Perhaps the defining difference between homoerotic wrestling and straightforward porn is the context (or pretense) of competition. I own exactly 3 porn products that contain no wrestling. I own about 180 homoerotic wrestling products, some of which contain fucking and some of which don’t. That pretty much paints by numbers where I stand with regard to what turns me on hardest. The one criticism I would level at most of the porn companies that have dabbled in wrestling themed products is precisely the same thing: they appreciate and spotlight far too little the element of competition in their race to get to the fucking. Domination, humiliation, control, ownership… these words densely populate the pages of neverland because I key off of that aspect of homoerotic wrestling that sucks me in with the drama of sport, the suspense of competition, and the explicit reference to the struggle for carnal domination. Without it, or for whatever reason without enough of it, and I’ll hit that maybe two or three times in the average year. With it, and I’m grabbing hold with both hands, oh, let’s say 3 times a day.
So when I noticed that Naked Kombat was advertising new matches starting in mid-August as elimination matches in a 10-man pornboy tournament, I was immediately extra-attentive! Neverland readers know full well the extensive role that a single-elimination wrestling tournament can have on my homoerotic imagination. Competition, domination, control, winners becoming losers, beasts humbled… fuck, yes. With that in mind, I want to catch us all up on exactly what we know so far in the NK 10-man “Kombatant Tournment.”
First of all, the brackets make no sense to me whatsoever, so we’re just going to roll with it and see if NK can see the through-story to the end. The first match pitted triathlon lean-meat Tyler “the Assassin” Alexander against raging bull beefcake Rod “the Real Deal” Daily. On face validity, I’d have said there’s no way that the Real Deal wasn’t going to carve up the Assassin for lunch and eat him raw. The bouncing pecs, the massive thighs, those tats, that Mohawk… I’ve most definitely pulled for a catchweight upender, with a little guy humbling his bigger opponent, but this time, I have to say I was pulling really hard for (on my) Rod. The final score was much closer than I’d have guessed it would turn out, but after 3 rounds and 30 minutes of kombat, it was a Blue: 31, Red: 24 spread, with Rod winning the day. The fact that this was not the squash I expected pleases me immensely.
A week later, the second match in the tourney featured a huge, huge, huge infatuation that I’ve talked about before, 5’11”, 210 pound Marcus “Titan” Ruhl. That’s all you needed to say for me to do two things. 1) Drop down a wager on the telephone poles that Titan calls his thighs and cock, and 2) pound one out in nothing but anticipation. Jessie’s a big, strong motherfucker, mind you, and I love his look, but there was more than a sense of “of course” about it when the final score was Blue:23, Red:37, with Marcus Ruhl yet again on top, in charge, and riding that train to victory.
Week 3of the tourney introduced me to two new lean pornboys, Randall “the Rock” O’Reilly and Bryan “the Constrictor” Cole. First blush, the Constrictor looks a little terrified and the Rock strikes me as a once-nelly-boy turned still-nelly-but-will-kick-your-ass wrestler. My knee jerk conclusion, go Rock!!! Tale of the tape after 3 rounds of elimination tournament competition? Blue: 20 points, Red: 29 points. Nelly-boy-goes-bully Randall delivers my satisfaction with my guilty pleasure: the cock-tuck pony ride!
OKay, that’s 6 of that 10-man elimination tourney accounted for. However, week 4 of the tourney and suddenly NK says this is the final elimination round. The aforementioned bewildering brackets show two beats mentioned here before, Hayden Richards and Landon Conrad, seemingly waiting like spiders for the semi-finals, which I have no idea how that makes sense. An 8-man tournament has better mathematical properties anyway, so either way, I’m not worried. Worried, however, is the look on 5’10”, 180 lbs. Alex “the Axe” Adams’ face as he stares down at little 5’6″, 150 lbs. Doug “the Destroyer” Acre. Perhaps it’s little wonder, since Alex has tasted defeat three times in a row at NK, and little Doug is undefeated. Blue: 36, Red: 25, Doug extends his undefeated streak by easily crushing a much bigger opponent!
So if the brackets are indicative of what actually unfolds, I’m guessing that Randy “the Rock” O’Reilly and Rod “Real Deal” Daily will go cock-to-cock in the next round, leaving Marcus “Titan” Ruhl and Doug “Giant Killer” Acre (yeah, I’ve redubbed him) to square off. I’m predicting Rod comes out way on top, with 30 pounds of low-slung beef advantage being far too much for nelly-boy-bully Randall to overcome. I also predict Randall loves every second of it. The real match of this tourney, by far, I think, is the giant killer versus the giant. Doug Acre is a fucking mat master! Holy shit, he can work a big man hard, and there’s just about none bigger than Titan. I’m seriously torn here, because I can easily see either of these men plowing the other by the end of the day. But a 60 pound differential!? Holy shit, that sounds completely impossible, and just to put myself way out there on a limb, I’m still going to call it. 150 pound Doug Acre beats 210 Marcus Ruhl. That’s my prediction. And should that happen, a still of Doug fucking previously undefeated Titan into a dripping pool of sweat and cum will be guaranteed to be my next screensaver!
The brackets suggest that the winner of the Daily/O’Reilly match will face Hayden Richards, to which I say good-fucking-luck Rod. Hayden is a fucking badger, and you’re going to be little more than an appetizer.
And, if I’m reading this correctly, the winner of Ruhl v Acre will go against golden god Landon Conrad. In which case, having predicted that Conrad’s two-time nemesis Titan is knocked out before this point, I think Doug Acre could have run his luck to it’s natural end right around the time that Landon is oiling up that jackhammer and pounding the would-be giant killer’s hole, with every humiliated big man Doug’s owned on the sideline cheering him on.
Finally, the brackets may be suggesting that the tourney final match is not a singles competition at all, which seems a little silly to me. However, the promise of Hayden Richards having owned, then tag teaming with Rod Daily and competing against the team of Conrad and Acre is an incredibly sweet possibility. If I were batting 1000 by this point, then I’m giving the tag team climax without a doubt to Conrad/Acre, hands down. Rod’s the weak link, and Doug would tip the scales between Hayden and Landon their way.
I am a little dehydrated, just discussing the brackets. Homoerotic wrestling needs more of this!
I just turned in a project that was on a deadline, so I’m back to add to my collection of thoughts about what’s turned me on lately. The truly epic moment of seeing Michael C. Hall’s naked ass in Dexter this season has been a recurring fantasy image that wakes me up at night (needing to pound one out before I can possibly go back to sleep). The other, less freakishly rare, but nearly as thrilling subscription eye candy that’s fueled my homoerotic wrestling imagination was from the final episode of True Blood just a few weeks ago, featuring none other than my #1 Swedish infatuation (believe me, there are many lined up behind him), Alexander Skarsgård, capping off the season with not only his beautiful, long body completely naked, but some honest to god full frontal Swedish sausage!
I won’t bother you with the details of why Alexander’s character is sunning naked on a lounge chair in the middle of a glacier in Åre, Sverige. You either care enough about that sort of back story to have watched, or you’re still reading this for the sole reason that I mentioned full frontal Alexander Skarsgård. There are even a few of you, I know, who are only familiar with this gorgeous descendant of vikings from his appearances in my celebrity homoerotic wrestling fiction, where, by the way, he’s undefeated and continuing to strike stark terror in potential celebrity wrestling opponents after nearly castrating Ashton Kutcher in the ring. Good times!
Alexander also completely dominated in a private mat-match first authored by another reader/writer who joined me in co-authoring a couple of my favorite Producer’s Ring matches, Swito. Swito brought the heat, as well as the svenska-cred to that match, in which Alexander used those long, luscious, alabaster limbs to squeeze, pummel, and corporally terrorize that fucking cocky Australian it-boy, Chris Hemsworth, for daring to try out for, much less accept the role of Viking god/superhero Thor for the big screen. You’d think the Aussie beefcake would have toned down his shit after that humiliation, but Producer’s Ring readers know that wasn’t the case.
I never really doubted it, but apparently the producer of True Blood had to issue a statement after this cliffhanger shot of Alexander’s naked cock bursting into flames (I’ve got a lotion for that, Alex!) to assure fans that his character is, indeed, returning as a regular in the next and final season of the series’ next go-round. Like teasing us with that cock and then ripping him away from us was an option. TB producers clearly know better. And so do I, because one of these days I’m getting my ass back to the keyboard for more Producer’s Ring matches, and I guaran-fucking-tee you that a certain juggernaut expert in cock torture and merciless ring destruction will also be returning to my homoerotic wrestling imagination.
I’ve said it before many times. I’ll say it again. Best god damned casting director in the history of television. And I’ve got so, so much love for a blond, Swedish beefcake who shows his cock for the rabid TB fans who are fanatical for the show for precisely this Dark-Shadows-meets-softcore-porn element.
I did not watch the MTV Awards, so somehow I feel like I should be entitled not to be subjected to the constant bombardment of commentary and judgment of them that I see from every news outlet that I visit. My only, and I mean ONLY point of reference for giving the smallest shit possible about Miley Cyrus is that she is/was/pretended to be at some point engaged to Aussie body beautiful Liam Hemsworth, who appeared in the most recent addition to my celebrity homoerotic wrestling fiction universe, Producer’s Ring, in which Liam battled nasty and naked against big (BIG!) brother Chris. Way, way, way back there in the chain of associations there’s someone I seriously could not pick out of a lineup who goes by the name Miley Cyrus. That’s all I want to know about her. She has zero further importance to me, other than that I must cut her out of my Aussie brother fuck-fantasies and insert myself, pasted directly between the embattled muscle bodies of Liam and Chris. Period. Seriously people. Move on.
Speaking of moving on, I give a slightly bigger shit to the news I saw that the MTV Awards provided the setting for NSync to get back for about two blinks of an eye. Sure, I got hot and sweaty over them when they were barely legal, but more importantly in my erotic fantasy life, Justin Timberlake starred in an all-star, three-way erotic combat fantasy match in the Producer’s Ring against both Ryan Reynolds and Bradley Cooper. For those familiar with Producer’s Ring, it was a Focus Group match (as was the Hemsworth v Hemsworth beatdown), which means the boys battled it out in a gay bathhouse fight-pit wearing, at least to start, nothing but terrycloth. Yeah, somehow I feel a little dirty and a little shallow admitting that Timberlake was polishing me off long before he and his personal trainer carved that hardbodied torso he likes to show off when he’s moonlighting as an actor. I’m okay with it, though.
But Justin is not the only NSync boy to make a satisfying appearance in my celebrity homoerotic wrestling fantasy fiction. JC Chasez sorted me out quite nicely when they were actually a boyband, and then he turned up just a couple of years ago climbing into the pro wrestling ring in my imagination for a battle of the boyander resurrectionists, fighting for a second set of 15 minutes of fame against 98 Degrees pec-master, Jeff Timmons. I swear to Neptune that then and now I’d kick Nick Lachey to the curb in an instant for a naked romp with Timmons. The Chasez v Timmons ring match was seriously ugly, permitting me to sort out seriously guilty vices from a decade earlier when I crushed, in shameful silence, on boybanders-who-should-wrestle.
I saw the news today that Timmons is back to tempt me into further flights of erotic fantasy, hosting a new stage show called the Men of the Strip, putting his Chippendales stintto good use by stripping down alongside eight other hardbodied hotties and teasing audiences to as much sexual arousal as they can legally experience in public (it is Nevada, after all).
I’m lighting some sage and placing a shot of JD at an altar to the gods of homoerotic wrestling, praying for Men of the Strip to morph into a reality television series in which the strippers compete in a single elimination tournament of professional style homoerotic rip n’ strip wrestling in front of a live audience of unbuttoned gay men (I’ve got my seat reserved in the front row). It’s my wrestling fantasy, so I get to make the rules, and they’re simple. Single elimination, pinfall or submission, the eight d-listers pound it out in quarter finals, semis, and then finals to decide which hardbodied fantasyman gets to face Timmon’s nipples for the grand prize of being a backup dancer for a Timberlake music video. Please, oh please gods of homoerotic wrestling, hear my plea…
Which also-ran do you think would pound his way to the top of the heap, and could he take Sweet as Sugar Timmons for his shot working Timberlake from behind? Here are the Men of the Strip that caught my eye as contenders…
Bard: Thanks for making time to chat with me today, Morgan. You seem like a busy guy. I’m seeing you in a lot of wrestling products!
Morgan: Yeah, been a busy a few weeks orienting new talent filming seasons 5 and 6 at MDW, as well as work on a superhero season, and of course I have spent a fair amountof time down at BGE.
Bard: You all are already producing season 6!? Season 5 just came out! Damn, you are busy! I’ve been seriously enjoying some of that new talent MDW has been getting their hands on lately. Tidus, Rodriguez, beefy boys in need of getting a beatdown. What do you do to “orient” fresh meat?
Morgan: Glad you like the new boys. These guys did not need much of a training session; they got in the ring ready to wrestle! Rodriguez in particular is going to be a damn fine talent. When a new guy comes in, though, the procedure is to have them spend time watching myself or Muscle Master Kevin wrestle a couple of matches so there are noquestions as to what is off limits. [laughing] All reservations quickly fly out the window using this method. Once they feel comfortable in that regard we set ’em loose.
Bard: Voyeur first, then climb in and go at it? I like it. I like it a lot. I want to ask you more about other wrestlers and about the companies you’ve wrestled for, but first let me ask more about Morgan the Mastodon Cruise. It seems to me like you’ve gone from a rookie to a seasoned heel in the blink of an eye. To what do you owe your success as a terrifying force ofdestruction in the homoerotic wrestling universe?
Morgan: I take full credit for in my in ring prowess! [laughing] But in all seriousness, I have been a wrestling fan for as long as I can remember, and when I got to BG East for the first timeit was like a dream. I learned a lot from my first match with Lon Dumont – it was kind of like, “Oh, this is what I am going to be doing? Hell, yeah!”
Bard: That was a monumental match with Lon. I’m a huge, huge, huge fan of his, and I go back to that match often. I had a strong feeling even then that with a little “orienting” from an indy pro veteran like Lon, you were going to be a force to be reckoned with. What would you say is the most devastating hold in your arsenal at this point in your career?
Morgan: Interesting, well that match was all about the bearhug; I bearhugged Lon; he bearhugged me; and I definitely have to put that one high up on the list. But as far as my most devastating hold, the torture rack has to take the cake
Bard: Fuck. Yes. Hoist an opponent up across those big broad shoulders of yours and make them scream. I’ll be in the front row every time. I know what a move like that does for me as I watch you completely dominate a sorry bastard totally off his feet and under your control. What’s the experience like for you?
Morgan: I am always surprised at how easy it is to throw an opponent up there and secure them by their neck and balls. Once they are on my shoulders and I am cranking down, they have no choice but to submit. It is the perfect chance to run my mouth, make them say whatever I want. It is complete control.
Bard: Complete control. That’s what it looks like on this end, too. I hope you don’t mind if I ask about your body, because I’d swear it’s straight out of some of my fondest erotic fantasies from watching old school 1980’s pro wrestling on television. Big, solid muscles, unapologetically hairy, liberally dowsed in sweat, built for function. How would you describe your physique?
Morgan: I am THE hairy he-man. When my opponent comes to the ring and sees me standing across from them, they know what’s going down. My chest is the kryptonite of all men. When I wrestle, I sweat all over guys – always was a heavy perspirer. My bi’s are built tall and peaked; my back is the thickest out of any other wrestler; and I am secretly extremely athletic. Obviously you are not going to see me doing any dop-kicks or high flying moves, much too methodical for that, but letting everyone know now that I can bust any move out. I was built to wrestle.
Bard: Built to wrestle. Excellent summary, and I can’t agree more. So tell me some numbers, because I get off on numbers. What’s your height and weight right now?
Morgan: I’m 5’8, 175 pounds – had been dealing with a shoulder injury and was forced to lean out for quite some time, but now finally am back to my usual bulky self and packing on more muscle than ever.
Bard: How big are those mountainous peaks you call your upper arms?
Morgan: Last I measured, they were in the realm of 18.
Bard: Sweet. How far does the tape measure have to go to get around your pecs and that thickest-of-all-upper-backs?
Morgan: [Laughing] Have not taken that measurement, but let me just say I have ripped a few shirts on the way on and off.
Bard: Damn, you need to get Kevin to grab that measurement… and send me a photo of him doing it. Waist?
Morgan: [Laughing] Good luck getting that photo. The boss is a busy man. My waist is 28 inches.
Bard: Thighs (including copious hair)?
Morgan: Measuring now…
Bard: Damn, I wish I were there to lend a hand with that….
Morgan: You are not the first. 26 inches.
Bard: But I promise, I’d be the best. Fantastic. No wonder opponent’s are weeping when you get those tree trunks wrapped around them. So in the “real” world, when guys are hittingon you, ’cause I know guys are hitting on you all the time, what’s the first compliment they’re giving you to start flirting?
Morgan: They try and guess the color of my eyes – first they say grey, then green, sometimes blue, ultimately concluding they are hazel. Either way it has always been my gaze that draws people in that is invariably where they start – then the bicep compliments start.
Bard: I could totally see that, though if you had your shirt unbuttoned, I’d have to make a comment about those hot hairy pecs. Coincidentally, I put “hazel” as my eye color on my driver’s license, just because no one can tell me a better description for my eye color, either. So back to wrestling, I’m of the opinion that you’ve moved the bar wherever you’ve wrestled. For example, at BG East, you’ve done some amazing work blending old school pro wrestling style with incredibly sexy, trunks off eroticism. And at Muscle Domination Wrestling, it seems to me you’ve been on the envelope pushing the explicit, full-frontal homoerotic combat angle. Do you think of yourself as a trailblazer?
Morgan: I ama stickler for wrestling logic. That is where the old school style comes in. If a move in a sequence is out of place it really bothers me. I religiously watch back all my matches to fill in the gaps, always thinking about what I could have done here or there. I own a very raw wrestling style which goes hand in hand with baring skin. My main objective at MDW was to incorporate skillful wrestling within the sub-dom framework. Originally Muscle Domination Wrestling utilized wrestling as a medium to explore different facets of domination. My job is bringing the product to a level where wrestling assumes its natural artful position while MDW expands its vision for alpha male conquest. Season 5marks the first huge strides towards this goal.
Bard: I’m thrilled to hear about that continuing evolution at MDW. And I like the word “raw” for your wrestling style. It’s raw, hardcore, in your face wrestling without losing an ounce of respect for the art and science of it. And I’m here to confess that watching you pound the shit out of some pretty, pretty boy turns me on… a lot. Is wrestling a turn on for you?
Morgan: Turn on, fulfillment, gratification… all those words are appropriate.
Bard: Nice to know that it works that way on your end. Speaking of you pounding the shit out of pretty boys, name some names for me. Do you have a favorite match so far in your career?
Morgan: Ah, always a tough question, picking my favorite, but to name a couple… One from BGE, one from MDW. I loved wrestling Diego Diaz. He was a really naturally talented guy. We had a great back and forth before I crushed my way to victory. Chemistry is just one of those things – until you are in the ring working off one another you just never know how a match will turn out, but right when we started and he responded to my shit-talk I knew we would have a good scrap. As for MDW, it has given me many chances to wrestle Tony Law. Myfirst filmed match with him was also at BGE, but since then we have faced each other more times than I can count, so we work very well together – no punches pulled, just intense grit. The most recent match we had was a celebration of our “rivalry,” the culmination of our many bouts – Tony’s final chance to get one over on a 60 minute straight-through Iron Man match. We filmed it all in one shot, non-stop action, and boy did it get sweaty – my favorite match from the new season 5 for sure.
Bard: Again, I’m a big fan of big, big, big Diego Diaz, and that chemistry you describe definitely comes through when watching that match. And I’m not surprised to hear Tony Law’s name pop up. By the law of averages, since you’ve beaten him so many times, it makes sense one of those times might be on your favorites list. I’ve seen your match with Tonyover at BG East, and again, the word “raw” comes to mind. The match description for this Iron Man match for MDW’s season 5 makes it sound as if Tony may have finally turned the tables on you this time around, which I for one find hard to believe. Anything more you can say about Iron Man and how you left Tony’s meaty ass when the 60 minutes were up?
Morgan: Well, the Iron Man contest allows for multiple pins and submissions (not that any heel is going to stop at the first tap out anyway), so I will say that Tony had a lot of chance to make up for lost time. The man that walks away with the most victories at the hour’s end is declared the ultimate winner of the contest, so either we exchanged a few wins in a closely contested bout, or I kicked his ass for an hour straight, but you will have to watch it to find out.
Bard: Nicely teased. Damien Rush is another hot stud you’ve brutalized over and over from MDW to BG East and back again. The level of brutality and humiliation you’ve dragged him through is an astonishing body of work all on it’s own. I’ve got to hand it to the handsome hunk that he’s got some serious nerve climbing back into the ring again and again with you. You look like you could just about eat him for lunch, but I wonder if, at the end of the day, you walk away with respect for even the mewling, weeping opponents you leave crushed in the ring behind you, like hot hunk Damien.
Morgan: Damien is a hot-headed talent, and I do respect him, but at the end of the day I have job to do and that is putting everyone in their proper place beneath me the one true wrestling god. Now, if Mr. Rush wanted to admit that I am and always will be better than him in every way and wanted to form a tag team with me then I could really respect him.
Bard: Message sounds loud and clear to me. By the way, if you find yourself ripping Mr. Rush’s sweat-soaked trunks off his hot bod again, keep me in mind. I’ve got a trophy case with a spot reserved. Your most recent release for BG East featured you taking on both Christian Taylor and his notorious jobber boyfriend, Skip Vance at the same time in Tag Team Torture 16. I’ve only seen previews of the match so far, but it looks like you fucking own the both of them in body and soul. A boyfriend tag team beatdown is a long-standing pet erotic fantasy of mine. What was it like for you to not just work over another pretty boy like Christian, but to crush him in front of his anguished lover and then humiliate the both of them at the same time?
Morgan: Let me first say if you want Damien’s trunks you will have to peel them off his throat, but it is fine by me. Someone needs to do him the favor after my many mean encounters with him. Boyfriend Beatdown was exhilarating. While I owned Christian in the ring, Skip cheers on moral support from the much safer exterior of the ring. For the first time I was able to bash one hunk while taunting another. My game plan was of course to get both in the ring at once because obviously alone they are both squash material. Skip and I went back and forth for a good while before I got underneath his skin playing with his boyfriend in whichever way I wanted. Christian was no match for me and failed to save any face even with his boyfriend there cheering him on. I felt badly for him so it was only natural to provoke skip so his boyfriend could see that no one stands a chance against the Mastodon. Squashing both together was like playing god I was the ruler of their relationship; I was the master of all things private to them, it was Morgan Cruise who determined when and where they kissed along with other things.
Bard: Holy shit, that’s hot. That match is officially next on my BG East order form. So here are a few stream of consciousness questions for you. Don’t think too long… just answer what comes first into your head. Okay?
Bard: Steak or seafood?
Bard: Boxers or briefs?
Bard: [Laughing] Perfect. Legs or chest?
Bard: Scissor or bearhug?
Bard: Top or bottom?
Bard: Of course. Country or rock?
Bard: Nice. So you’ve got a lot of fans, I’m sure you know. Watching you in the ring, however, you seem completely focused, like you don’t give a shit about anyone else, what anyone else thinks or wants. What do you make of the legions of Mastodon fans out there who can’t get enough of the magic that you make in the wrestling ring?
Morgan: The truth is that my namesake the Mastodon went extinct, but I am the perfect breed – an ever-evolving specimen, and that means listening to feedback and taking direction and criticism. I keep in close contact with my die hard fans, and they tell me what they like and what they do not. Luckily there is very little to not like. When I am in the ring I tap into the primal force that is the Mastodon, and everything else dissolves. My focus becomes how I want to break my opponent down and how to do it with precise logic and incomparable style.
Bard: Good to hear. You are a crowd pleaser, it’s impossible to deny. What’s something that Mastodon fans don’t know about you that they should?
Morgan: I am very quiet outside the ring. [Laughing] I hardly speak. I meticulously dissect the way in which others communicate so that I never misunderstand anyone. Everyone has a different method or nuance to the way in whcih they articulate the idea they want to get across, so attention to detail is key. As a result, I do not own a cell phone. I heavily prefer direct contact
Bard: Fascinating… and suddenly I’m second guessing what I’ve said this whole interview. Just a couple more questions for you. Is there any particular wrestler currently competing that you haven’t wrestled yet that needs to trampled by the Mastodon?
Bard: Holy hell, yes! I’d pay for a front row seat for that one! Hell, the image of all of those muscles locked with muscles is making me a little dizzy right now. Speaking of muscles, if you found yourself climbing into the ring again with Lon Dumont, with considerably more experience and practice under your belt now than when you first wrestled, do you think things would turn out differently this time around?
Morgan: I have been waiting for that question. He can come to MDW, or we can meet back up in the BG East ring any time, any place. I am there. This time around, you can bet your “firstborn,” The Mastodon is walking away victorious.
Bard: Sweet. I’m hoping to sit down for face-to-face interview with Mr. Muscles in the not-too-distant future, so I’ll be sure to let him know. You’ve been a delight to chat with, Morgan, and for someone who typically hardly speaks outside the ring, you’ve been an awesome conversationalist. Is there any last word you’d like to pass along to Mastodon fans out there before I let you go?
Morgan: The Mastodon is watching over the works at MDW, and would like to encourage my fans to check Muscle Domination Wrestling out as I am making sure my in-ring work extends beyond my own matches. The landscape has changed, and the wrestling has come to the forefront. And thank you for the interview it was a pleasure to have this experience. I have learned a good few things from your blog. And do be sure to let good old Lonny Dumont that he can come to me, or I am coming for him [laughing].
Bard: You are a one of a kind, hot, sweaty, raw, old school mass of muscle wrestler, and I cannot wait to catch up on your newest releases now, and to check out the evolving landscape at MDW. I hope we can chat again sometime, perhaps after I can get Lon back on the record. Thanks again, Morgan. You’re awesome!
Before I left for vacation (“holiday”), Kid Leopard sent me some sweet, behind-the-scenes shots of the new BG Eastfacility in Florida. I love a glimpse behind-the-scenes of homoerotic wrestling. A lot. I still ache for more behind-the-scenes galleries in the BG East Arena “Surprise” Galleries. Something just turns me on about that moment at the edge of one reality and another, the muscle studs of my wrestling fantasies geared up but lounging about, the snarling, hot hunks of the ring clowning around, showing some affection, or just whatever it is they do outside the ring. That one foot in, one foot out aspect of behind-the-scenes shots works me up just fine!
There were just a few shots that I didn’t have to post from The Boss’ indulgence of my lust for behind-the-scenes insights. They are of the “lounge” area, the break room for homoerotic wrestling hunks. Taking a break between matches? Grabbing a quick bite or rehydrating before climbing back in the ring and pounding the hell out of an opponent? Stop off here and kick back, text your boyfriend, shoot the shit with the gorgeous, barely clad hottie in pro trunks and mid-calf boots across the room from you.
Now, first on my bucket list is to weasel my way into a closed set filming of a sweat-filled, muscle pumped, full-contact, preferably rip and strip pro wrestling match. Make said match starring Kid Karisma’s award winning ass, and I could die then and there. Second item on my bucket list is to pull up a chair in this lounge, do my best to tear my eyes off of the beautiful, mostly bare muscle bodies around me, and enjoy discovering what these guys are like when the cameras are off.
Third on my bucket list is some one-on-one time rubbing down a homoerotic wrestling god in the massage room in back, preferably while he’s still soaked in sweat from the ring and he hasn’t gotten off in a week. Okay, that’s probably #2. At least.
So I may die unfulfilled, but I’m incredibly grateful for the boys behind the cameras at BG East, and The Boss in particular, for giving me (and you) a little glimpse of palette upon which they paint the homoerotic wrestling masterpieces that are the reason for neverland’s being. And I cannot wait to be introduced to the new faces poised to show up for their debuts with BG East, who we catch a glimpse of in the group shot above!
Regulars here at neverland are aware of a handful of longstanding frustrations I have that I affectionally refer to as my “unrequited lusts.” These are the subjects of relentless and ruthless teases that I’ve been a total sucker for. For example, Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) and his momentous, mountainous, pendulous package. He is forever shoving his hands down the front of his trunks in his matches and readjusting the baggage that’s shifted during flight. He persistently points at the behemoth that strains the stitches holding together his trunks, reminding opponents and fans that there’s a hidden anaconda yet to be unleashed. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m so torqued by the Mr. Joshua package-tease! I’ve pleaded desperately for a rising upswell of popular demand crying out for a Mr. J strip stakes match (or series of matches, however many it takes before an opponent instantly becomes my #1 favorite wrestler by peeling off Mr. J’s dignity and finally, at long, long last unleashing the beast).
Another frequent topic of my unrequited love has been more in the realm of my erotic wrestling fantasy material, namely Michael C. Hall’sass. His character grew on me in Six Feet Under. But as Dexter, the sympathetic serial killer, he has played a starring role in several homoerotic wrestling fantasies of mine, one of which I actually wrote down and shared as part of my collection of celebrity homoerotic wrestling fiction. Not too surprising, Michael managed to come out on top in that match by pinning granite-hardbodiedJustin Theroux to the mat via sitting on his face and letting those luscious cheeks make Mr. Anniston forget that he didn’t want to be trapped right there, right then.
However tantalizing Michael’s ass has appeared in butt-hugging trousers in Dexter, though, the actual glutes themselves have never made an appearance. Dexter sex scenes? Sure. Naked boobies everywhere you look? Absolutely. The barest glimpse of Michael’s uncovered, bulbous booty? Not a one. Damn it.
That is, there has been no sighting of those pound-able melons in the flesh until now. After being overseas on vacation, I’ve spent the last week scarfing down the episodes of True Blood and Dexter that I missed while away. I finally caught up with both, and glory be, after so much teasing, so many close-ups on that fantastic (but clothed) bubble butt, long after I’d intellectually given up on ever seeing that ass in the flesh, Michael sated my deep down lust with a long, lingering, full-on sex-scene starring (and I mean STARRING) his g-g-gorgeous ass!!!
When I say this steamy scene stars Michael’s ass, I mean, seriously, there was clearly nothing else on anyone’s mind as they blocked this scene. The woman that Dexter is supposed to be banging is naked and, in her way, for those with that predilection, I’m sure attractive. But there’s no way to put it other than to say that her naked body is completely and entirely upstaged. It’s not just that Michael’s beautiful nakedness is always on top with most of the scene shot from above. His ass literally gets several of it’s own close-ups! I mean, how often does this happen, that the camera zooms in, pans away, and then zooms in again on the guy’s ass in an opposite-sex sex scene!? It’s as if Michael, who you know had been asked a thousand times before to bare it, finally just said, fine, fuck it, film my ass!
Enough of the phenomenological critique. Let me just say that even with all of that build-up and all of that teasing year after year, still, without a doubt I did not leave disappointed. His co-star kept trying to wiggle into the shot, but there was no disguising that those glutes are simply beautiful… powerful, sculpted shelf, fuckable for days.
Michael had a cancer scare that, sounds like, is behind him now. I’m still astonished that he was apparently diagnosed, treated, and in remission all basically within the time constraints of a between-season hiatus. It’s also incredible that despite what was apparently some aggressive treatment, his body is rocking my world every ounce as much today as when Keith first stripped him and threw him into bed in Six Feet Under. I love that he’s at it for one last season as the lovable serial killer, and he is most definitely a fan-pleaser with this fulfillment of so many unspoken promises over the years.
This, of course, fills up my tank of hopefulness again for so many of my unrequited lusts. Maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance that we’ll see someone unpack Mr. Joshua’s oversized baggage. Perhaps sultry stunner Rio Garza will, indeed, someday shock a cocky opponent with a picture-perfect flying drop-kick to the chin AND peel off his own sweaty trunks and stuff them into his opponent’s stunned mouth. Possibly, just maybe, I may even get that custom DVD I ordered from a wrestling fantasyman going on two years ago. Michael C. Hall let us take a lovingly long, lingering gander at his gluteus maximus… anything is possible!
My HWOTM pick is very late in arriving here at neverland, primarily because I was traveling for the first 2 weeks of August. That does not mean, however, that I didn’t have time to enjoy the cream of the crop of homoerotic wrestling new releases that came out in July, and to form my opinions about which wrestler worked me the hardest. I settled on one particular wrestler who is almost certainly overdue for the accolades here at neverland, but truth be told, there was another couple of boys who were absolutely chomping on his ass vying for the title. It was a hair’s breadth between them, but I’ll save my lauding of the runner’s up and stick to placing the laurel leaves atop the head of the wrestler who entertained me most in the July new releases…
Skip Vance has described BG East’sGazebo Grapplers 15 match featuring Ethan battling it out with Skip’s lover, Christian Taylor, as his favorite match of all time. I can understand why. It’s smoking hot. Both Christian and Ethan are in mouthwatering shape, with Ethan still sporting the bad mohawk that he earned in his Hairstakes match against my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler, Lon Dumont. The wrestling is intense, punctuated by the grunts and groans that few men can really fake with the type of sincerity you hear in this match. And, well, fuck, I’ve certainly had the odd (i.e., regularly recurring) fantasy of a vicious, barely clad heel beating the shit out of my lover during those moments when my lover is annoying me as only someone who knows me most intimately can.
Christian, a former HWOTM, puts up a highly entertaining performance, working that cold as ice, unflappable focus he has so masterfully. But it’s Ethan that has me laughing, gasping, and unzipping as he weaves an intricate, finely balanced narrative that unfolds like a favorite novella.
Ethan’s mouth runs pretty much continuously, as it does in most everything I’ve seen of his work. He’s got a sharp wit that cuts and slices at the ego strength of the long, tall beauty in front of him. Early on, he brings up Skip in his trash talk offense. And when it comes to Ethan, I mean “offense” quite literally. He makes no bones about his full on intent to offend, insult, crawl up under Christian’s gorgeous skin and fester like a rotting sore. He insults Christian liberally, commenting on the towering beauty’s less than stellar match record. But it’s when he insults Skip that I start to seriously appreciate the sexy-devious mind that has made many a fan before me line up right behind Ethan’s beautiful ass and cheer.
As I say, these boys wrestle with a heated intensity that not for a moment can be mistaken for anything other than homoerotic combat. There’s humor, laced with a strong overtaste of humiliation to keep it spicy. Ethan’s crotch bulges impressively from very early on. The banter and grappling and submissions scored on one another are transparently turning these hot young hunks on (not to mention this hot-not-nearly-as-young hunk on this side of my screen).
Christian is simply not up to the challenge of keeping pace with the intensity and focus of Ethan. There’s something almost “consuming” about the manner in which Ethan’s ripped bod wraps around his struggling opponent so fiercely. I’d say that he enjoys having as much of his body in physical contact with as much of Christian’s body as possible, but then again, there’s no need to say it. Just look at that lovely mountain hanging between his legs, particularly when he’s stripped to a totally impractical and somehow completely believable gear choice: a mesh thong. Ethan slowly reveals his master plan. Dump the twig, he advises Christian. Give lightweight jobber Skip the boot and make room in your bed for the likes of Ethan Andrews. He’s shown up not just to win a wrestling match, but to conquer another man’s lover and take what he’s won body and soul. Ethan is not just a homoerotic wrestling savant. He’s not just a ripped, hunky heel. He’s an unapologetic (hell, he clearly loves this shit) home wrecker!
We knew it. Christian knew it. Obviously Ethan knew it. Before this is all said and done, there was no way in hell that Ethan’s mouth would fail to be planted hungrily across the alluring lips of Christian Taylor. It’s Christian’s MO, I think. Opponent’s sign up for a match because, if they beat him, they can suck face with one of the most handsome hotties on the BG East roster. I imagine he must taste like mojitos… no real reason, just the look of satisfaction on the faces of opponent’s as they peel their lips off of his. Yes, it was destined to happen that, stripped to excellently minuscule thongs, these two would stretch out across one another, crotch grinding into crotch, pec to pec, Christian flat on his back and being owned by the relentless badger on top of him, before Ethan dives in and plants a long, lingering, lip smacking kiss on him. Fuck, I love that climax. It’s the perfect apex to a homoerotic wrestling story arc.
But it’s only after that point that Ethan suddenly grabs me by the balls and demands to be crowned HWOTM. Christian has effectively melted. “Submitted” is a polite term for it, really, because the way his body responds to being owned and tasted by mohawk stud, he’s completely ripe for the picking. Then Ethan smacks him around a little more and peels away. The smirk on his face as he looks at Christian’s prone body is hilarious. Like cruising a gay bar, he gives a I-had-that-fucker sneer toward bagged-and-tagged Christian and says that he’s changed his mind. He doesn’t want to take Skip’s place, after all. Now that he’s proven he can own Christian, Ethan announces that he’s ready to move on to his real prize: Christian’s lover Skip.
Fuck, that is a sweet, sweet story! There’s suspense, humor, rocking hot bodies and highly competitive mat wrestling with a through-story. Hello!? This was clearly so far up my alley that I need to dig my underwear out of my crack! Ethan plays it to perfection, controlling the pace, setting the fantastically erotic tone, toying with Christian’s mind and body and then really lowering the shocking boom by leaving the stud gaping open-mouthed as Ethan heads off to hunt down Christian’s bon-bon lover. Game, set, match! I’m still laughing; I’m still hard. Ethan Andrews is undeniably my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month. Nicely played, Ethan.