Trey Dixon – Page 2 – Sidelineland

Blogger Reckoning: Part 2 – by Drake

March 26, 2016March 29, 2016 wrestlebard3 Comments

It’s atypical for Drake to be prompt in his writing, so I take it as a good sign that he’s already sent me part 2 of his sequel to my New Year’s fiction. It’s oddly provocative to read the same narrative I wrote just a couple of months ago told through the perspective of a different character in the scene. The Cheshire Cat sure seems to me to be building up a sweaty head of steam in his writing thus far, which, again, makes me suspect yours truly is going to take quite a pounding before this saga is over. Nevertheless, I’m thrilled to read Drake’s eloquent prose and committed to posting the product of his vengeful homoerotic wrestling imagination to the bitter end.

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Blogger Reckoning – by Drake Marcos

Part 2

They say that the more time you spend with a person, the more you begin to understand them. It’s also believed that the more time you spend with a person, the more you begin to take on similar character traits.

That is not the case with Kid Leopard. Well, for me anyways…

h0102_lg — Drake might want to ask Brad Rochelle about reading the fine print in any deal with The Boss.

I’ve known the man for years and even after spending this long working for the man I still haven’t been able to glimpse a chink in the armor. He’s completely inscrutable. I haven’t been granted a peek inside the cogs of the machinery of the massive intellect of the Big Man Upstairs of homoerotic wrestling. So when he told me about this private custom bout, part of me wanted to believe this was a test from him. A shot at redemption.

He told me that the person had commissioned a no-holds-barred match between me and Trey…what I heard was “take on Trey and wear the wiry, muscled hunk out and your prize is a nice piece of med rare blogger-jobber steak.”

I salivated at the thought.

I threw myself into the gym with everything I had in the weeks leading up to the bout guaranteeing that I would not be caught with my pants down this time. I would be ready for the fellow BG alum as well as the fawning fanboy of Yawn Dumont and the High Priestess of the Church of Kid Karisma.

The day came, I was hyped at the chance to be back in the ring and in front of the cameras for a private fan. I was boned at the thought of showing the Boss just how much I had learned from him and the other deities of BG in my downtime. I was also boned at the thought of having so much luscious muscle to sink my teeth (and hands) into.

I was ready for a rebirth. A rebranding. A Drake 2.0 (Drake Machina, if you will).
I stood in the lobby of the facility, my mind swimming with thoughts of what I would do to Trey (and then Bard…mostly Bard), stoking the fire of my hard-on. It was throbbing uncomfortably hard in my jock. I had to stop myself from nursing and teasing it too much. As much as I yearned for release, I also knew this was not the time. Nor the place (like all over Bard’s face.)

A knock dragged me rudely from my reverie as I jogged across the lobby to open the door. Who is that rapping at my chamber door?

I stopped cold… my throat went dry as I eyed the blogger that had sunk my net worth in the eyes of homoerotic fans. And then the thoughts of me doing the same thing to his stock pushed their way to the forefront. My cock throbbed as I looked him over. After a moment, I lifted my chin, rolled my eyes, and then waved him in dismissively and headed to the ring, leaving him to follow in my wake…as he should.

Not now, Drake…not yet… I cautioned myself as my nails bit into my palms from the white-knuckled clenching of my fists as I heard him chuckling behind me.

I entered the ring room and forced a smile at the Boss who greeted me with an order. My pride took a direct hit. C4 aka Clean the ring. You sunk my battleship, I thought, my shoulders slumping a bit as I filled the ring bucket with the pungent green disinfectant and climbed into the ring, scrubbing the mats to pristine, camera-ready perfection. Like I’ve done oh-so-many times before. Relax, Cinderella, I chided myself as the two jabbered like old biddies outside the ring, it’s almost time for the ball.

I finished the mats, swearing to myself that this would be someone else’s bitch job after today, and spent a while fiddling with my iPhone as we awaited the arrival of my very overrated co-star Trey Dixon. We waited.

And waited.

The mats were long dry when he finally showed up. And if I know the Boss as much as I like to think that I do, I was grinning ear-to-ear, anticipating a classic Kid Leopard tongue-lashing about professionalism and wasting people’s time.

That’s it?! I thought five-seconds later when a smiling Trey escaped unscathed and entirely unbothered by the Boss’ quick scold. I seethed as I stared at Trey’s tight muscular ass and followed him to the locker room.

0505_lg I stripped down and pulled my gear selection from the locker, the singlet I wore against Ray Naylor. Despite the damage that this little number took from being used as a weapon against me in my match with him, the fabric was resilient and held up quite well. I remember all too well just what transpired in that match, but I looked fucking fantastic in it.

I pulled the straps up over my shoulders and stared at the little mirror on the inside of the locker and flashed my signature smile as I fluffed my chest hair before closing the door and turning to face my opponent du juor.

Trey isn’t known for being very talkative. He is however, known for being just a little too infatuated with himself. And when I say that, I mean this is Narcissus level infatuation. (Or if mythology isn’t your thing, think Ty Alexander’s facebook wall). I found him gazing at himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, flashing his pearly whites and pursing his lips duck-style, the singlet straps dangling as he flexed his cut pecs and shredded abs and snapped selfies of himself that would no doubt end up on Instatwitter or some shit for his mentally unstable fans’ consumption.

I couldn’t help but admit to myself that he looked pretty 0801_lg damn good. The bright yellow of his selected singlet complemented his Socal goldenboy tan quite well. But still…I don’t see what they see in him. I patted my throbbing cock as Trey pulled his singlet straps up and threw me a wink as he bounded out the door as we heard the Boss emceeing our announcements despite not knowing (or more likely, caring) if we were even close to being ready.

I think Rachel Maddow was on that night…

I stood in the silent locker room for a moment, steeling myself for what I knew was going to be a battle for something more than just this private collector’s enjoyment.

This was a battle for the name, and dignity, of Drake fucking Marcos.

—to be continued—

Blogger Reckoning – by Drake

March 25, 2016March 26, 2016 wrestlebard1 Comment

It was great to get back to writing original homoerotic wrestling fiction a couple of months ago. Response to my posting of a fictional account of stepping into the ring again (this time as referee) with Drake Marcos was overwhelming. Reading about homoerotic wrestling, writing about homoerotic wrestling, writing homoerotic wrestling fiction, talking about homoerotic wrestling… it all turns me on. As does the image of handsome studpuppy Drake tied in the ropes, with goldenboy Trey Dixon getting (and giving) a little help from the ref to make sure Drake got a little pleasure as he went down hard to yet another wrestling opponent. As I said, the response was overwhelming, and most surprising of all was the offer to write the next chapter in that scenario from…

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…Drake Marcos. That’s write, the Cheshire Cat himself insisted that he would be the one to put pen to page and compose the blogger-reckoning of what happened immediately after I had the pleasure of counting him out and over with at the hands of Trey. On the one hand, I was surprised Drake would let stand the loving attention I poured into describing his tumultuous defeat by Trey. But on the other hand, if I’ve learned nothing else about big D, I’ve learned that he really, really, really likes to have the last word.

So I promised to publish whatever Drake came up with. I’m fully anticipating this is going to be a very bumpy ride for yours truly, based on the very hard feelings (and cocks) involved in my well-documented encounter with the sensational jobber a year and a half ago (IRL). Drake’s never quite managed to put his crushing humiliation at the hands of a mere blogger behind him. He’s been promising to spank me hard in some hypothetical rematch that he never quite seem to put on his calendar. Well, Drake’s first installment of his Blogger Reckoning story is here, and as I predicted, it’s a bumpy ride. Buckle up, and I hope you enjoy this glimpse inside the twisted mind of the Cheshire Cat even half as much as I do, no matter how terribly my fictional self suffers! And just to clarify, Drake sent me the words, but I exercised the publisher’s prerogative to supply appropriate pics to illustrate them.

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Blogger Reckoning – by Drake Marcos

Part 1

0903_lg If you’re a follower of all things BGEast you’ll undoubtedly have seen the posts about pictures leaking from within its hallowed walls from, who Bard has coined Omi: “Our Man Inside.” Now, while I was the original “deep throat,” if you will, I am not responsible for the subsequent leaks. Someone else has taken up my noble cause to let fans of the top-tier homoerotic wrestling company know what happens behind closed doors, bringing you candid shots of barely dressed wrestlers laughing it up and being themselves long after the video cameras have stopped rolling.

I fear for the safety of whoever is leaking those pics (although they’re doing an admirable job at evading exposure thus far) because I did not escape punishment. Bard’s “hopes” that I wasn’t bound up in a footlocker for smuggling behind the scenes photos past the watchful eye of the boss weren’t entirely unfounded.

I suffered many weeks of apologizing profusely, begging for mercy, and promising anything, anything to avoid punishment from those who I had so brazenly photo’d without permission. After a few thumpings (in and out of the ring) I was resigned to bitch duty such as keeping the arena neat and tidy, scrubbing the wrestling mats and the ring and it just…never quite stopped.

After some time had passed and I felt that I had regained some of the respect that I had lost, Bard came along and took for granted my charity work of making a fan’s dreams come true and blindsided me with a cheap shot, and then proceeded to plaster my body all over the Florida ring and took pictures for the whole wrestling world to see.
And it just…never quite stopped.

drakeropessouth — There I go again! ~Bard

Here we are, over a year past the infamous day and Bard continues to post these pictures and taunt me from afar, knowing that his day of reckoning is coming. And just between you and me? I think he wants it.

1002_lg Kid Leopard, as you could imagine, was not happy.

Here I was, having just crawled myself out of the muck and mire of having disappointed him the first time by leaking photos without his approval, and now here I was getting thrown around the hallowed ring by a fucking blogger who had absolutely NO wrestling experience…and the pictures were going around the web?

I got cussed out by the boss…there was a wagging finger, a wooden spoon, and a lot of Italian and Yiddish phrases that I didn’t quite understand but it all came down to the same thing… I had besmirched the good name of BG by letting myself get beaten (yes, I said it, “beaten”) by a wrestling blogger.

I tried to explain to him how Bard had cheated …how he had not won with honor and KL responded with, “A win is a win, it doesn’t matter how you get it.”

Over time, I’ve come to accept that that is true.

I shouldn’t have turned my back.

My punishment for this was being banned from the ring for a short time. Which, for a man like me, is killer. I fucking lived and thrived for this shit! This was the wrestler’s equivalent of being grounded by your parents.

But thank the gods…something happened.

A private collector wanted a custom match… a match of yours truly Drake Marcos vs Trey Dixon with Bard as a referee.

Now, I had wanted Trey Dixon for a while but time and fortune had not lined up for that match just yet, until now.

I also wanted Bard.

If there was any way to clear my name and restore my standing in the company it would be not by only destroying the gorgeous, ripped Californian goldenboy in front of the Boss…it would also be by dispatching the blogger immediately after.

KL mentioned the custom request in passing, and yes, Virginia was a good little girl for Christmas because this year, yes, there IS a Santa Claus.

—-to be continued—-

Happy New Year 2016 – Part 4

January 4, 2016 wrestlebard2 Comments

This is the final of 4 installments in my New Year original homoerotic wrestling fiction. Or is it?…

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(Continued from Part 3)

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Okay, remember all that shit talk I told you earlier about humiliating Drake in our one-on-one private bout a year ago? This wasn’t the same Drake Marcos. He was honest-to-god crushing my windpipe, backing me into a corner. So much rage! I’m pretty sure if this was the Drake Marcos I’d faced a year ago, I’d have been lucky to have escaped without a trip to the emergency room. My ears were starting to buzz from the lack of oxygen, and fuck it all if I wasn’t nursing the hardest erection of my lifetime!

Suddenly I was sucking down ragged, gulping breaths with my windpipe cleared. I dropped to my knees, clutching my throat, momentarily not knowing what the fuck just happened. The mat bounced and shimmied beneath my knees as I heard pounding blows punctuating the buzzing in my ears. Blinking rapidly, clearing the tears from my eyes, I saw bodies flying in front of me. Check that, once the fog cleared, it was Drake’s body that was flying in front of me.

Clearly, Trey had taken advantage of his opponent’s distraction. Scooped up in the golden boy’s arms, Drake’s feet arced high through the air as he was slammed with authority to his back. I pulled myself up to my feet with the aid of the ring ropes, but my eyes were locked on watching Trey viciously pry Drake up by a handful of hair, scoop him up in his arms again, and body slam him back to the mat violently. Drake’s lower back arched high off the mat in agony until Trey’s naked heel stomped hard into the Cheshire Cat’s lower abdomen, driving his hips back to the mat with a thud.

I admit to more than a little satisfaction watching Trey straddle the Cheshire Cat and angrily yank the singlet straps off his opponent’s shoulders. With one swift jerk, he ripped the singlet completely off Drake’s legs. Left in nothing but a sweat soaked leopard print thong, Drake tried to roll away as Trey pursued him across the ring. Snagging the back of the thong and yanking hard, he pulled Drake up to his hands and knees just long enough to land a swinging place kick to the balls from behind. Drake gasped, falling to his right shoulder, both hands clutching his balls

Trey took just a few seconds of deep, recuperative breaths before reaching down and dragging Drake up to his knees again by a handful of hair. From behind, the golden boy snapped on a full nelson and dragged his prey to his feet with authority. With his chin shoved into his upper chest, Drake dangled like meat on the hook as Trey walked him across the ring to where Kid Leopard was filming at ringside. “Ooo, leopard print thong?” Trey cooed through his syrupy Southern drawl. “What’s The Boss going to say when you’re crying like a little bitch in his signature leopard print thong?”

Drake growled like a wounded animal, which earned him a quick trip to the nearest turnbuckle for three nasty revenge face plants. Trey released the full nelson and spun Drake around. Locking his arms around him, the golden boy hoisted the Cheshire Cat off his feet in a spine tingling bearhug. Drake screamed, pulling his knees up to squeeze into his captor’s kidneys in a futile attempt to lessen the pressure.

I watched from the corner for a few seconds before deciding it was time to look like a ref again. Following my aching cock, I strolled over to where Trey was squeezing the stuffing out of Drake and asked if the Cheshire Cat had had enough. “Fuck you,” Drake snarled, but it was so much less than convincing this time. He was fading dangerously.

Finally, lubricated with copious sweat, Drake slid downward in the bearhug. Before he could catch his breath, however, he was shoved backward into the ropes. He sagged there, gasping for air, fighting to stay on his feet, which provided the perfect set up for Trey to snap the middle rope over top of Drake’s arms and pin him there like a stuck bug.

Kid Leopard climbed up to the ring apron to get a better angle on his handsome protege all trussed up and vulnerable. Trey shrugged his own sculpted shoulders out of his singlet straps and pulled the yellow fabric down his shredded torso, glistening with sweat. “Like what you see?” he asked, startling me out my reverie, staring at the stunningly sexy tableau set before me. “Fuck, yes,” I said with a chuckle, hovering just a couple feet away to watch with fascination.

Trey stepped forward, prying Drake’s knees apart with legs and shoving the handsome stud’s head backward by his chin. Leaning over him, Trey shook his head, sending a shower of sweat raining down on Drake’s captured face. The Cheshire Cat squirmed, attempting to pry his arms free. But he suddenly went limp when his opponent traced his index finger down Drake’s throat, between his lightly hairy pecs, slowly, meanderingly down his taut abdomen, and inside the pouch of his sweat soaked thong. Drake groaned with reluctant pleasure, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Gently, Trey tugged Drake’s balls and swollen cock out. His cock bobbed eagerly, almost fully erect and quickly getting topped off by Trey’s hand jerking him still harder. Trey looked at me sidewise. With a subtle jerk of his head, he invited me closer. Me on one side, Kid Leopard and his camera on the other, Trey grabbed my wrist with his free hand while continuing to stroke Drake’s pulsing rod. The golden boy pulled me still closer, pressing the palm of my hand against his own rock hard left pec. He flexed, sending a charge of electricity up my arm. Slowly, he dragged my hand across his sweaty torso, down his rippling abs. Firmly, he pressed my palm against his growing package. “Hoh, fuck…” I managed to mutter with every ounce of coherence I had left.

“Help me out of this,” Trey whispered, licking his lips. I swallowed hard. My heart pounded in my chest so hard I could hear it. I knelt at his side and pulled the singlet down his long, smooth legs. He wore nothing underneath, so his massive cock spilled out gleefully and bounced as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, stepping out of the singlet.
As I rose to my feet, Trey dropped to one knee, sliding the leopard print thong off of Drake’s hairy thighs. He pried open Drake’s jaw and shoved the tiny patch of dripping wet fabric into the Cheshire Cat’s mouth. “Here,” Trey pulled me in front of him guiding my hands to take his place working Drake’s throbbing tool. The golden boy’s right hand on my wrist guided me as I jerked his vulnerable opponent. Drake’s sweaty, naked body shivered in front of me, his eyes half lidded, staring at me with some combustible mix of bitter rage and desperate lust. Trey pressed his naked body close behind me.

Even as I cupped Drake’s balls with my left hand, I felt the golden boy unzip my trousers from behind and tug free my full erection. His left hand wrapped around my side, pulling me hard against the distracting pressure at the base of my spine. His right hand began tugging at my cock, working in time to the same rhythm with which I was pounding out Drake. I slowed down. The golden boy slowed down. I sped up, he sped up. I could feel his hot breath in my ear, leaning over my shoulder, watching his naked opponent writhing with rising ecstasy. I sped up. Trey sped up, and both Drake and I moaned at the same pitch. I slowed down, squeezing harder. Trey slowed down, squeezing harder, and Drake and I both gasped. Enfolded in the arms of one wrestling infatuation, the white hot cock of another pulsing in my hand, I came. Drake came.
The smell of cum and sweat was intoxicating as Trey held me tight, squeezing out every last drop. I suddenly sucked in a deep, gasping draw of air. I don’t know how long I’d been holding my breath, but my heart was pounding and my lungs were burning. There was a sweet tenderness about him as Trey slowly released me. Another sly wink made me smile. Then Trey unceremoniously freed Drake’s arms and yanked on the rope, catapulting the Cheshire Cat sprawling into the middle of the ring. I had to laugh out loud.

The glistening, naked, bronzed golden boy took a slow lap around his opponent. Hands on his narrow hips, Trey studied Drake’s naked ass long and hard before finally straddling the Cheshire Cat and dropping to his knees. Leaning forward on his left elbow, he slipped his right forearm across his opponent’s throat and rolled to his back, pulling Drake on top of him. Drake’s heavily lidded eyes snapped open wide in shock. The leopard print thong still filled his gaping mouth. Trey’s smooth legs wrapped around Drake’s hips, his ankles locked together tightly across the Cheshire Cat’s lower abdomen. Slowly, Trey stretched his body, pulling down on Drake’s hips with his legs and up against his throat with the chokehold.

Drake’s exhausted cock sprang back to life, bobbing and jerking as Trey bore down on him. His face turned blotchy pale, starved for oxygen, consciousness slipping away. Trey’s baby blues smiled up at me, letting me know it was time to do my job as ref again. I knelt on one knee next to Drake, absentmindedly stroking my own reanimated cock still hanging from my unzipped trousers. “What do you say, Drake?” Drake’s throat constricted, struggling to swallow. “I don’t think you’re going to be able to say it, big D,” I whispered into his ear. Again, his throat constricted, struggling to swallow. Finally, his right hand tapped frantically at Trey’s right knee.

Trey threw his opponent rolling off of him. We both climbed to our feet. Facing Kid Leopard and his camera, I hoisted the golden boy’s wrist into the air in victory. I was awarded with a full body, naked golden boy hug, before Trey turned back into the crowd pleaser he is by flexing his phenomenal physique with one foot planted on the Cheshire Cat’s ass.
“And… cut,” Kid Leopard shouted, dropping the camera and looking down at his slowly rousing protege with contempt. Shaking his head, he gave Drake a halfhearted kick in the ass before leaving the ring without so much as another word.
“Really, pleasure to meet you, Bard,” said this stunning, ripped naked man who moments earlier jerked me to one of the dizziest climaxes I’ve ever experienced. Suddenly self-conscious and star struck all over again, I stumbled over my reply. “I’m… uh… pleasure has clearly been all mine.” He gathered up his yellow singlet and climbed out of the ring. I watched his picture perfect ass every second as he strode toward the back rooms to clean up.

“You… mother… fucker!” I was abruptly shaken out of my reverie by Drake’s raging rant. “You just fucked with the wrong wrestltler.”

(….to be continued?….)

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One particular author to whom I gave an advanced copy of this story quickly, and somewhat adamantly insisted that he would write the “sequel.” I’m looking forward to what happens next for a particular blogger and a notorious jobber. Again, Happy New Year, everyone!

Happy New Year 2016 – Part 3

January 3, 2016 wrestlebard3 Comments

Original fiction, inspired by the erotic wrestling hunks of BG East…

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(Continued from Part 2)

Abruptly, he climbed to his feet and walked over to my corner, shoving a finger in my face. “Fuck you, Bard!” he shouted. “I’ve taken your shit online for over a year, and I’m not taking your shit one more day.” He shoved me in the chest, backing me into the corner. My adrenaline was pumping overtime in the heat of the Cheshire Cat’s intimidation offense. The heat of the moment made my cock swell, pressing uncomfortably inside my tight trousers. I glanced outside the ring at the Boss, wondering if this was one of the wheels within wheels that made sense of why I’d been invited to “guest referee”: to be on hand for Kid Leopard’s protege to work out a little retribution on an unsuspecting blogger in front of his mentor. Drake towered over me, staring down his nose as I felt my face flush with the rising impulse to fight back, despite my “neutral” assigned role.

Not that I needed to. Trey’s long fingers suddenly appeared between Drake’s powerful thighs and wrapped around the Cheshire Cat’s balls like a vise. Drake’s knees buckled and knocked together comically as he gasped for air, slack jawed. All that rage and ruin in his eyes glazed over as he duck-stepped backward under the control of his opponent’s crushing grasp from behind. Trey looked over Drake’s shoulder and gave me yet another conspiratorial wink. “You said I can twist his balls right off, right ref?” the bronzed beauty asked playfully..

“Fuck yes!” I replied a little more enthusiastically than the ref probably should. Trey’s face screwed up in concentration which, judging by the effect on Drake, signaled still more pressure being applied to crushing the Cheshire Cat’s testicles. Drake dropped hard to his knees, doubling over and clutching at the claw latched onto his balls. Like a felled tree, he slowly collapsed to his side. Trey yanked his hand free from between his opponent’s legs and smiled down as he watched Drake writhe and wriggle in the fetal position.

I stepped forward, but stayed a couple of feet away. “Are you ready to submit already, Drake?” I asked, not because I thought in a million years that he’d submit just yet, but just to rub it in that he was getting fucked over good right now. “Fuck you!” he snapped back, in exactly the raging, wounded tone I’d expected.

I stepped back out of the way as Trey bent forward and grabbed Drake by the ankles, rolling him to his back. Spreading his opponent’s legs wide apart, Trey drove his naked heel hard into Drake’s crotch. The air exploded out of Drake’s lungs. The blow was so savage even my balls felt just a twinge of sympathy pains. I backed all the way into the corner and leaned against the ropes as Trey yanked his opponent’s ankles wide apart again and stomped viciously into his lower abdomen. By the screech of agony, I guessed that the head of Drake’s cock took a glancing shot from the blow.

Smoothly, Trey rolled his opponent over, stepping his left foot over the back of Drake’s legs and hooking his ankles under his arms. Wrenching his opponent’s legs backward into a Boston crab, the golden boy squatted low, cranking Drake’s lower back into a sick, sick angle. Fuck, that’s gotta hurt, I was thinking a half second before Drake screamed, pounding his fist angrily to the mat.

“Was that a tap out, Drake?” I asked, hurrying forward and dropping to one knee next to his handsome face. “You calling it quits, Drake Marcos?!” I shouted when he didn’t immediately answer me.

“Fuck, you, Bard!” he spat furiously, sucking down the pain. I stood and shrugged, “Wrestle on, then.” Impressively, the Cheshire Cat pulled his upper body up to rest on his elbows. Trey struggled to keep his balance, which allowed just enough give in the hold for Drake to crawl a couple of feet forward on this elbows and grab a rope. He pulled on the rope, twisted his body, and kicked hard all at the same time. Trey tumbled forward, gracefully rolling up to one knee.

As Drake dragged himself up to his knees by the ropes, I couldn’t help but enjoy the observation that sweat was already dripping from his forehead. Trey’s yellow singlet was also sweat stained where the fabric plunged so intimately into his ass crack. From the pressure in my crotch, I was pretty sure I was also just a little “stained” myself, but that was a fleeting thought as all my attention was riveted on the action unfolding before me.

Trey charged forward, reaching down to grab his opponent’s ankles again. Smoothly, Drake swept his left leg hard into the back of the golden boy’s knees, dropping Trey unceremoniously to his ass. With an astonishing burst of energy, the Cheshire Cat dove on top of him, sliding wetly to his side and locking his long, powerful legs around Trey’s midsection. I knew exactly what Trey meant when he bit his lower lip and his face flushed beet red. Those fucking legs are sensationally strong. And Drake knows it. Slowly, Trey fell backward to his elbows, fighting against the pressure rearranging his internal organs. Drake lifted his torso up onto his right elbow to bear down that much harder. A groan of exquisite agony escaped reluctantly from Trey’s lips. Bending sideways, Drake reached down and latched his left claw onto his opponent’s balls in revenge. That groan churning out of Trey’s chest exploded into a scream of panicked pain.

Honestly, I swear, the whole scene was so sensationally hot that I completely forgot my job. “Fucking ref!” Drake snapped angrily at me. “Ask him if he’s done now, you bastard!” It took me a few seconds to come to my senses, but sure, I crossed the ring and leaned over Trey’s screwed up face. “Are you ready to submit, Trey?” I asked, most definitely not wanting to hear an affirmative answer. Biting his lower lip so hard I was afraid he’d bite right through, he shook his head violently side to side.

“No love, Drake. Wrestle on,” I said, backing toward a corner. Drake’s wrist twisted as he wrenched violently on the golden boy’s distended pouch, bulging between his clenched fingers. Trey screamed again, louder this time. “Ask him again, ref!” Drake demanded angrily. I ignored him. Trey knew how to make this all come to an abrupt end, and me asking him again wouldn’t change anything. “Ref!” Drake shouted at me again. “You fucker!”

A solid, pointed jab to Drake’s gut gave Trey enough room to suck down some air. Another flailing gut punch made the Cheshire Cat’s ankles pop open. Trey rolled to his side, freeing himself from those vile scissors. Drake quickly rolled up to his hands and knees, his left arm wrapped protectively across his tenderized lower abdomen.

Drake dove across the distance between them, but Trey rolled with the momentum. They tumbled across the mat until Trey came to a halt mounted atop his opponent’s chest. Swiftly sliding forward, he pulled on Drake’s head and rolled to the side, snapping his ankles together and bearing down in crotch-to-face headscissors. If I were watching this at home, I’d be preparing to push pause and rewind right around that moment. Drake’s lips pressed involuntarily against his opponent’s ample yellow pouch made me hard as granite. The golden boy pulling on his opponent’s hair, squeezing his flexed thighs in waves of skull crushing pressure was almost too arousing to resist unzipping my trousers then and there. Suddenly, I noticed The Boss’ camera trained on me, I’m pretty sure zoomed right in on my tented crotch. Watching him watching me watching them for someone else to watch us all. Fuck, this whole scenario just turned insanely meta.

Trey’s whimper of pain drew my eyes and The Boss’ camera back to the real story. No shit, Drake was biting his opponent’s balls! Trey’s legs popped open as he rolled to his back, the Cheshire Cat’s teeth still latched to his testicles through fabric of his singlet. I had no idea Drake had that level of rage bubbling up inside of him! Even as he let go of his mouthful of tasty agony, he hooked Trey’s knees with his shoulders and rolled the golden boy up. Prying his opponent’s legs apart and pinning Trey’s feet to the mat on either side of his head, Drake had the pretty boy pinned squarely to the mat.

“Count him out!” Drake snarled at me, but I was already dropping to my stomach, checking that, indeed Trey’s shoulders were square to the mat. “One!” I slapped the mat hard next to Trey’s head. “Two!” I barked. Suddenly Trey’s entire body coiled and uncoiled violently like a spring. Drake tumbled backward as the golden boy dragged himself to the nearby ropes to begin pulling himself off the mat. I had only reached my hand and knees when Drake charged into me, grabbing me by the throat with his right hand and dragging me to my feet. “What the fuck was that!?” he shouted into my face, spit flying. “You call that a count!?”

Happy New Year 2016 – Part 2

January 2, 2016January 3, 2016 wrestlebard2 Comments

Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction, the product of my homoerotic wrestling imagination inspired by the sensationally sexy wrestlers Drake Marcos, Trey Dixon, and Kid Leopard Happy New Year, readers!

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(Continued from Part 1)

…………..

I might be embarrassed to admit I jerked off to nothing more than the text of that email, but I know you, dear reader, popped wood just now, too. Trying to look cool, I managed to restrain myself exactly 13 minutes before replying to Kid Leopard’s email with a concise, definitive answer: Hell, yes.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. If you’ve seen even half as many Kid Leopard matches as I have, you’d also be suspicious of any completely unsolicited, gratuitous, too-good-to-be-true offer of an unearned gift from the most diabolical character in homoerotic wrestling history. As we sorted out the details and travel arrangements, I nursed a thoughtful skepticism about what ulterior motives might be hidden behind this offer of a wrestling fantasy come true. But I’m pretty sure that I provide the Boss’ business one of the most prolific and enthusiastic sources of free advertising in the form of over 6 years of lovingly blogging about the sexiest homoerotic wrestling I’ve ever seen, most of which has been produced by Kid Leopard. I’ve even written a lot of the match descriptions you read of new wrestling products on the BG East website, taking nothing more than some advanced review copies of the DVDs as compensation. So sure, I knew there was much, much more than met the eye when I boarded the plane for south Florida. But of all the ways this could go terribly wrong, I honestly thought I was too much of an asset in the Boss’ business portfolio to get screwed over too much.

The last time I walked into BG East’s Florida facilities, I was all sorts of nervous about the prospect of getting schooled by a hot young pro homoerotic wrestler. This time, I was feeling significantly less pressure, but no less excitement. Drake met me in shorts and a t-shirt at the front door with nothing but a contemptuous snarl. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the ring room. I chuckled as I followed him, perversely pleased to see that our last encounter was still festering inside the Cheshire Cat. “Clean the ring!” I heard Kid Leopard bark angrily as I walked through the door. Drake seemed to sulk as he grabbed a bucket and a mop and climbed up to the ring apron, starting to sanitize the mat reluctantly, but obediently.

“Well if it isn’t Bard!” The Boss shouted, grabbing me by the hand and shaking it with uncomfortable pressure. It wasn’t the first time we’d met. I’d spent several awed hours with Kid Leopard and some of the back office boys a few years ago when I had an opportunity to make a pilgrimage to BG East’s main campus outside of Boston. “Of course, you’ve met this little punk already,” he hooked a thumb toward Drake, who was doing his best to ignore us.

We waited another half an hour for Trey to show up. According to the Boss, Trey had been showing up later and later in direct proportion to the number of fan letters he receives. Prima Donna or not, I was tongue tied and star struck when he strolled in and flashed those baby blue eyes at me briefly. Literally, I was a little weak in the knees just catching sight of one of my wrestling infatuations in street clothes. Kid Leopard gave him a cursory dressing down for his tardiness, but critical comments seemed to bounce off of the bronzed stud unnoticed. Soon enough, the Boss sent both wrestlers to the back rooms to get into ring gear and get this show on the road.

I’d received no instructions about what I ought to wear as guest referee. I can think of no more than about 3 matches that I’ve seen BG East bother with a referee, so this was sort of uncharted territory. I pulled a pair of black trousers and a white t-shirt out of my backpack and asked if Kid Leopard approved. “No,” he said with his customary bluntness. Without explanation, he left me alone in the ring room for a minute before returning with a stretch poly white and black vertically striped referee shirt in hand. “Wear this,” he said without any interest in my opinion. Not that I expected Kid Leopard to express a lot of interest in my opinion. The shirt was a size “small,” and I, dear reader, am not. “Go on, Mr. Abs,” Kid Leopard smirked, referencing my online avatar. “Squeeze those muscles in nice and tight.”

My shoulders and upper arms strained the seams, but I managed to slip into the skin tight top. It clung to my abs and molded across the expanse of my pecs. The Boss nodded approval with a smirk. I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them off with Kid Leopard watching appraisingly. Fuck, standing there in boxer briefs with the leading legend of the homoerotic wrestling industry watching me strip made my cock throb. My heart was pounding in my chest as I slipped on the tight black trousers I’d brought with me. “Mmm-hmmm,” The Boss grunted passing approval. “That’ll do just fine.”

While we waited for Drake and Trey to return, Kid Leopard filled me in on the background of this match. It was a special request match for a wealthy fan. The wrestlers were custom ordered, and, to my surprise, so was I. “He insisted,” Kid Leopard assured me. “Trey and the punk, in the ring, no-holds-barred, with blogger Bard as guest referee.” Setting aside the momentary swelling I got from the ego stroke of being in someone’s fantasy line up, I asked what, exactly, you need a referee for in a no-holds-barred wrestling match. “To declare the winner,” The Boss snapped impatiently, clearly bored by my ignorance. The match would be recorded by none other than Kid Leopard himself, for just one pair of eyes to ever see.

When Trey and Drake were ready, Kid Leopard ordered me to climb into the ring as he pulled a small handheld camera up in front of his face. “All right, kiddies, make this a good one!” he shouted. Trey strolled into the ring room first. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Kid Leopard announced from behind the camera, “arriving at 5’10” and 155 pounds, Golden Boy Trey Dixon!” My jaw dropped to the floor. Trey wore the matte yellow wrestling singlet he rocked so sensationally in Gear Wars 4. Holy fuck, it was painted on and edged into every sensationally sexy crack and crevice of his insanely fit body. Honestly, there’s not a spare ounce of anything on his shredded physique. I had to adjust my cock pressing at a painful angle in my tight trousers before Trey had even hopped up to the ring apron. He ducked underneath the top rope and turned to the camera, flexing a double bicep and pursing his lips seductively. Barefoot, bronzed, dirty blond and blue eyed, he was sexier in real life than on video, and I for one would not have been able to imagine him being any sexier than what I enjoyed of him on video. He flexed and preened as Kid Leopard zoomed in on his stunning display of muscle and beauty. When Trey finally concluded the pre-match muscle show, he turned and strolled confidently across the ring, subtly, almost too quickly for me to catch, giving me a sly wink as I openly stared at him. He hopped up and sat his muscled ass across the top turnbuckle in the next corner to the right of the one in which I stood.

Drake marched into the room with an unmistakable chip on his shoulder. He wore that sexy white singlet with blue and black trim that he sported in Mat Scraps 2, at least until Ray Naylor ripped it off of him and used it to choke him. His pale skin and hairy chest were a stark contrast with his perfectly smooth, bronzed opponent. His lightly hairy legs were noticeably thicker than when I’d felt them squeezing the air out of my lungs a year earlier. Barefoot and babyfaced, Drake’s sweet ass stretching the seat of his white singlet made my cock twitch with the tactile memory of feeling those glutes squeezed in the palm of my hands. Today, the Cheshire Cat refused to spare a half second for a flash of that handsome smile that always turns me on. He also didn’t waste a second for the camera. “And now arriving ringside,” the Boss announced, “at 5’10” and 165 pounds, the Cheshire Cat of wrestling, everyone’s favorite jobber, Drake… Marcoooos!” Drake visibly bristled at being announced as everyone’s favorite jobber. He slid underneath the bottom rope and backed warily into the corner opposite his opponent, refusing to tear his eyes away from anything other than the Golden Boy.

Frankly, I expected a pro wrestling match to be more scripted than this, but I took the bull by the balls and decided to call the competitors into the middle of the ring to give them a lay of the land. They were almost exactly the same height, about 4 inches taller than I am, bumping pecs and staring angrily into each others eyes. “This is what you’ve got to work with today,” I explained, looking up at them. “There are no fucking rules.” I said with a smirk. “Trey, you want to twist his balls off, go for it,” I said with a chuckle. “You want to pull his hair, be my guest. You want to tie him up in the ropes, and take my word for it when I say that’s fun to do with Drake, so, make it so, big boy.” Drake tore his eyes away from his opponent to stare down at me indignantly. Trey also glanced at me with a wry grin. “The winner,” I continued, “will be the first to pin his opponent’s shoulders to the mat for a count of three, or make his opponent tap out, or force a verbal submission. I’d say, ‘fight fair,’ but in this case, fighting fair is for chumps. So…,” I paused for comedic timing and stared back at Drake glowering at me, “…fight fair, Drake.”

Trey chuckled as he turned and strode back toward his corner. I backed quickly out of the way, just in time for Drake to attack his opponent from behind. He closed the distance in a sprint and swung his right knee savagely into Trey’s side, before quickly grabbing the back of his head and charging toward the corner. Trey’s beautiful face was pounded viciously into the top turnbuckle. The bronzed beauty’s knees buckling underneath him made me question if this match might just be over before it started.

Drake was like a dog with a bone. As Trey sagged to his knees, the Cheshire Cat pounded the golden boy’s face into the middle turnbuckle. When Trey collapsed flat out on the mat, Drake mounted his back and pounded his face into the mat. Holy fuck, I’d never seen Drake so vicious or in such total control.

(Continued in Part 3)

Happy New Year 2016 – Part 1

January 1, 2016January 3, 2016 wrestlebard10 Comments

My tradition for many years was to publish some original wrestling fiction here at neverland to ring in a happy New Year. Now, most of the wrestling fiction I’ve written has starred known homoerotic wrestlers, celebrities, male models, etc., but for my New Year’s canon I always indulged in writing myself into the narratives. Making quick work of one of my New Year’s resolutions, I’m posting a new homoerotic wrestling scenario here over the next few days in serial format. While everyone involved in this narrative is a real life hunk, let me just clarify that this is a work of fiction. Fans of any of these fine men, cut me a break. It’s all imagination and fun (for me). If your homoerotic wrestling imagination makes you picture this scenario completely differently, don’t send me your hate mail, just sit your ass down and write (and share!) your own original wrestling fiction! And most importantly, have a happy New Year, wrestling fans!

To be honest, no one was more surprised by the outcome of my wrestling match with Drake Marcos than I was. Well, Drake was obviously shocked senseless to find himself on the bitter end of an ass whooping by a mere blogger. But with precious little wrestling experience, I fully expected a homoerotic wrestling pro like Drake to take me to school. The handsome industry insider was famously tutored in the harshest realities of hardcore, low down, balls out grappling by none other than The Boss of BG East himself. Drake wears his spine tingling apprenticeship at the hands of nasty, nefarious, notorious classic heel Kid Leopard like a badge of honor. Seriously, he can’t shut up about being the protege and heir apparent to the living legend. He had me pretty well convinced that I was essentially climbing into the BG East ring with Kid Leopard himself, and as a long-time fan, I’m not ashamed to admit I was entirely intimidated and, perhaps, just a little terrified.
I’ve documented that match elsewhere, so I won’t rehash too many of the glorious details. Well, I can’t help myself but savor at least some of the details again here. Suffice it to say that the first two thirds of that late night session in the BG East ring presented me one of the steepest learning curves of my life. Full disclosure, the Cheshire Cat (as I’m fond of calling him) is significantly younger than I am. He’s also taller. And, as I mentioned, he’s more experienced. So it should be little wonder I was out-hustled and punished hard by Drake as the night wore on. Not that I wanted to be anywhere else in the world than stroking his sensational thighs as they crushed my body. He’s long and lean, but the kid’s got incredibly strong (and sexy) legs. True enough, I was choking on the pain, but reaching around and grabbing that meaty ass, staring down that shit eating grin permanently stretched across his handsome face, I was hardly disappointed with my pro wrestling ring initiation thus far.

The lid was completely blown off, however, when I managed to muscle my way free from yet another bear trap. In an upper body comparison, I’ve got the Cheshire Cat beat bad. So although it took some work, I finally broke free and slipped behind the young pro. I may not have had any significant pro wrestling experience, but when it comes to being intimately familiar with the size and scope of the BG East catalog, I’m fucking world class! I’d studied every Drake Marcos match publicly available. I watched this cocky kid going down in flames time after time, and one thing that even a casual homoerotic wrestling scout will tell you is that Drake Marcos gets off on getting choked. Slipping my big bicep across his throat, I tightened up slowly. And right then and there, I was convinced that this whole match had just taken a 180 degree turn. I knew I had the cocky pro all buttoned up the moment I saw his cock crawling up his lower abdomen, stretching the pouch of those tasty, tight pink briefs.

Once I knew just where to apply pressure, I played the Cheshire Cat like strumming a guitar. I felt the heat pulsing off of his body, straining underneath me. He was hating it. And he was loving it. He tried to pry arm away from his throat. Not that I couldn’t easily thwart him, but I swear I could feel it in the way his body sagged against me that despite himself, he didn’t want to be free. He wanted to be in my control. He wanted to get dragged to the edge of consciousness. There were spurts of reluctant fight writhing in my arms, but the writing was on the wall. Drake Marcos was all mine.
Again, the photographic evidence of the fun to be had with a barely conscious, completely crushed homoerotic pro wrestler at your mercy is available elsewhere. Hung like dirty laundry from the ring ropes and turnbuckles, I snapped pics with my phone to savor later, and to document for the homoerotic wrestling world the precipitous fall of a rising pro wrestler. Dragging his hot, sweaty body to the middle of the ring, I claimed one last trophy: a close up photo of those pink briefs ripped off his sexy body and shoved down his throat.

The best way to silence Drake’s trash talk.

Again, no one should be surprised that after everything was said and done, Drake’s bruised ego desperately tried to spin his humiliating defeat. Online, he claimed my pics were photoshopped. One minute, he was trying to convince his astonished army of fans that this crowing blogger had chloroformed him. The next minute, he was arguing that his split personality betrayed him, and all my pictures were nothing more than evidence that he wasn’t in his right mind around the time he was getting tossed around and tapped out.
I admit it. Watching Drake wriggle and writhe on the line was irresistible. I didn’t need to poke him. It wasn’t necessary for me to rub it in, publicly humiliating him in front of all his wrestler buddies and adoring fans on social media. I didn’t have to have such fun at the Cheshire Cat’s expense. It was just such a fucking pleasure.

The Boss and his Vice President’s of Pain when I met them during my BG East Pilgrimage in 2012.

Fast forward about a year. I was actually starting to feel sorry for Drake just a little, watching him struggle to come up with some new excuse for how his sweet ass got owned by a blogger. But the biggest surprise of all was getting that email from Kid Leopard, the Boss himself, inviting me to take my infatuation with all things homoerotic wrestling to a whole new level. My besting of his protege clearly hadn’t gone unnoticed. My raging crush on yet another BG East hunk, Trey Dixon, also had not escaped the Boss’ attention. So the Boss had an offer he knew I would be completely incapable of refusing: be a “celebrity” guest referee in a no holds barred ring match between Drake and Trey.

(Continued in Part 2)

A Year in the Life

December 30, 2015December 29, 2015 wrestlebard1 Comment

With 2015 coming to a close, it’s time to reminisce. I published 100 posts this year, and readers added up an astonishing 493,000 page views in 2015. Most readers (by far) find their way to the home page of neverland, tracking the most recently published posts from day to day. Fascinatingly, the second most viewed page was the About neverland page, which sort of warms my heart because it’s text intensive (so you weren’t just chasing pics) and, well, all about me and my philosophy of blogging. By far the most popular pic clicked on this year was of hot, hairy chested Damien Rush crunching out a most-muscular pose with his masked undoing hovering ominously in the background.

vlcsnap-2014-01-09-09h52m35s222 — Damien’s most muscular grabbed readers most.

Readers also clicked most on my review of the Gazebo Grapplers 17 match pitting jungle boy Lorenzo Lowe against hot jobber Tim Messina. You also seemed to be as infatuated with the pulse pounding 2015 debut of big, bulging, beautiful, blond, blue-eyed beefcake Biff Farrell, clicking directly through to my adoring review of his introduction to the homoerotic wrestling audience in Lon Dumont’s Wrestler Spotlight DVD. Of course, these stats are systematically biased toward older posts (you’ve had less time to rack up clicks on December posts, for example). Which makes me think that my September review of Hunkbash 15, although only the 3rd most viewed blog post of the year, may actually turn out to be the hotttest click over time. And I can certainly understand why. I’ve nearly worn out my DVD of Logan Vaughn’s divine, titanic thighs squeezing every ounce of resistance out of every inch of supplicant-in-training Trey Dixon. There are tastes du jour and then there are exquisite, timeless dishes that we’ll be savoring for years to come, and I have to believe that Trey crushed into sweaty, slack jawed worship at the bare feet of Logan is going to be a keeper.

Neverland readers originate from across the globe. English-speaking United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada are, in order, the top ranking origins of the most readers. Germany comes in fourth place with over 13,000 page views, edging out Australia. France, Japan and Mexico round out the top 8 countries of origin of homoerotic wrestling fans checking out the latest here at neverland.

Click-throughs reveal what I’d expect. I spend most of my time reviewing BG East products, so little wonder that over 14,000 of the click-throughs this year were of readers checking out the source material at BGE. Most of the other click throughs were to brother bloggers like Wrestling Arsenal, Inner Jobber, Beefcakes of Wrestling, and Ringside at Skull Island. I do have love for more than BG East, of course, so I’m glad to see there were over 2,500 click throughs checking out source material at Can-Am, over 2,500 to Cameron Matthews‘ site, and over 1,800 to Muscle Domination Wrestling.

david2 — The moment I get my hands on (a pic of) David Muir shirtless, you will be the first to know!

Those of you using search engines to find your way to these pages typically know what you’re looking for, most of the time using keywords “sidelineland” or “neverland wrestling.” Fascinating me to no end, the next most common search engine keyword earning a click to neverland is “David Muir shirtless.” Google it, and sure enough, neverland is ranked #1. Again, consider my heart strangely warmed by the newsboy love that clearly many of you share with me. Those of you searching for a particular wrestling crush sending you this way were most likely to be seeking out Lane Hartley or Lon Dumont.

gio — Favorite moment #5: Gio plays for our team!

As for my favorite moments of 2015, one of the most fabulous reveals that I celebrated on the pages of this blog was my current top newsboy crush, Gio Benitez, coming out to his adoring public via Instagram photos of sunning his magnificent muscles next to his then-boyfriend Tommy DiDario. When he then documented his Paris marriage proposal via social media, getting down on one knee (Tommy said yes, of course!), a newsboy homoerotic wrestling lover champion tag team was born in my imagination. Every time I see Gio’s gargantuan biceps straining the seams of his suit coats as he reports on GMA, I no longer need to imagine what those hot, bulging muscles look like shirtless, thanks to Gio sharing the wealth and proudly showing off his, and his fiancee’s fabulous muscles in 2015. I’m still waiting for my wedding invitation.

One of those little moments that probably blew right past most readers but tickled my crotch just right this year was a snarky little exchange I had with none other than BG East Boss himself, Kid Leopard back in February. In my relentless pouring over and critiquing the nominees for BG East’s 2014 Bestie Awards, I adamantly announced that Kirk Donahue did not deserve to be in the running for Best Ass. You know what a smart ass I am, so of course I poured it on thick, speculating that the eventual winner of the category ought to bend Kirk over his knee and spank that adorable, yet not outstanding ass until he confesses who he fucked to get the nomination. Well, my smart assedness earned me a firm, slighty chiding message from Kid Leopard, who I assume is nominator in chief, explaining that I was completely off base in my disregard of Kirk’s award worthy butt. Getting a virtual slap on the wrist from the Boss both tickled and aroused me so much that I promptly published a public service announcement clarifying that, with additional persuasive evidence offered by the Boss, Kirk’s ass is totally nominatible. Of course, I was still a smart ass. And I still say Kirk’s ass is sensationally fuckable, but nowhere near deserving of a top 5 ranking in the exceedingly hot field of BG East butts. But anytime Kid Leopard calls me into his office to slap me around a bit, it’s going to be on my list of favorite moments.

character_study_joe_lally_014_1 — Aussie fashion model Jarrod Scott inspired my homoerotic wrestling imagination this year.

My third favorite moment of 2015 was a little self-generated pride and joy I felt in getting my ass back to what really started neverland in the first place: writing homoerotic wrestling fiction. In August I took the flimsy excuse of Details Magazine identifying their top 31 male models, to write up a first round of homoerotic pretty boy wrestling fiction. I have yet to complete the tournament, though Sean O’Pry, John Halls, and Jarrod Scott more than ably earned their way into the semi-finals. What may not have been as apparent on your side of the screen was the pleasure I had in getting back to exercising my homoerotic wrestling imagination. I’ve gotten back to the keyboard several times this fall, and I anticipate 2016 getting me back to the online homoerotic wrestling fiction publishing business again. I’ll keep you updated.

12202024_1728558944044918_825688879_n — Super sexy Drake “Blogger Bait” Marcos, Ty Alexander, and Kayden Keller.

My second most favorite moment in blogging this year was the feast of homoerotic wrestler Halloween costumes I got to enjoy, and share, in early November. Ty Alexander, Kayden Keller and Drake “Don’t-Call-Me-Jobber” Marcos partied hearty on Halloween this year and gifted you and me some hot shots of their sensationally sexy superhero costumes. By way of introducing himself to me, and by extension, you, adorably hot red-headed rookie twink Charlie Evans also sent some shots my way of his Iceman costume for Halloween this year. As soon as homoerotic wrestling studs send me unsolicited (or at least, lightly solicited) photos of themselves roaming the real world, I’m aroused and the moment is indelibly etched onto the list of most memorable moments.

0106_lg — Man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams

My top, very most favorite moment in blogging for 2015 took place in the comments section. Casual readers may not think to check the comments, but you do so at the risk of missing hot gems every so often. Such was the case when I posted one of my long, adoring, full throttle fanboy infatuation pieces on my long-time homoerotic wrestler crush, Scott Williams. Scott shared his appreciation that his fans are still gagging for it, assuring us that he is “still keeping in shape and wrestling privately here in Boston and when I travel…always will love it and will always make you proud on the mats or in the ring!” He signed his comment “Sending bearhugs – Scott Williams.” I have since seen glimpses and snippets of evidence (follow the likes of Ty Alexander on FB, and you’ll see what I mean) that Scott is, indeed, still climbing into the ring, and he remains incredibly, profoundly, astonishingly sexy fit still today. I think it’s a crime against homoerotic wrestling fandom that Scott is keeping his wrestling work out of the publicly consumable sphere these days, and I think you should, at this very moment, send an email to BG East pleading with them to convince this classic hunk to cum out in a new release in 2016. In the meantime, that virtual bearhug from one of my longest running wrestling crushes still keeps me warm at night.

0213_lg — Scott takes full possession of favorite moment #1.

So, 2016. I’m hoping it’s a year for getting back to what has been the most fun for me over the past 6 years. Be it resolved that I will publish homoerotic wrestling fiction in the coming year. Be it also resolved that I will snag some fresh new wrestler interviews, because the lack of interviews in 2015 was, in retrospect, tragic from my perspective. I’ve also been not-so-subtly angling for an opportunity to be your Every-Joe-Fan at an honest-to-the-homoerotic-wrestling-gods taping of a match, and I see no reason why 2016 shouldn’t be the year that that invitation doesn’t show up in my mailbox. Those are a few of my hopes and dreams for the New Year. Hope yours is hot, sweaty, and includes some OTK backbreakers.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

September 11, 2015 wrestlebard2 Comments

So much to blog, so little time. The last quarter final match of the Hottest of the Hottest competition will have to wait, because I’m even more tardy in announcing a reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month to pluck the crown from last month’s winner Ty Alexander. So many long time infatuations of mine starred in August new releases, the choice was very tough. I nearly wimped out and called it a tie, just to squeeze in adoration of one more sensational wrestler. But I’m buckling down and making the tough call today, and speaking of adoration, my new reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month is…

…Logan Vaughn.

1402_med — Pure divinity from every angle!

I’ve been wanting this, longing for it even, hell, I’ve had some mystical certainty that fate would make this happen some day ever since I first saw Logan step into the ring in Jet Set’s The Ultimate Top. “The ultimate top” Logan was not, and for that matter, The Ultimate Top was also only somewhat satisfying for my wrestling kink tastes. But one thing that grabbed me hard and made my swoon was Logan’s gargantuan legs and that phenomenal ass testing out life as a homoerotic wrestler.

My recent review of Logan’s August new release appearance in BG East’s Florida Fights 5 gives away everything I really need to say regarding my rationale for shoving adorable Ty off the podium and giving a hand up to hardcore muscle pornboy Logan. The story arc between his first BG East appearance getting ground into dust by pro heel brute Lane Hartley and his Florida Fights 5 unveiling is epic. His Florida Fights opponent is 55 lbs lighter than Lane Hartley. Logan goes from a 30 pound weight disadvantage to a 35 pound advantage over erotic wrestling specialist Trey Dixon. I’m pretty sure Trey’s waist is just about exactly the circumference of one of Logan’s upper thighs. This was essentially a fork in the road for Logan’s homoerotic wrestling career (long may it live), because if Trey had conquered the pornboy, it would have been time to tattoo the word “jobber” across his amazing ass.

And while there would have been avalanches of humiliation involved, I say there’d have been no shame. I love a hot jobber. Even the ones who resent the label inhabit a time honored, essential role in pro wrestling iconography, and selling a crash and burn suffering is not something just anyone can pull off. But Logan took the way less traveled by, unleashing his monster quads in one of the most heart pumping, most satisfying matches I’ve watched in quite a while.

1433_lg — Trey’s tongue takes a very close 2nd place this month.

Full kudos to Trey for more than carrying his weight in this Greek tragedy of lustful ambition crushed, wrung out to try, and reshaped into a subservient, worshipful trophy of his new muscle god. I came so close to making him a tandem title holder, something I’ve done only once before. There’s that sizzling passion Trey embodies that, once finally bent to Logan’s will, makes me insanely jealous of his tongue. Even a shade less enthusiasm, just one square inch of Logan’s magnificent muscles left untasted, and this match would be significantly less compelling.

h1412_lg — Like Trey’s body, this moment belongs to Logan.

But then Logan smiles. He chuckles at the sound of Trey’s pitiful whimpering, muffled from deep between Logan’s hairy thighs. The pornboy flexes his quads, and those incredible columns of granite seem to swallow Trey whole, as Logan props himself up on one elbow to soak in the glory of his power milking all fight and independent thought from his opponent’s rock solid body. I continue to say his supporting player is one of the hottest in the business. But this moment I just have to give to the triumphant coming out of a muscle god ring heel.

0442_lg — Get on your knees and prepare to worship, bitches!

It takes a lot to make me pass over a field like Mitch Colby, Rio Garza, Mason Brooks, Ty Alexander, Tyrell Tomsen, Austin Cooper, Big Muscle Daddy Matt Thrasher, and the like. And Logan Vaughn delivered a lot, and more than I’d dared to hope, exploiting his phenomenal assets to their most perfect advantage. I’m cuing up the climactic final act of Florida Fights 5 again right now, because I just can’t get enough of reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, Logan Vaughn.

Divinity

September 1, 2015September 1, 2015 wrestlebard2 Comments

The release of BG East’s 3rd installment of their summer catalog #103 sent my heart racing. In particular, the Florida Fights 5 compilation grabbed my attention by the balls with a line up of wrestlers directly out of several of my fondest fantasies. Nipple-tastic Mason Brooks stepping into the ring for the first time, facing sunsetting HWOTM jobber extraordinaire Ty Alexander is all sorts of titillating. The promise of one of the most gorgeous muscle men in competition, Tyrell Tomsen, throttling the fuck out of Jobe Zander’s mammoth “Centerpiece” just leaves me breathless thinking about it. One of my all-time favorite wrestler emeritus, Mitch Colby shoving underwear model Rio Garza’s face hard and often into his hungry crotch is enough, all on its own, to make me spot my trousers with pre-cum just writing this sentence. But I honestly did not know what I was missing in life before I got a chance to spend time with my remote control and the climactic final match in this compilation, starring Logan Vaughn’s gargantuan, hairy quads and Trey Dixon’s tongue.

0418_lg — Trey finds it tough to compete against a muscle god who’s making you melt.

I was first in line to savor Logan’s debut with BG East not long ago, facing off against juggernaut heel Lane Hartley in Hunkbash 15. I’d hoped for more of a contest back then, but as you might imagine, big Lane ripped Logan apart with his signature heartlessness. Logan was outclassed from start to finish, to put it mildly. Always one to ache for the thrill of competition, I was yet enthralled by the site of Logan, as green as can be, get the living shit beat out of him by one of the most seasoned, physically dominant, ice cold heels currently in the business. The unwritten rules of pro wrestling that I wish homoerotic pro lived within the confines of a little more still today include the juicy nugget that the hottest, prettiest, beefiest newbies to show up in the ring must, under any and all circumstances, get trashed like my used kleenex. For the hot homage to classic babyface initiation brutality, and to get to see Logan’s sensational ass and, have I mentioned his fucking fabulously huge thighs, in the BG East ring, I was a happy camper.

h0409_lg — “I told you you couldn’t hand with this legs.”

After watching his sophomore appearance in Florida Fights 5, I fucking need a water bottle a smoke! I’m on record as being completely infatuated with Oscar-statue-come-to-life Trey Dixon, Logan’s opponent. There are a multitude of reasons Trey absolutely owned the title of HWOTM for his December 2014 new release Gear Wars 4. Now 8 months later, there’s this instant chemistry that starts titrating as soon as Trey climbs into the ring and faces the vision in green that is Logan Vaughn. They trade verbal barbs, but you can cut the sexual tension with a hatchet. Both super hot boys like what they see. I like what they see. Both of them can’t tear their attention away from Logan’s epic quads. He promises that he’ll use those humungous tree trunks to milk the last drop of cum and tears from Trey. Okay, he doesn’t actually say “cum and tears,” but I’m not exaggerating when I say that there’s one self-evident truth seconds into this match: whatever is about to happen, it’s going to be all about Logan’s luscious legs.

0434_lg — It’s all about those monster quads!

For many wrestling fans, the epiphany in this match is the sensationally sexy muscle worship that overcomes beautiful Trey not just once, not even merely twice, but on three separate occasions in this confrontation. For some reason, it takes me by surprise the first time one of the most erotic wrestlers in the business reaches up and breathlessly strokes Logan’s divine body. Had you been a fly on the wall here in chez Bard, you’d have heard me mutter with equal measures of shock and awe, “Oh, fuck yes!” Each of the 3 muscle worship moments is a plot point. The first happens relatively early on after Logan has demonstrated he can drive Trey to delirium the moment any part of the lean stud’s body gets trapped between his massive thighs. He commands Trey to remove his knee pads, which I swear to the homoerotic wrestling gods, he’s reading my mind as I desperately want to see the huge bulging heads on his superb quads. Trey obeys, his hands suddenly unable to resist touching every inch of the muscle god. The veteran appears rapt in primal lust and awe, slowly traversing Logan’s muscles from front to back. But suddenly, the stubborn stud exploits the moment to snap on an ambush full nelson.

0433_lg — Homoerotic wrestling holy sacrament

Muscle worship session #2 occurs after Trey has accumulated a bit of riding time, merely to be crushed and humiliated again, and again, and again by Logan’s hairy, sweaty (have I used the adjective “titanic” yet?) thighs. He’s submitted repeatedly, each time with less fuel left in his tank. Finally, he’s on nothing but fumes, staring up at his new dazzlingly beautiful god. He slowly crawls to his knees and begins to worship again. “Yeah, worship those muscles,” Logan commands. Trey obeys. “You wish you were this powerful. You wish you were this strong.” Trey licks the sweat from those stunning, hairy thighs. His tongue traces upward until his mouth envelops the hefty bulge hanging heavily in Logan’s pouch. You can see that Logan likes it, but like the divine taskmaster he is, he just silently lifts his arms and flexes his beautiful biceps, wordlessly willing his worshipper to adore every magnificent muscle. And Trey does, that sexy tongue licking up Logan’s ribcage, caressing his sweaty armpit, sampling those peaked biceps, and slowly traversing down Logan’s muscled back. It’s Trey biting Logan’s fantasyman ass that really sets off fireworks for me. Not hard, just genuinely, lustfully ravenous to taste this muscle Messiah’s flesh on his tongue in reverent homoerotic wrestling sacrament.

0439_lg — Logan has Trey all wrapped up.

This is some of the finest wrestling muscle worship I’ve ever seen, mind you. But as hot as it is, I have to say that the wrestling itself raises the bar even higher for me. It’s as if, having been so outmuscled and outclassed in his debut drubbing, Logan is pedaling down hill all the way with this smaller, relatively less experienced opponent who so obviously craves to be bent to a muscle god’s will. Both boys sell like champs, which isn’t such a revelation for Trey, but absolutely thrills me to no end with regard to Logan. The fabulous pornboy turned wrestler exploits his pride and joy tree trunks with holds I’ve never seen before and if I ever see again, will always remind me of Logan. Standing head scissors with Trey’s legs suspended from the middle turnbuckle are so completely dominating. Later, with Trey’s arms tied in the ropes, Logan somehow manages to wrap his opponent’s legs around his own colossal right leg and apply a suspended figure-4 leg lock that makes Trey scream in a panic. Logan doesn’t just convincingly dominate, he communicates beautifully a carnal delight in both delivering and witnessing this phenomenal beatdown of a ripped, hot stud like Trey.

0422_lg — Whatever the fuck this is, I adore it.

“Yeah, bitch,” Logan sneers, “don’t mess with the muscle!” But of course, that’s precisely what Trey is here to do. That’s exactly what I’m tuning in to admire. “Love the pain!” he barks in his opponent’s face, nearly making Trey’s face disappear between his inner thighs in an epically long crotch-to-face head scissors. “I like to watch you struggle,” Trey’s new master explains. And Trey obliges over and over and over.

h0407_lg — “I like to watch you struggle”

Logan eventually knocks him the fuck out. He flexes, his soaked body glistening underneath the lights. Here and now, he owns this ring. And he most definitely owns Trey Dixon. “Come on,” he barks as Trey blinks back to consciousness, struggling to get his bearings. “You’ve got some more muscle worshipping to do!” Trey’s god commands, whistling him over like a lap dog. Trey obediently crawls on his hands and knees, obeying his master’s voice, drawn by the gravitational pull of the magnificent muscles flexing in the middle of the ring. On his knees yet again, he squeezes, strokes, licks…

Um, if you can’t tell, I love this match. A lot. To say I highly recommend it is an under-statement.

And the nominees are…

February 8, 2015 wrestlebard1 Comment

Mere hours are left for you to register your votes for the 2014 BG East Besties. The last 4 categories I have to reflect on are what I think of as the most dramatic and titillating. Like saving “best picture” and “best actor in a leading role,” I’ve held off on reflecting on these because these mean most to me in any ways. First up, let’s look at those who sold the most compelling characters this year, beginning with nominees for Top Heel.

morganheel — After a bumpy start in BG East his first go a couple of years ago, Morgan “the Mastodon” Cruise has been a perennial heel. Vicious, merciless, with no regard for life or limb, much less rules or good taste, he’s very on point at all times. His monologues tend to be constant, regardless of his opponent, and I long for new depths of sadism fro him. But he’s got a ton of fans.

guidoheel — Guido Genatto has a boatload of nominations for Best Ring Match, Best Squash, Best Submissions, Best Overall Match. He doesn’t just heel, he obliterates. He’s a steam roller who delights in cheating because, fuck, who’s going to try to stop him? Definition of a heel.

laneheel — Lane Hartley has so much swagger and he’s so damn pretty, he nearly slides out of heeldom when I picture him in my mind’s eye. He’s relentless and deeply sadistic. He takes great pleasure in the screams and tears of his victims.

karismaheel — My reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler Kid Karisma drips with contempt, supremely confident that his muscle and might will roll right over every victim placed in his way. I don’t think of him as a dirty tricks wrestler, because he’s just so fucking dominant, why would he need to rely on cheating? Sadistic as shit, yes, but the top heel?

thunderheel — Cage Thunder is a top shelf heel at all times, even though his appearances in 2014 were scarce. The mask, the body, that awesome cock… everything about him is perfectly tuned to inspire terror. He did what he does fabulously, but with just one match on the books this year, will he claim Top Heel of the year?

Shockingly, the reigning Top Heel the past two years running, Jonny Firestorm, was absent from this year’s slate. Was Jonny’s work somehow less dominant, less dastardly, less sadistic? With him suspiciously out of the way, however, someone is definitely taking the crown for the first time. I’m leaning toward Guido because of both quantity and quality of his matches. His trash talk alone is terrifyingly hot, but his muscle domination and indy pro heel superiority are absolutely soul crushing. I’m guessing fans will break his way or possibly Morgan’s. I think Cage Thunder is a long shot this year solely because he didn’t put up more evidence of his heel mastery in 2014, but he very well could be the sentimental favorite of long-time fans.

Top Jobber is crazy competitive this year. I would argue a jobber is not someone who just gets squashed, but someone who sells that he whole heartedly believes he has a fighting chance, even mounts some offense and keeps the suspense building, but sooner or later, inevitably goes down in crushing defeat. A jobber isn’t a pushover. He’s not a joke. He inhabits a full story arc, even if the outcome is as certain as the sunrise. You and I know a jobber is doomed from the start, but he doesn’t. Let’s take a look at the contenders for this nuanced category.

tyjobber — Ty Alexander has been a house on fire his debut year. I think he’s a clear frontrunner for Debut of the Year, and he quickly developed the narrative of his legitimate skill and enthusiasm doomed to be crushed under foot. At times I wondered if his masochism was too far in front, if he wanted to be beaten so bad that he collapsed the suspension of disbelief. But he assembled an army of fans who I’m sure are behind him (because the view is so damn fine from back there).

kirkjobber — I got harassed for discounting Kirk Donahue’s qualifications to be in the Best Butt contention, so I realize I may be asking for it again when I say that, although he made my crotch stir hard with an epic sell jobbing in 2014, it was just one match. The suspense lasted about 17 seconds before Guido was grinding the kid into pulp, which he sold like a champ, but still, was it enough to say he was Top Jobber for 2014?

jjjobber — Jake Jenkins carries so much water at BG East it’s amazing. Total top tier, multi-award winner babyface, he took major beatings in the ring in 2014 establishing a fantastic claim to be considered Top Jobber. Ignore his mat work. That’s a whole different JJ, and BGE deploys their boys in different genres with entirely different aptitudes. In the ring, though, in those “beat me” American flag trunks, he was an incredible jobber.

ofcourseajobber — Drake started the year first jobbing hard for Mason Brooks and then getting pissy with me for admiring what a hot jobber he is. The handsome jobber fucking HATES being called a jobber, which somehow merely makes it only that much more certain that he’s such… a… JOBBER. To top it off, after searching the ranks of bloggers to find someone he can finally beat, he still ended up in a tree of woe with my heel grinding into his defenseless chest. What a jobber…

kipjobber — Kip Sorell is one tasty muscle jobber. His claim to Top Jobber seems clearer than his contention for Top Babyface, as I mentioned earlier. However, I’m not entirely sure Kip honestly believes at any point leading up to or during any of his matches that he has a snowball’s chance in hell. That makes him blur somewhere between a doomed character in a Greek tragedy (aka, a jobber) and a helpless victim of a mugging/attempted rape (aka, a farce). Fans love him every time he suffers hard, though.

Tough call, with a ton of blurry lines depending on exactly what you think and feel about jobbers in general. Two-time winner Rio Garza was not nominated this year, leaving the field open for a first-timer to be guaranteed the crown. With the fond memory of him out cold, stripped naked, and with his trunks stuffed down his throat in the middle of the ring after coming face to face with a certain blogger, though, I have to punch Drake Marcos’ ticket (once again) for Top Jobber. I think his biggest competition for this one is Ty, with the difference being, in my mind, mainly the certainty that Ty would love to be Top Jobber, while Drake would hate it. Paradoxically, I think that gives Drake the edge here. Long shot I think is JJ, mostly just because some people will vote for him regardless what the category is. He’s so complex, though, and you have to partition out his mat work to fully justify him as Top Jobber.

Hottest Liplock may not be a category others think of as the top tier choice to make, but I fucking LOVE this category. Like “Best Submissions in One Match,” the context isn’t entirely clear. A particular liplock? Perhaps not, since the nominees are just matches. I love wrestling liplocks, though, so however you slice it, I’m so into this category.

drakelip — Babyface Brawl X was sexy as hell and a fantastic concoction of bitter aggression and full on sexual arousal, which is one of my favorite formulas. Drake and Ty were fighting for victory, for dignity, and most of all, for Drake’s trunks. Some of the hottest liplocks are NFSW, but every one left me wondering whether it would be interrupted by more bitter fighting, which makes everyone of them hot, hot, hot.

rosslip — Wrestle Shack 18 was full of full on homoerotic wrestling lust between Gabriel Ross and Christian Taylor. This was a fantastically sexy pairing, with tons of value added for the stark contrasts between their bodies. Christian is reigning kissing champion of BG East in my book, but I don’t know if Gabriel was as convincingly committed to the liplocks.

treylip — Holy shit Trey Dixon and Skip Vance were on FIRE by the end of their Gear Wars 4 match. How no penetration appeared on camera is a mystery to me, because Skip’s rod is visibly throbbing and Trey looks like a starved man sitting at an Old Country Buffet. This particular jockstrapped, cock-sitting, body-scissors-oh-fuck-it-let’s-suck-face moment brings a tear of ecstasy to my eyes every time.

kaydenlip — Raunchy Rookies 7 saw the seismic double debut of Kayden Keller and Ty Alexander, putting up one of the sexiest, most explicit, fully erotic wrestling matches I’ve ever seen a rookie (much less two) manage. Kayden looks like he could eat the face off of adorable Ty, but the corporal domination leads ultimately to merely a double explosion in the middle of the ring. Sizzlingly hot liplocks, particularly once the gear is stripped.

masonlip — Pain & Punishment 1 has locked down a boatload of nominations all over the place, so yet again consider the fine eroticism of Mason Brooks squelching Drake Marcos’ screams of anguish with an intoxicating liplock. Not nearly as many liplocks in this bitter, bitter feud as for other contenders, but the aggressive, dominating, domineering face suck is enacted to perfection.

So many fantastic liplock moments that speak to the very heart of what moves me most about homoerotic wrestling! If I could vote for all of the nominees, I would, because they all rocked me dizzyingly hard. Just one, though? Fuck. It’s razor close between Babyface Brawl X and Gear Wars 4. My vote finally goes to the homoerotic jobber wonder twins, Drake & Ty, whose Babyface Brawl X was incredibly innovative and pushed the envelope in all the right directions. I have no idea what the majority will vote for in this category. I won’t be surprised for whoever wins, though I’m pulling for the jobber wonder twins.

Now for Best Overall Match of 2014…

guidobest — Guido Genatto once again complicates the field with two entries, first for Demolition 17 against Jake Jenkins. I don’t know if a squash is likely to win because of the constituency that just doesn’t like them, though this one was incredibly tasty.

kirkbest — Demolition 18 found Guido again crushing another jobber like a grape, this time wunderkind Kirk “don’t-discount-my-ass” Donahue. This match definitely made me most genuinely concerned for the life and limb of a wrestler this year. Was it best overall?

treybest — Mat wrestling entries for Best Overall Match include Passion & Punishment 1’s Trey Dixon v Skrapper. Intensely, intimately, shockingly erotic without an ounce of hot, hard, painful wrestling action spared. Incredible match. Totally legitimate finalist for this category.

drakebest — Yet another Pain & Punishment 1 entry is Drake Marcos getting schooled like a stubborn pup by sexy as hell philosopher king Mason Brooks. This match pushed all my buttons a lot. Awesome drama that extended well beyond the narrative on camera. Fantastic wrestling, awesome suffering, sweat, luscious bodies… I’m convinced, but I’m slightly surprised it pulled the nominating committee to include it.

zmanbest — Pretty boy ring feast, Ring Hunks 2 makes a surprise entry here (as far as I’m concerned). Truly a watershed moment to watch Z-Man really come into his own and set the pace, control the tempo, and tell the story (not to mention fucking own every inch of Kip Sorell). Another squash though, making all 3 ring match entries in this category way one-sided. Not judgment on my part, just an observation.

cameronbest — Submissions 9 puts in the last contender with Cameron Matthews and Lorenzo Jake Lowe chaining together one dizzyingly hot hold after another until everyone is coated in sweat (and most of us on this end of the screen coated in other bodily fluids). Highest quality mat wrestling, big egos, energizer bunnies, bitter aggression.

I’m fascinated that all three ring match entries are squashes. That, along with Guido’s double entry, really fucks with my confidence in predicting a frontrunner. My vote is going to Mason and Drake because of several factors, including Mason’s gorgeous naked ass, Drake’s horrified whimpers, bitter trash talk, a gallon of sweat, and the ball rolling that would lead to me snapping Drake’s photo flat on his back under my foot about 9 months later. Extremely close 2nd place for me is Trey and Skrapper. Holy fuck that’s one over-the-top hot, hard fought, insanely sexy match. My barely better than a random guess for the majority on this one is Cameron and LJL, mostly because of Cam’s fan following. I think long odds are on Guido & Kirk.

If you haven’t voted yet, this is your Bard approved final ballot to point your way to where my tastes take me:

Best Abs: Lon Dumont

Best Bulge: Pete Sharp

Best Butt: Kid Karisma

Best Body: Kid Karisma

Sexiest Match: Passion & Punishment 1 – Trey Dixon v Skrapper

Best Mat Match: Passion & Punishment 1 – Drake Marcos brought to whimpering tears by Mason Brooks

Best Ring Match: Tag Team Torture 17 – Dumont/Baynard v Reno/Walsh

Best Debut: Ty Alexander

Top Babyface: Denny Cartier

Best Squash: Jobberpaloozer 13 – Austin Cooper v Leo Tomasi

Best Submissions in One Match: Wet & Wild 7 – Trey Dixon’s face-to-crotch headscissors on Mason Brooks