The Big Bad Wolf is Back

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The Big, Bad Wolf

Having documented my instant infatuation with Thunder’s Arena’s newbie sensation Wolf, I ponied up for a second helping of the big slab of beefcake. Testing the theory that two great tastes taste great together, I settled on what appears to be Wolf’s debut match, staring down Thunder’s current It-Boy, June’s Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month, smooth, seductive, sexy Marco.

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Marco stares at Wolf’s crotch, and, I believe, Wolf’s crotch stares back.

Rough & Ready 59 is classic Thunder’s Arena mat wrestling. Wolf is awe inspiring in nothing but those outstandingly over-stretched baby blue and white trunks that never quite successfully manage to cover the muscled expanse of his ass cheeks. Marco is packed tightly inside his lime green and dark blue very briefs and also wearing black wrestling boots. Visually the two are a stunning study in contrasts.  Wolf is 5’11” and listed at 225 pounds, all muscle. Marco is 5’8″ and weighing in a much more mortal 180 pounds, similarly all muscle, just leaner, less massive.  Wolf is groomed just like I like him, his torso and traps covered in tastefully, but not aggressively trimmed hair, whereas Marco is lickably smooth. Wolf has a full, sexy beard unable to disguise an adorably baby face and tantalizing lips. Marco has a few whispy whiskers on the tip of his chin, looking like I did when I was 15 and working on coaxing my peach fuzz into a manly need for a razor. The side by side has already written a fantastic homoerotic wrestling narrative before the boys even lock up. Now, if only they can pull it off…

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“I bet your boyfriend lays his penis right here.”

Marco brings his fearless homoerotic trash talk and slaps it down instantly, calling out what you and I have been entranced by from the start, Wolf’s “big hairy tits here.” He even cups the low hanging meat playfully, suggesting that Wolf’s genetics give him almost feminine proportions. Noting the astonishing separation between Wolf’s hairy pecs, Marco presses the side of his hand between them. “I bet your boyfriend lays his penis right there,” he says. He tauntingly wonders out loud if the big rookie has a vagina. Misogyny and mention of the female anatomy can throw cold water on a steamy set up for me, but the supposition is so patently ridiculous, it merely serves to call my attention to Wolf’s pouch. You can see the outline of the head of his cock, stretching to the right like it’s eager to make contact with the gorgeous young pup paying so much attention to Wolf’s bod.

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Marco is man enough to pay some attention to his opponent’s magnificent physique.

It’s that explicit attention paid to his opponent’s clearly impressive body that makes Marco such a sensational storyteller on the homoerotic wrestling mats. If he’d tried to ignore this magnificent specimen of muscle in front of him, if he’d not mentioned Wolf’s remarkable pecs, his stunning overall fitness and mass, this would turn the burner on low like so many homoerotic wrestling matches do. But Marco is always so fucking secure in his own masculinity, so pleased with his own awesomely aesthetic proportions, he doesn’t give up an ounce of raw sexiness to pay abundant attention to his opponent’s physique.

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Wolf looks like he likes what he sees.

Now here’s where rookies far too often drop the ball. Marco calls him out for having a boyfriend (let’s call it an involuntary outing rather than a homophobic locker room taunt, because there’s a lot more obvious homophobic crap in the industry than this). He draws attention to the rookie’s pecs, fondling them even. He speculates about what the newbie is packing in his trunks. So many rookies just can’t handle that heat. It unsettles them. They act insulted, threatened, turn the narrative to having to defend their masculinity from the homoerotic implications. But fuck yes, Wolf just smiles like he’s eating this shit up. Far from needing to turn to violence in the face of the erotic subtext, I get the impression that the big man just can’t wait to get his paws all over the young pup poking him with a stick. There’s a lot more eagerness than defensiveness, more hunger than anger about the rookie’s response. He’s game, goddamnit! I fucking love this guy!

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“You like that, boy!?”

The rookie suddenly grabs hold of his opponent and drives three solid, swift knees to the pretty pup’s gut. He throws the veteran babyface to the mat, and with Marco lying vulnerably on his stomach, the big bad Wolf straddles the kid’s tiny waist and applies a nasty arm bar.  “You like that boy?” he asks, shoving the kid’s face into the mat. Holy fuck, I’m already pushing pausing and rehydrating!

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Marco dangles his meat in front of the hungry Wolf.

The narrative is one of a middleweight, very dangerous amateur pro with a ton of homoerotic pro experience putting his speed and technique up against the jaw dropping mass and power of an inexperienced rookie. Happily for me, this is not a squash by any definition. The boys trade riding time. Marco luxuriates in shoving his balls in the rookie’s face in a gorgeous schoolboy pin, but the newbie puts in the time to work his way free and return the favor, delighting in demanding to know how his crotch smells after skipping last night’s shower. “That’s right,” the rookie crows with a grin stretching ear to ear, “the big bad Wolf is going to put that in your face!” He tugs at the top of his own trunks, like he’s just barely restraining himself from yanking out his cock and dick-whipping Marco’s beautiful, trapped face. Absolutely, Marco controls the pace overall, but there’s an impressive sell from the rookie using his mouthwatering, grade A beef to muscle the kid into some sweetly vulnerable positions.

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“That’s right, the big, bad Wolf is going to put that in your face!”

When you’ve got a 45 pound weight advantage, clearly one of the most effective offensive tacts to take is to just fucking sit on your opponent. Again, showing the newbie’s got an impressive presence of mind, he does this often. After one sexy scramble of limbs, Wolf finds himself sitting on Marco’s lower back, facing the kid’s feet. Marco tries to squirm free, but Wolf wisely lets gravity do the work for him, leaving him plenty of time for the rookie to play bongos on the kid’s gorgeous ass. He laughs with pleasure that seems to be less about being a sadistic fuck, and more about an honest, raw delight in the opportunity to take liberties with the power packed muscle kid.

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“Mmmm, you like that, don’t you?”

There’s a second narrative, a sub-plot, if you will, that starts to change the tenor of the match about halfway through. The big, hairy, muscle beast of a rookie seems more and more hungry to take possession of his opponent’s hotly muscled young body. Personally, I think this is the perfect response to Marco’s opening homoerotic head games. He stokes the beast with talk of impressive muscles and speculating about what’s stuffed inside those trunks, and after a while of trading intimate holds, grinding muscles together, shoving each other’s faces in crotches, the big bad Wolf is licking his lips. At one point he has Marco trapped between his legs, the muscle kid’s ripped abs stretched backward, his pouch bulging beautifully. Wolf murmurs, as if startled to realize how erotic a wrestling match can turn, “Mmmmm, you like that, don’t you!?”

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“Look at that ass right there.”

A little later, he’s got Marco trapped in kneeling head scissors. The kid grunts and squirms, but have you seen those fucking massive thighs? He’s not going anywhere. Wolf stares down at the kid’s body with that look of hungry pleasure. “Mmmmmm,” he coos, “look at that ass right there!” Of course we’re looking at that ass, but more importantly, so is Wolf!

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“Yeah, I gotcha now!”

He flips Marco on his back and, I kid you not, sits that magnificently muscled ass squarely atop the kid’s trapped, sensationally smothered face. The plot could be all about dominance, which is of course a favorite narrative of ours. This moment could be punctuated with withering taunts about what a weak piece of shit the veteran is, so helplessly stuck in such a humiliating predicament. But Wolf stretches his hands forward and tells a totally different, 100% homoerotic tale, beginning to eagerly stroke Marco’s six-pack abs. “Yeah, I gotcha now,” he coos, his eyes following his hands as they stretch down to Marco’s thighs, squeezing, stroking, and then gently cupping the kid’s pouch.

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“Look at these fucking muscles right here. I like these!”

I’m not sure if Marco saw this coming. Remembering how much attention Marco paid earlier, the rookie smothers his face for days between those epic, hairy pecs. Near the end of the match, standing in the middle of the mats, Wolf takes advantage of controlling the kid from behind. Someone more focused on the competition might have sealed the deal then and there with a big, bulging bicep pressed across the kid’s carotid artery. But between Marco’s homoerotic taunts and the intoxicating elixir of sweaty muscles and adrenaline, Wolf just strums his finger tips down his opponent’s washboard abs. “Look at these fucking muscles right here,” he murmurs like it’s pillow talk, brushing his palm across Marco’s pouch again and feeling the kid’s strong upper quads. “I like these!” he announces unnecessarily. He kneads Marco’s sweet pecs in his big hands, playfully pinching the kid’s magnificent nipples. “Yeah, you like that?” Marco replies a little breathlessly.

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Marco puts down the big, bad Wolf.

The end of this story is abrupt and a little jarring. Wolf gets sleepered out cold (sort of), and Marco stomps off leaving all of the homoerotic tension just lying there. I’m left wondering if all of Marco’s infamous security in his own sexuality and masculinity may have been tested farther than he’s been tested before. He didn’t have nearly the sweet, game retort he typically has. He just puts the beast down and walks away.

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Marco flexes over his prey.

Kudos to both of these studs. They not only lived up to the hype and promise, they far exceeded it. Particularly the big bad Wolf brought something that I’m just unaccustomed to seeing on the Thunder’s Arena mat. If there’s any justice in this world, wrestling producers will be relently throwing sensationally hot pretty boys at this gorgeous, hairy beast, feeding his obvious hunger to explore just how erotic wrestling can be.

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Who’s next!!!?

The Big, Bad Wolf

It’s been a while since I’ve settled in with a Thunder’s Arena match, but several promos and teasers from their new releases have been grabbing my attention hard. My first toe dipped back in the Thunder’s pool was sampling seriously big, beautiful, hairy Wolf.

The Big, Bad Wolf – 5’11, 225 lbs.

“So this is the big bad wolf, right here,” Braden Charron checks out the rookie.  “That’s right,”  Wolf replies, just a little awkwardly, with just a slight tinge of stage fright in his voice. “You’ve got size. Some good definition,” Braden concedes. But the veteran muscle hunk is leaving so much more unsaid. Wolf is visually striking. Thunder’s promotes him as 5’11, 225 pounds. And those numbers, too, don’t come close to describing this handsome stud. The full beard, receding hairline, tastefully but not aggressively groomed body hair all over his torso, even a light coat across this bulging traps and upper back, place this rookie in the hyper-masculine end of the homoerotic wrestling pool.

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Wolf’s hands fondle his package as he checks out his preening prey.

His massive muscles do as well. His pecs are incredibly thick, meaty, and astonishingly separated. His armored core screams out for a load of laundry, and from behind, his back tapers gorgeously into a tiny waist placed aesthetically atop incredibly, massively, beautifully built glutes. Honestly, a hiker could get lost for days in those mountains! His thighs are proportionally thick and powerful, and then there’s the most prominent bulge of all, his cock and balls cinched up tight and pulled slightly away from this body by that particular style of pouch-accentuating square cut trunks. Delightfully, the rookie can’t seem to keep his hands off his protruding crotch. He seems somehow both slightly distracted by the push-up pouch and, at the same time, thrilled by it. He persistently gives it gentle tugs. He delicately cups his balls absent-mindedly in the middle of posing, wrestling, and even as he’s being sleepered out cold near the end of the match. Top to bottom, Wolf checks off all the boxes in a made-to-order fantasy man gladiator.

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The prettier a rookie is, the more he has to pay his dues. Hypermasculine Wolf is just pretty enough.

Braden has been a fixture in most corners of the homoerotic wrestling scene for what seems like a long time now. From his early days as a Randy Blue cam boy, Braden has come (and cum) a long way. These days, I’ve seen him most often cast as a seasoned, albeit narcissistic muscle pro who has picked up enough experience to be a serious competitor. Personally, I think I like him better as a dumbstruck physique star who can’t quite believe how easily his enthusiastic opponents take delighted possession of every inch of his mouthwatering body. In his Thunder TV confrontation with Wolf, Braden isn’t a heel, by any means. Through some rough scene cuts, he slowly ends up in the driver’s seat, though, muscle bullying the hypermasculine rookie with authority. He comes across to me a stern tutor, taking the inexperienced newbie to task relentlessly, doing his best to tip the scales of justice toward experience and beauty. An unwritten rule written in the pro wrestling stars is that pretty rookies must pay their dues. Hot, hairy, hunky Wolf is just pretty enough under all that hair to have to suck down some humbling from the veteran here.

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Wolf hungrily licks his lips, sliding into place to take the muscle boy from behind.

The star of the show for me, however, (other than Wolf’s phenomenally meaty ass) is the hairy rookie’s newborn homoerotic wrestling character. That initial awkwardness I sensed when Braden strolled onto the mat is quickly replaced by an aggressive, hungry, baby heel attitude that thrills me. As Braden condescendingly gives him muscle posing pointers, Wolf slides in from behind and locks on a luscious full nelson to interrupt the veteran’s lat spread. “You’re too slow!” the chuckling muscle rookie crows. “You’ve been around too long! It’s time for me to take care of the competition.”

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Wolf laughs heartily after using Braden’s balls for a punching bag.

Just to drive home the point that Wolf is a baby heel at birth, he delivers a completely unnecessary rake to his opponent’s eyes. He smirks and struts, happy as fuck to hear his bodybuilder opponent grunt and strain against the rookie’s bigger body. Wolf likes the hurt. He enjoys the control. He somehow swells bigger and badder as he swarms all over the smooth, beautiful veteran’s muscles. Thunder’s says there’s only 3 inches difference in height, but fuck it if the big, bad wolf doesn’t completely dwarf the gorgeous, muscled Ken doll under his spell.

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Wolf in charge.

A minute in, and I’m hooked on Wolf. Cockily, he lets his prey go and flexes his gargantuan guns, consciously turning his back on his dangerous opponent, confidently challenging the popular muscle boy to try to reach up (up, up) and just see if he has the height to cinch on a full nelson, the legitimate muscle to maintain the hold, the fucking balls to enter the fray again with this sensational newbie.

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Wolf likes the direct approach to countering a headlock: a swift, solid punch to the balls.

Like I said, Braden’s learned a few things in his years of getting his bubble butt beat. He slaps on a side headlock and cranks hard, dragging the rookie to his knees. He absolutely milks it, like he’s trying to squeeze a glass of orange juice out of Wolf’s skull. The veteran chides the newbie for celebrating too soon, for strutting too boldly, for sticking his dick out too far. And telegraphing absolutely nothing at all, Wolf jabs his fist hard into Braden’s low hanging balls!

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Something just looks so right about the Big Bad Wolf riding his screaming opponent’s muscled ass.

Oh, fuck, yes. The rookie doesn’t just trash talk, either. He narrates. “You gotta be careful,” he offers the veteran some unsolicited advice. “You got too comfortable,” he smirks.

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Braden shows off the show stopper.

I assume this match will be released in its entirety at some point, but what’s on Thunder’s TV cuts awkwardly to a bearhug challenge. More precisely, to Braden locking on a deep, hard bearhug on the hirsute hottie. Whatever the lack of choreography, I can see why this had to happen, and why the TV version quickly cuts to this hold: because Wolf’s ass is mind blowing!  Captured, suspended, his lower back slightly arched in agony, those sensational, massive mountains of gluteus muscle take my breath away.  As strong as Braden is, he clearly reaches exhaustion and flings the rookie to the mat.  A few seconds to catch his breath, though, and he scoops Wolf back up in his arms, the rook’s prominent pouch sandwiched tightly against Braden’s lower abs.

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That looks like just too much muscle man for you to manage there, Braden!

The remainder of the cut and paste clips are of Braden completely in control, Wolf with nothing left to offer even the most minimal defense. The rookie’s bulging muscles sweat and glint beneath his fur. I get the impression he’s meant to be a vision of cocky muscle made impotent, but even in utter defeat, I’m not quite buying it. Braden struggles to hoist the huge beast across his shoulders, and even as wide as Braden’s boulder shoulders are, Wolf just looks like too much man, too much muscle, just fucking too, too much for me to believe that he’s completely tagged and bagged.

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I can’t quite forgive Braden for closing his eyes.

Braden lifts the wasted newbie upside down, squeezing Wolf’s skull between his knees, holding him there a couple of sweet seconds before delivering a piledriver. The top of the rookie’s head hits the mats. All of that magnificent, hairy muscle flops down, twitches a little, and then lies still. Braden flexes in victory overtop of the felled Wolf, but my eyes are riveted on the hairy beast flat on his back.

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Pass me the baby oil!

I’m lighting a candle, burning some sage, and pouring out a shot of whiskey in offering to the homoerotic wrestling gods in prayerful hope of several things for young, handsome, hairy Wolf. First, I’m hoping that as soon as I can get my hands on his tussle with Rough & Ready 59, I will discover that last month’s homoerotic wrestler of the month, Marco, brings the sexy right out of the tantalizing rookie. Second, I’m praying that Wolf will grow into a full fledged muscle heel someday with a lust for explicit, sexual domination. And third, and closely related, I’m pleading to get to see Wolf’s ass unleashed, to see that epic physique in all it’s glory wrestling naked, to see every last inch of this hypermasculine gladiator bearing down like a force of nature on some lucky son of a bitch who will pay for the mistake of facing down this beast by enthusiastically and unapologetically worshiping every hairy bulge.

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On your knees, bitches!