at the sides of his tight red trunks. Applying an awesomely hot headscissor submission, he flexes his beautiful biceps and does stomach crunches as TAK whimpers, struggling against tapping out. Those big, beautiful thighs will not be denied, however, and as TAK taps, Marco hooks his thumb in the side of his trunks and slides them down, provocatively. If this were anywhere other than Thunder’s I’d say Marco was just about to ride the thrill of victory into a full-monty nude wrestling finale.  No such luck, naked wrestling fans, but it’s not the last time you’ll see Marco show off his gorgeous lower abs and side ass cheek.


So yeah, I’m a heart-pounding, sweaty-browed fan of Marco’s bedroom eyes, incredible body, and intense mastery of both TAK and the art of erotic subtext.  He is ALL OVER the All-American Kid in the closing moments of this match, demonstrating that despite TAK’s blustering denial, Marco can pin that munchable ass of his at will, pretty much any time, any place, preferably with me on hand licking my lips in anticipation. In the fun and games world of Thunder’s Arena, TAK is one of the funnest and gamest, of course. But in owning the moment and narrating erotically charged g-rated wrestling like a master, the winner of May’s Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month title is smolderingly hot Marco.

Marco – Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month – May 2015

Another Rose By Any Other Name

5’10”, 156 lbs, Thunder’s Arena’s resident bad ass twink: TAK

I haven’t yet sparked one of those slightly panicky messages from a young hunk who’d really, really prefer that I take down references to their more explicit porn career in response to yesterday’s post.  Cool!  Celebrate what you got, boys! Adam did contact me though to let me know that 1) Blogger wouldn’t permit him to post a comment, and 2) Thunder’s Arena’s TAK can also be seen doing his thang at SeanCody.

First of all, sorry for those who frequently let me know that Blogger isn’t allowing them to comment.  Our Google overlords have moved on to their next big innovative roll-out, I’m sure, so kinks and bugs like this seem to pop up with increasing frequency around here.  Second of all, as I’ve mentioned recently, I occasionally get a major twink-lust, and damn it all if “The All-American Kid” TAK doesn’t scratch it good!  There’s something visually vulnerable about him, particularly when juxtaposed with the seriously massive mountains of beef that Thunder’s has tended toward in recent years.  More than just sheer size, though, TAK’s blond, blue-eyed, long, lean beauty is almost “delicate,” I’d say.  He looks like he’d burn in the sun without SPF 5,000.  I’d guess he could’ve been a sickly kid.  So when he slaps down a sweetly intense mat offense and makes an opponent squeal a little, and then flexes his ectomorph muscles cockily, the drama is hot and compelling.

SeanCody’s Sheldon (and his power washer)

Eagle-eyed Adam put 2 and 2 together and passed along the conclusion that Thunder’s Arena’s “The All-American Kid” is also SeanCody’s Sheldon.  Nice, nice, nice!  Somehow TAK looks considerably less vulnerable to me with his semi-erect cock swinging free.  That’s a choice piece of meat to go with the boy-next-door beauty and deceptively shy grin.  SeanCody’s page mentions that Sheldon is a heavy artillery shooter, and Adam confirmed this when he contacted me to put me on this trail.  Our boy boasts that he can launch a load that will hit the ceiling, and Adam says “the guy shoots the biggest, farthest load you’ll ever see this side of Shane Erickson.”

All the right elements to a seriously, explicitly erotic chart topper!

Which makes his match against fellow SeanCody alum and bareback rodeo star Mogly seem like so much potential unrealized.  Can you just imagine the chart topper this would have been had Mogly used that free left hand of his when he had TAK at his mercy in this backbreaker, to yank down his trunks and work that hose until TAK doused a bonfire!?

5’9″, 212 lbs, Thunder’s Arena’s Xavier

My second sleuth today is again another find from my own foraging. And, again, it’s another Thunder’s Arena wrestler, namely Xavier.  Xavier’s a typical Thunder’s Arena powerhouse. Thunder’s says he’s 5’9″ and 212 pounds.  He wrestles with a dark coat of hair on those massive pecs, and he sports some aggressive ink that I really like the look of.

Xavier takes a good look at what his muscle domination does to studpuppy Hoop.

Xavier is sweetly satisfying as an overpowering bully who delights in exploiting an outmuscled opponent.  Like serious crushes of mine before him, he works his magic all over luscious bon bon Hooper who responds in the way that Hoop seems unable to resist when dominated by superior firepower.  Xavier-the-wrestler strikes me as a brute force bull, like the tat on his right arm, plowing through the china shop of lesser men.

Vegas boy and RentMen’s XavierMuscle

Following the trail of breadcrumbs he leaves on Twitter, Instagram, RentMen and Facebook, when he’s not crushing a turned-on little hunk like Hoop, Xavier is available by the hour via RentMen or for public consumption as a muscle dancer at a gay club in Las Vegas.  Here’s a prime example of how different contexts shed such a different light on a hot piece of meat like Xavier.  I’d never really noticed his gorgeous eyes, and in his case, I’m all over those massive, meaty pecs shaved over au naturel.  Far less a brute than a beauty, Xavier as muscle god is a work of art. Seeing how he can handle the jackhammer he’s equipped with, again I have to say I think it’s a crying shame he didn’t do more than just raise an eyebrow at Hoop’s swollen package propped up so perfectly in that OTK.

I could feast for days on those shaved pecs!

Again, as always, if this post suddenly becomes populated with pictures of puppies, you’ll know that someone prefers that his G-rated non-explicit homoerotic wrestling persona overlap with his X-rated porn star alter-ego.  Fair enough.  I’m always more than ready to fulfill a request from a wrestler to craft his wrestling presence in precisely the way he wants it.  But my point is really that there’s sometimes more homoerotic potential in our homoerotic wrestling fare, and I’m a booster for exploiting potential to its fullest.

That Look

In Friday’s post, Alex posed some provocative questions about what’s said in a homoerotic wrestling match.  Specifically, whether hearing a wrestler taunt his opponent by asking if he’s “gay” (by implication meaning weak, wimpy, less than a real man, et.) is a turn-off or perhaps ought to be out of bounds for wrestling for a gay audience.  The post generated some fantastic conversation, which is exactly what I expect every time Alex puts pen to paper.  His thoughts, coupled with some images I’ve recently been obsessing over, reminded me of the flip side of the equation, as well: when without so much as a word, a wrestler turns me on full force in an instant with just a look.
Kevin Crowes looks pleased.
The recent photo releases from Can-Am of my long-time favorite wrestler emeritus, Rusty Stevens, in Pro Sex Fight 4 against Kevin Crowes, has been making me sweat buckets.  But this particular shot of angelic beauty Kevin sweaty, pumped, and swinging pipe caught my attention.  Specifically, look at the look on his face!  Fuck that’s hot.  He’s been taking a mauling at the expert hands of Rusty for eons at this point in the match.  It’s looked like Rusty’s got this adonis crushed and sprinkled over an intensely tasty dish of sex served hot, until deceptively pretty Kevin catches the veteran sex wrestling champ getting a tad too cocky, a smidge too over-confident, and just as Rusty is sizing up the slice of beef he’s about to eat whole, Keven lays him down, strips him naked, and starts pounding the hell out of Rusty’s balls.  In an oh-how-the-mighty-have-fallen moment, Kevin takes a strutting victory lap around his opponent’s vulnerably body.  All that viciousness, all the bile, all that contempt and scorn pouring out of Rusty earlier is doused, and the look of pleasure on Kevin’s face sells a whole novel’s worth of story to me.  The abs, quads, and simply gorgeous cock don’t hurt his case either!
Gabriel Ross looks hungry
Honestly, I’ve been trying my best to watch BG East’s Wrestle Shack 16 all the way through, but fuck me if I can manage to get more than about 5 minutes at a time watched before I’m stoked into delirium and exhaust myself entirely.  Holy fuck, Lorenzo Lowe (I don’t give a damn what his frat brother’s call him, he’ll always be bespectacled Lorenzo to me) is an insanely sexy little scrapper.  But damn, damn, DAMN when he’s getting his crotch ripped apart with muscle bunny fallen archangel Gabriel Ross leaning over top of him, I’m helpless.  The look of calm, chill, confident, hungry pleasure on Gabriel’s face contrasted with Lorenzo’s agony-twisted visage, is worth about 10 orgasms (and that’s not counting the one Lorenzo’s about to pop).
Ethan Andrews looks delighted.

Rock Hard Wrestling was the first to make me an Ethan Andrews believer.  Like the catty bitch I can often be, I once questioned whether Ethan was rock hard enough to qualify to be in their stable of pretty pretty muscle boys.  Ethan made me eat my words and lose load after load climbing into the RHW ring and wringing symphony after symphony out of his bulging, pumped opponents like a maestro.  Ethan tends to give better than he gets at RHW, and the look of serene delight that inevitably plays across his handsome face as he makes another gym bunny scream like a tantruming two-year old makes my heart skip a beat.  He flashes that smile at so many pitifully wailing opponents, but possibly never as entertainingly as the moments in which he catches handsome powerhouse Jake Jenkins by surprise.

Tak looks ready for his close up.

I keep coming back to Thunder’s for the humor and the subtext, despite lapses in good taste and common sense like Alex mentioned on Friday.  One of the TA wrestlers who completely catches me by surprise by how compelling a character I find him is lean, blond, doe-eyed twink Tak.  He plays twink among the muscle gods beautifully, and perhaps precisely because he stands out in the TA crowd, his lovely, lean bod sorts me out extra hard. But when Tak has both hands wrapped around the throttle and another gym bunny muscleman is at least momentarily getting humiliated by a blond, blue-eyed, babyface lightweight twink, Tak gives some sexy sexy face! His look is somewhere between a champion bronco rider eight seconds into his ride and a seasoned pornboy a split second before his money shot.

Like Alex suggested, it doesn’t take a lot to suck the air right out of a homoerotic wrestling match. Just a word, an implication of genuine contempt for the audience that slapped down plastic to watch, and at least some of us find our buzz killed. And at least for me, the opposite can also be true. As much of a fan of trash talk as I am, some of the sexiest moments that sends fireworks exploding in my head are entirely about one compelling, silent look that tells the most homoerotic wrestling story of all.

Beating the Odds

There are varying opinions about mismatched opponents in homoerotic wrestling.  I get the argument that the intoxicating heat of the competitive premise can suffer when there is, or appears to be, little chance of an outmatched wrestler holding his own, much less taking possession of his opponent’s.  Not infrequently, however, I have a sweet tooth for an apparent mismatch, for the tale of the tape that suggests there is no spread big enough to make this worth a bookie’s time.  Just that first glimpse of some plucky hunk staring down (more often up) extremely long odds can grab my attention with both hands.
Brian Baker stares down his nose at goldenboy Austin Cooper 

The long-odds wrestling match jumped front and center in my attention recently when I clicked through to the preview of my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, 5’9″, 170 pound Austin Cooper, trying not to have to strain his neck to look up at the stunningly handsome face of his young rookie opponent, Brian Baker (different one), who towers over him at 6’4″ at weighing in at an athletically lean 205 pounds.  I’m downloading this promise at this very moment, inspired largely by the promise of seeing what Coop can do with the rook’s seriously lovely ass and long, tattooed torso.  The online match description telegraphs (or, rather, painstakingly details) that not only does Coop tame the towering stud, but he humiliates Brian in a two-fall squash despite the 7 inches of height and 35 pounds of weight advantage the rookie comes in with.  Please tell me Coop draws out the schooling just as long as his lovely pupil’s body is!

Drake Wild has his hands full taming massive muscle beast Tyler St. James

In the way the universe does sometimes, I was fresh off of getting all breathless over Coop and Brian Baker when I stumbled across more tantalizing preview pics of Can-Am’s first catch-weight version of a Pro Sex Fight. reports that the sweet, hot punk Drake Wild is 5’5″ and 140 pounds, which explains why he looks absolutely dwarfed by Tyler St. James, who reports is 6’2″ and 240 pounds of insanely thick muscle.  That’s 7 inches and, I kid you not, a reported 100 pound difference, which is instantly translated into a sweaty brow and gasps of lust to see controlling the big man handily.   Fuck, that’s hot!

Gorgeous giant Paladin makes even notorious heel Jonny’s eyes grow wide.

Apparently there’s something in the water these days, because BG East’s latest catalog also boasts one of those inspiring apparent mismatches with the 5’5″ and 160 pound version of Jonny Firestorm, staring up at the chart topping beauty of 6’6″ and 210 pound Paladin in the 3 Stages of Jonny.  The online match description explains that Jonny’s been sent on a mission to cut the 6 and half foot giant down to size, but even Jonny and those magical forearms can’t prevent the man 50 pounds and over a foot taller from taking the first fall.  It’s never a good idea to count out Jonny, or his forearms, prematurely, and yet again another “little guy” beats the odds, and his massive opponent, to a pulp.

Every ounce of Cybertron’s 65 pound weight advantage threatens to break babyface Ronny Pearl in half

And then there’s the case of 5’8″, 185 pound Ronny Pearl, who I mentioned so adoringly yesterday, encountering 6’2″ and 250 pound wrecking ball Cybertron in Ringwars 21.  Compared to the previous 3 mismatches, Ronny’s “only” staring down a half a foot height difference (and, yeah, a 65 pound weight disadvantage).  Nevertheless, Cybertron demonstrates what “odds” are all about, capitalizing on every inch and ounce of superiority to crush the flowing-haired rookie with more brutality than I’ve seen in a match in a long time!

Big Sexy isn’t about to let even two opponent’s kick his fine, fine, FINE ass!

And if we’re counting numbers and assessing odds, Thunders Arena has posted a couple of new matches recently the devolve into 2-on-1 double-teams.  In Rough and Ready 33, peroxide punk Izzy was due to star in one of those totally outmatched features, though how much smaller he is than 6′, 205 pound Big Sexy is a mystery because he’s not listed yet in their roster (which seems ominous for his future).  Regardless, 5’8″, 156 pound Python apparently steps in to help little Izzy out, wrapping those superman arms around Big Sexy’s throat and turning the tide.  However, this is Big Sexy we’re talking about.  Worse for the double-team, it’s Big Sexy bigger, sweatier, and more beautiful than ever, demonstrating that it’ll take a lot more than 2-on-1 for the likes of these boys to ever best the likes of Big Sexy.

Butt-to-butt-to-butt, Tak and Coop work over Braden Charron’s luscious muscles.

On the flip side, you’ve got twink of my dreams, Tak, getting more than he bargained for when he tries to work his twink-dominator magic on the bulging muscles of body beautiful Braden Charron in Rough and Ready 34.  Braden is reportedly only 5’8″ and 155 pounds (really!? with that ass and those pecs, that astonishes me), whereas Tak is 5″10 and about the same weight, but even at the outset this looks like a mismatch for lean fratboy Tak.  When things go decidedly not his way, fellow goldenboy Frey (aka, homoerotic wrestler of the month Austin Cooper) steps in to go butt-to-butt with his buddy Tak in delivering a lick-lippingly sexy double-team dose of humiliation on the bubble-butted beauty Braden.  Braden stared down the odds stacked against him (and on top of him, and all around him) and learned the hard way that they’re “odds” for  a reason.

Coop’s got the towering rookie right where he wants him.

Mismatches, long odds, David and Goliath… sometimes the little guys surprise us.  Sometimes they don’t, and yet still delight us.  However the contrast, the conventional wisdom turned on its head, is very frequently a provocative element in homoerotic wrestling that sorts me out just right.