Tag: Tyrell Tomsen

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Despite Joe’s certainly wise counsel that I should stop masturbating and make sure I get plenty of fluids and rest as I recuperate from the crud, I have all this time on my hands… Seriously, no masturbating? I think that cure may be worse than the disease. As I contemplate the bitter medicine that Joe prescribes, I find myself drawn by a familiar infatuation with beautiful butts.

Perhaps it was spending so much intimate time (in my imagination) with Alan Ritchson as I wrote a fictional wrestling match with him competing against model Jared Prudoff in the first round of the tournament to determine who will be hired as Brody Productions’ newest executive assistant. Alan has one beautiful, round ass that he displays so generously.

With nothing to do but wipe my nose and ponder, it’s the image of beautiful, round cheeks that keep intruding on my thoughts. A sweetly muscled ass is truly a thing of beauty.
My two favorite wrestling asses these days have to belong to Derek da Silva and Tyrell Tomsen (particularly when Tyrell is in competition shape). I’m not entirely sure how Derek’s opponents are able to restrain themselves from constantly grabbing his massive glutes. The fact that Derek is also so stunningly flexible makes his body an infinite wonder of both power and grace.
When Tyrell is in his shredded shape, his butt is hypnotic. When he works up a layer of sweat, and then snaps his brutal biceps around his opponent and lifts him in the air in an overpowering bearhug, it’s Tyrell’s striated, rock hard, flexed ass that I can’t take my eyes off of.

One of the most beautiful, classic displays of an ass put to good use has to be Jay Austin’s thonged derrière as he squeezed Max Dare in Hard Pros 1. That stunning muscle working hard and dominating Jay’s screaming opponent tells the whole story, from start to finish.

Other folks probably see other things in a fevered delirium. As Joe tells me, I should probably be conserving my bodily fluids for more important tasks as my body fights off whatever crud has invaded it. But I can’t help myself. More importantly, I don’t really want to help myself. In the ache of illness, the joys elicited by the images of gorgeous muscled asses make my misery endurable.

Fighting Back

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The newest BG East releases include another ball-torture-themed product. The first match on Ball Busters 1 features pendulous Jobe Zander and boy-man Reese Wells crushing each other’s testicles and suffering mightily. The second match stars the anxiously awaited return to action of recently unseated contender for my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy title: Derek da Silva.
I still don’t quite “get” ball abuse products. I own a couple of them, but the specific focus on testicle torture doesn’t quite carry a whole storyline in my mind. And what’s with the indecisive titling? Ball Bash, Crotch Crushers, Ball Busters… these are essentially variations on a theme… without the “variation” bit. Despite my ambivalence about the format, though, I’m helpless when faced with the opportunity to see more of fabulously tattooed, bubble butt extraordinaire, sweat soaked, hairy muscle stud Derek, who seems to show up in these particular products regularly. It’s an added treat to see more of Tyrell Tomsen, though the difference between Tyrell’s competition-ready body and his softer-middle is really remarkable. This match appears to be shot around the same time that Tyrell battled Mitch. I prefer the shredded to the bone Tyrell, but he’s a pleasure regardless.

I haven’t seen the tape yet. I’m saving up for it, though. In the mean time, the text and teaser pics are enough to get my motor running. Derek always does some impressive yoga posing prior to his matches. Tyrell clearly does what I’m always thinking someone should do to Derek when he’s so stunningly, vulnerably on display. He drives his fist into Derek’s crotch just as Derek is in a full bridge.

The look on Tyrell’s face is fantastic here. He’s so pleased with himself! He’s clearly relishing the sight of Derek’s suffering. Get in line, Tyrell. Get in line…

I suspect that Derek’s performance could boost him enough in the standings to give Rusty Stevens a run for the #1 contender spot. I’ve been watching the unfolding chapters of Can-Am’s Arena 2 match-up between Rusty and Aryx Quinn, and despite Rusty’s continued fantastic verbal and physical dominance, I don’t know if Rusty’s performance will enable him to hold onto his spot in my personal favorites. Rusty continues to bash BGE, and the story is a little flat so far. Depending on how much pleasure comes from Derek’s latest performance in comparison with Rusty’s tussle with Aryx, the #1 contender spot is distinctly in play right now. Mitch is still sitting pretty on top of the heap, but there’s a lively scrap just beneath him.

If You Just Smile

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I’m in a mood. There’s too much bad news and too many scowling faces right now. I’m feeling sour and cynical and ready to snap at someone who probably doesn’t deserve it. I need a mood-lightener.
Gorgeous hunks who snarl and scowl while pounding on other gorgeous hunks invariably make me hard. When those same hunks, like beautifully beasty Mikey Vee, are captured in a moment of spontaneous happiness, it gives me a special kind of joy. Mikey is much more typically on camera in a perpetual state of being pissed off. So a full on near-laughter smile across his face is quite a treasure.
It’s probably urban legend, but I’ve heard it said that smiling actually has a physiological effect that alters our mood. To smile, regardless of how you feel, makes you happier (so I’ve heard). Jimmy Dean with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye on the shoot of his double team match with two poundable beauties makes me smile and, true enough, I feel my mood lighten (that’s just anecdotal evidence, though… results may vary).
Three of the Von Erichs side-by-side (well, if you count Lance), can always make my mouth water. But the juxtaposition of their overcompensatingly massive championship belts, their sweaty, sexy bodies, and the “can I take a photo?”-nearly- genuine smiles leave me breathing a little deeper and feeling a little more at peace.

Tyrell Tomsen invariably makes me breathe a little faster and my heart start to pound. The heft of that package he’s toting around is a little dizzying. But he has such a sweet smile that I can almost manage to tear my eyes away from his stunning musculature to get a little lost in his face.

A smile is more than the contortion of the lips. The cocky smile is a good example of what I mean. Josh Goodman here is smiling with his mouth. The corners of his lips are upturned and he’s flashing some teeth. But he isn’t smiling with the rest of his face. He’s displaying his truly incredible body, probably concentrating a little on maintaining that beautiful flex, and communicating cocky self-confidence, not happiness.
But catch Mr. Joshua’s cheerful smile on set in his battle with Troy Baker. Both Troy and Joshua are captured here in a moment of genuine light-heartedness. Not just their mouths are smiling, but also their eyes. The fact that moments later the match was likely rejoined and they were taunting and punishing each other makes this stolen moment of genuine happiness that much more of a mood-lifter for me today.

So perhaps it’s urban legend, but I’m already feeling a little lighter for having reflected on some smiling, gorgeous faces this morning. I realize that light-heartedness isn’t always necessarily socially appropriate, but I think I’ve established pretty conclusively that I am often outside the bounds of social appropriateness. When things are seeming particularly heavy, I’m a little happier thanks to the sight of beautiful men with hard bodies cracking a delighted, unguarded smile.

Another Sideline

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I get a kick out of the Fantasy BGE Wrestling group. I possess a predilection for gay wrestling fiction, and I like seeing BG East style wrestling fiction through the eyes of different authors. It’s fascinating to see what each of us focuses on in writing homoerotic wrestling fiction. Some of us clearly find our kink in the strut and swagger, the cocky attitudes and dominating trash talk as two studs ante up before laying their cards on the table. Some of us are into the wrestling holds, with simply naming a series of moves and holds as the beginning and end of a hot grappling session. Some of us are mostly about the bodies, with detailed descriptions of the muscles, the cocks, the stretch and the flex. Personally, it all gets me hot and bothered, and there’s an added kink-kick of reading a match through the eyes of someone else as they get hot and bothered. I feel like the voyeur’s voyeur. Sharing the author’s lens seems just as intimate as the sweaty, cum-soaked action in the ring.
I’ve submitted three contributions to that group. The first match pitted one of my classic favorites, Brad Rochelle, against the instant classic, Mitch Colby. Since we can never get enough of Brad, a second match puts him back in the ring against ring rookie Tyrell Tomsen. I submitted a third match last weekend, dangling man meat Rio Garza in front of the Dismantler, Cole Cassidy. Capitalizing on the “fantasy” side of things, that match offered me a chance to resurrect a BG East veteran we haven’t seen in quite a while for a special appearance.
The Garza vs. Cassidy match hasn’t been uploaded yet. But after I mentioned it a few days ago, I’ve had a few requests. So I’ve uploaded it to another site. I’ll add some stories over time (outside the Producer’s Ring storyline), and I hope others will contribute some of their works as well (any genre). Here’s a little teaser from early in Cole’s match with Rio:
In a flash, Cole wrapped his thickly muscled arms around Rio’s narrow waist. With a grunt, Cole lifted his opponent off his feet and drove Rio’s back hard to the mat, still maintaining his bearhug. Rio’s head bounced off the canvas, and his eyes blinked rapidly as his head swam. Cole disentangled his arms from his opponent and sat back on his heels, perched between Rio’s knees. “Intimidated yet?” he asked without a smile, glaring down at Rio, who clutched his hands to the back of his head.

Cole clenched his right fist, bit his lower lip in concentration, then jabbed his fist into Rio’s abdomen. Rio’s stunning six-pack flexed, and Cole’s fist bounced off. Again, Cole cocked his fist and pounded it hard into the rookie’s abs, but once again, Rio flexed and the blow bounced off with no effect. Again and again, Cole drilled his fists, back and forth into the rookie’s midsection, but the blows seemed to do nothing but clear Rio’s head. Rio looked up at the veteran and smiled. “Is that all you’ve got, old man?”

Gratitude

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On a day set aside for giving thanks, I’m counting my blessings. I’m thankful for this bizarre discipline I accepted for myself to write this blog and publish some of my fiction online. It’s a vulnerable, annoying, enriching and rewarding endeavor.

I’m thankful for ring rookies David Taylor, Tyrell Tomsen, Kid Karisma and Rio Garza who’ve climbed into the ring in the past several months and laid claim to my imagination. For their poundable pecs and astounding asses, for their breathtaking biceps and crushing quads (and BG East’s generous permission to post their photos), I’m truly grateful. And for David and Tyrell’s phenomenal phalluses, I can’t say how happy they make me.
I’m thankful this year that Mitch Colby likes, and likes to pound, men. For all his sweat-soaked suffering and his growing accomplishment at putting younger punks in their place, I’m filled with gratitude.
I’m thankful that Derek Da Silva read and got a kick out of my treatment of his wrestling performances. For his shout out, for the mindblowing tolerances of his fantastic body, and for the amazingly beautiful artistry of all those tatoos, I’m thankful.
I’m thankful that Chris Cuomo went fishing this summer and shared with his twitter fans the beauty of his shirtless body.
For Mehcad Brooks, a resident of Bon Temps for such a short time, baring his irresistible ass and being so generous with displaying his round, luscious pecs, I’m thankful. And for Alexander Skarsgård’s six foot, four inch Swedish gorgeousness, I’m grateful that his eternal character will be with us for more seasons to come.
Finally, for all the kind friends and gentle critics I’ve met online through this blog and my wrestling fiction, I’m thankful. I hope you all are surrounded by friendship and love today.

Gay Wrestling Fiction

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I finally had time (and recovered enough from my cold) to do some more writing this weekend. I managed to crank out two wrestling matches, for those interested in gay wrestling fiction. The first match I posted to my celebrity wrestling fiction group, the Producer’s Ring, pitting an ever more massive Christian Bale against an untested Chris Hemsworth. The match-up emerged from a reader recommendation, and I enjoyed the notion of the grappling veteran picking out promising talent to test both himself and the new crop of contenders. Here’s a quick moment from the action…

“Chris held the torture rack for a half a minute, but Christian continued to chuckle and taunt him. “Make me hurt, boy!” Christian said through gritted teeth. Chris slowly began walking in a tight circle in the middle of the mats, his knees wobbling with each step before locking out. With each stride, Christian grunted in pain, but he never stopped chuckling. Frustrated, Chris came to a halt in the center of the room. Releasing his grasp, he dropped Christian, who fell hard from the 6’3” frame upon which he’d been captured. Christian crashed to the mats directly behind Chris. Chris doubled forward, gasping, placing his hands on his knees, catching his breath. After a moment to recover, he turned around. Looking down at Christian, who lay on the mat on his back, Chris leaned down to scoop him up again. Before he laid a finger on him, Christian’s right fist shot between Chris’ legs and crunched upward into his balls.”

Since posting a fictional match pitting my long time obsessions, Brad Rochelle and Mitch Colby, against one another, I fielded a few requests for another match set in the BG East universe. With the writing bug upon me, I also polished off a new match, giving Brad a shot at another one of the new cocky body-beautifuls who’ve been hot in BG East (and in my imagination) in recent months: Tyrell Tomsen. After enjoying Tyrell’s pounding on Braden Charron, I was inspired by the notion that Tyrell is collecting his opponents’ clothing. So in this match, Tyrell shows up already wearing Brad’s boots, and the battle is waged over who’ll walk out of the ring in possession of the boots.

“I said…” Tyrell began, driving the heel of his right boot into the side of Brad’s head. Brad dropped to his side, his hands instinctively rising to protect his head. “I said…” Tyrell continued, “that these boots don’t have your name on them, mother fucker!” Again, Tyrell stomped the heel of his right boot, this time driving into Brad’s hip. Brad’s back arched away from the blow, and he rolled over to his stomach. Tyrell positioned himself next to his opponent once again, then hopped into the air before driving the heel of his boot into the small of Brad’s back. “So keep your fucking hands off!”

Check out the BG East match at the FantasyBGEwrestling Yahoo group (not my group, just where I’ve posted a couple matches), or read more of my celebrity wrestling fiction in the Producer’s Ring (my google group… don’t be afraid of the sign-up. I’m just trying to screen out the haters). If you’re interested in sharing some original short stories, let me know. I’m always interested in getting feedback, and I’m happy to offer it to others as well.

The Gratuity

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I caught a young, nicely muscled hottie in the gym locker room flexing in the mirror. Context is everything. I see (and appreciate) flexing in the work out room all the time. On the gym floor, posing is cocky, perhaps competitive, certainly exhibitionist. But in the locker room, a double bicep in the mirror is just gratuitous, narcissistic, and, frankly, incredibly hot.


The wrestling flex-pose is all about context, too, I think. The spontaneous surge of adrenalin that inspires a dominating victor to pump out a most-muscular makes sense. It’s self-congratulatory, self-reveling, the exclamation point at the end of the statement, “I own you now!”

Prior to a match, the flex-pose is a little more like the gym bunny in the workout room. The two as-yet-untested studs flex for one another, to be seen by one another, to be compared with one another. The pre-match flex is about intimidation and psyching each other out, as in, “Just look at these muscles! This body is too much for you to handle.” The pre-match flex sets the stage for the grappling, sometimes serving as the only real plot, as both men present their bids (I’m the strongest… my muscled arms will break you… my powerful thighs will squeeze you), and then as the match unfolds, they play their cards to see who actually has the best hand.

The flex-pose during the match is more like the self-worshipping muscle boy in the locker room, it seems to me. Once the action has begun, pausing to flash a lat-spread doesn’t really make sense, other than to tell the story of the narcissist who simply can’t get enough of his own hard body. The flex-pose in the course of a match is gratuitous, even risky, and often threatens the suspension of disbelief… oh, and did I mention, it’s hot?
Classic Brit wrestler “Mr. Muscles” Johnny England seemed to enjoy portraying the self-worshipping musclehead in the ring. In his match against Steve Grey, his pre-match posing-to-intimidate just keeps going well after the bell rings. The match opening test of strength displays Mr. Muscles dominant power as he toys with his weaker opponent, alternately driving him to his knees and dragging him to the balls of his feet with a sneer (I admit to writing up that very scene in my wrestling fiction because it’s so entirely tasty). England’s straight-arm overhead press at 08:07 is one FANTASTIC use of a bodybuilder-wrestler. For my money, though he’s clearly less heavily muscled, Steve Grey has by far the more worship-worthy bod in this match, and his peculiar move at 06:48 makes me think all sorts of naughty thoughts.
I recently saved up my pennies to take a look at Tyrell Tomsen’s match against Braden Charron in StripStakes 1 (please, please, please let there be a StripStakes 2!). Neither of these body-beautifuls sell me on the action. There are some nice pec claws clamped onto Braden (tragically, the move is not reciprocated on Tyrell’s gorgeous pecs). But Tyrell’s body and his constant flex-posing (literally from frame one) is entrancing. Tyrell basically re-enacts the locker room scene I saw yesterday (or vice versa), as he worships his incredible muscles in the mirror – in the middle of his match. When he gets sweaty (perhaps relying a little on stagecraft), his stunning, naked, anatomy-chart of a body could be put to no better use than to flex… not for Braden, but for his own self-worship (and, of course, ours).
Finally, I can’t help but mention the artistry of Brad Rochelle once again. His match against indy heel Kurt Kurtis in Hunkbash 7 reveals Brad’s awesome presence and self-awareness in the ring. As the title of the tape would suggest, Brad gets bashed. But the first fall is a back-and-forth. Early on, Kurt calls out Brad, saying, “all those muscles can’t help you now!” So Brad’s luscious muscles become the subject of the first fall. Brad fights to prove that his muscles will destroy Kurt’s guile. At one point, Brad has Kurt on his stomach, his lower legs being bent forward painfully. From behind his opponent, spontaneously, Brad flexes one of his beautiful baseball biceps. Brad helps us believe his self-worship, by monologuing, “You just wish you could see this,” to his opponent who clearly can’t see his posing. Brad makes sense of the mid-match flex for us, acknowledging that the posing is for his own self-congratulatory narcissism (of course, really, it’s for you and me).
The wrestling flex-pose probably, in most cases, defies belief. It’s extraneous to the contest. It’s a distraction from the stated task of securing domination of one man’s body. And personally, I’d have it no other way. Keep giving me my own, private show, that marries hot wrestling with unadulterated body worship.