Tag: wrestling fiction

I Need a Hero

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My writing collaboration with AR started more than 8 months ago, and it sort of amazes me how strong it’s still going. My writing partner, who prefers to keep a low profile, is a delight to work with, and not just because his 3D artwork is scorching hot. He likes to tell himself that I do all the writing, but it’s not even remotely true. His words and dazzlingly sexy ideas are all over everything we’ve been writing together, and when he illustrates some of them, it’s just seriously delicious icing on the cake.

At one point, we were discussing if either of us ever fantasized about being BG East wrestlers like the ones we’ve both been turned on by over the years. The answer for both of us was “fuck yes, all the fucking time.” Which then morphed into a series of homoerotic wrestling stories we’ve been working on over the months charting the fantasy BG East career of a certain wrestling blogger who ventures into the ring and in front of the camera to put his relentlessly critical reviewer’s perspective to the test as a wrestler. I posted at Sidelineland Stories some “match descriptions” of this wrestling blogger’s first three matches, in a loving homage to the real BG East website that I’ve called my homoerotic wrestling home for so many years. Today, I posted what was actually the first BG East fantasyverse homoerotic wrestling story AR and I co-authored, which chronologically takes place after those first few solo matches for the blogger-turned wrestler. In this new match, he shows up with a hunky, newbie tag team partner to square off against the tag dream team that never quite was IRL, Joshua Goodman and Troy Baker.

I shared the story with another friend a few weeks ago, who teased me a little about writing myself as a babyface hero of my own homoerotic wrestling fantasy. If you’ve read enough of this blog, you know that I actually passionately love babyface heroes. A lot. It probably should come as a surprise to no one that I’d cast myself in that role in the rough and tumble world of a BG East fantasyverse. If you read the story (and the upcoming ones that continue to chronicle the adventure), you’ll see that the protagonist is NOT a jobber. I feel like somewhere over the last 15 years of blogging about homoerotic wrestling, the role of a babyface hero who isn’t a jobber has somehow disappeared from public discourse. EVERYONE has been reduced to being either a jobber or a heel, and, frankly, I think it’s a loss of depth of the homoerotic wrestling universe. I wanted my fantasy avatar to walk that line again, tough, mean even, but not a heel. Let me know if AR and I struck that chord in Tag Team Torture – Bard/Strong vs. Goodman/Baker.

And if you know me, you KNOW I love a story arc and character development, so don’t be surprised if you see this fictional blogger turned BG East star evolve!

New Year’s Eve

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Good stuff happened for me this year, personally as well as in terms of my creative attention on homoerotic wrestling. In terms of homoerotic wrestling, I started the year thinking that this would be the year of me exploring hot, erotic wrestling in graphic format. And I did, indeed, have a lot of fun doing that. Drawing really took me back to adolescent moments when I sketched out hot muscle men in a secret notebook that I (literally) hid under my mattress as a kid. I saved those old sketches for years as a young adult, but sadly, in one move or another among a whole lot of moves in my adult life, I lost them. I’m (obviously) not a trained visual artist, but there was something sweetly satisfying about drawing my lusts again, older, wiser, and somehow every ounce just as horny as I ever was!

I did NOT plan on this year being a year of returning to writing homoerotic wrestling fiction. But sharing my drawings, as nerve racking as that was, led to connecting up with AR on Deviant Art. Honestly, when he first suggested that we collaborate on something new, with me writing and him illustrating, I groaned just a little inside. I hadn’t really written anything original and new, of my own creation, in years. I’d totally lost steam for it, and, frankly, a lot of that had to do with not getting much feedback from readers about it. Creating for my sake is meaningful, but I discovered years ago that it wasn’t enough to sustain my effort to get back on the keyboard and keep writing. So when I told AR that I was “open” to the idea, I was more than a little skeptical. But then a couple of things happened.

The first thing that happened that turned me on was seeing AR translate an image directly (I mean DIRECTLY) out of my imagination and into 3D rendered art. Holy shit! That is incredible! And his eye is just so fucking nuanced and amazing. I literally keep a shrine of AR artwork now, that I visit every. fucking. day. And it amazes and titillates me endlessly!

The other thing that happened that really sent the second half of 2022 down an entirely different path than I’d expected was getting detailed feedback on my homoerotic wrestling fiction as I’m writing it, and finding AR‘s observations and suggestions incredibly on point. Sometimes, I’ve put myself out there, and I know that there a few hundred viewers seeing a blog post or reading a story, from the page counts. But it can be fucking lonely and discouraging to hear nothing but the echoes of my own voice. I’ve sort of doubted if what I’m writing has much meaning to anyone else, but fuck that no… working with AR has been amazingly validating. I’m writing again because it’s so fucking fun. Some of what we’ve been writing is likely never to be posted or published, and I’m incredibly happy with it because I’m creating and enjoying the act of creation so much!

Not that I won’t post anything, mind you. I posted the first couple of end-products of my collaboration with AR on the new Producer’s Ring Reborn archives, which was another highlight of 2022, beginning to transfer the old library of stories form the defunct Google site platform to a new one. I’m looking forward to sharing more of what we’ve been up to with a broader audience in 2023, so watch here for announcements about new stories, new artwork, and new awesome expressions of passion for homoerotic wrestling that I share with a lot of you.

Oh, and getting comments by man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams has GOT to be the other surprise highlight of the year. Scott continues to tease me that he wants a test drive of the quads I’ve been building especially for crushing his head. Maybe 2023?

I hope 2022 was as enjoyable and creative and validating and titillating for you as it was for me! Oh, and remember to vote in the 2022 BGE fan poll. I was, once again, on the nominating committee, so send me all your hatred and resentment for the field of choices, and then get your ass back over to BGE and vote anyway, like you know want to! If you need any suggestions, just ask. I ALWAYS have opinions, as you know.

Fine Art

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Fuck. Me. I just posted a new post here, and somewhere after I pressed publish, everything that I’d written disappeared. What. the. fuck. Now, I’m sort of pissed that I need to compose this entire post. Let’s see. What was I saying? I’m sure that I said that I’m deeply grateful to AR for inspiring me get back to composing words about homoerotic wrestling, both in terms of this blog, and in writing new homoerotic wrestling fiction.

I’m pretty positive I suggested that you should check out the newest addition to the Producer’s Ring, which is a sequel to the illustrated match AR and I posted a couple of weeks ago, when Ryan Gosling faced off against Timothée Chalamet. I’m sure I was more eloquent the first time, before I started having to shove down my irritation at technology and the vicissitudes of WordPress, but the new match, in which Baby Goose shows back up to square off against Jake Gyllenhaal this time, is even more brutal than the last match.

I’m certain I waxed existential about the alchemy I’m enjoying in co-creating this text/graphic art combination. Knowing me, I’m sure I also mentioned that AR’s images of Baby Goose’s ass-in-jeopardy keeps turning me on like a light switch.

I probably mused about the way the total of our words and AR’s graphics make the final product so much more than the sum of its parts. But the real take home message is that you should jump over to the Producer’s Ring, settle in for some extended time in the Focus Group, and bring a towel to wipe off with as you read the illustrated homoerotic wrestling fiction in this newest addition to the archives. Oh, yeah, and I mentioned that I don’t have a way for you to comment on the stories directly, there in the archives, so you should let us know what you think in the comments here and/or on Twitter.

And finally, in conclusion, fuck technology.

Producer’s Ring

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My work life kicks into high gear in a few days, so I’m trying to take advantage of the fleeting moments of summer to transfer some more matches from the old Producer’s Ring archives to their new location.

I continue to half-anticipate something more cringey about re-reading my old homoerotic wrestling fiction, but I keep surprising myself. I mean, it’s seriously dated. The first matches I wrote are about 12 years old now, so, it’s evident to see the march of time putting the Hollywood hunks I was obsessing over into context. Like, I was such a HUGE Heroes fan. HUGE. I still have a fast-twitch instant erection at Adrian Pasdar’s name, and that’s even after listening to The Chicks Gaslighter album a couple of hundred times in the past year and a half, where Adrian’s cheating ways get aired out with such excellent musical accompaniment. So, little wonder that I was so into picturing who would win a no-holds-barred homoerotic wrestling competition between Milo Ventimiglia and Sendhil Ramamurthy, also Heroes stars. The world has moved on, but it’s fascinating to get transported back to that moment when Milo and Sendhil seemed like the perfectly sexy, obvious pairing. And I did not remember what a seriously brutal match that was! Despite the way their careers took shape in the intervening decade, I still stand by my picture of who would obliterate whose ass.

It took me half a beat to even remember who the fuck Hunter Parrish was when I was transcribing a couple of his stores. Oh, right, I was up to my armpits in Weeds at the time, and feeling way, way frustrated at the cocktease that Hunter Parrish was, playing an emerging adult with mommy issues. However, I had no problem at all placing his opponent, Teddy Sears, who continues to strike a chord in my crotch every time I get a glimpse of him, almost always in some supporting role, looking so fucking fine! I don’t know if I even know any friends IRL who would even recognize the name Teddy Sears, and here I am, self-appointed president of his homoerotic wrestling fan club, instantly hard when I see him in a new role, preferably playing a gay character or someone in a throuple. The match between Hunter and Teddy was always going exactly one direction, and STILL, I was delightfully surprised and aroused re-reading where my mind was those years ago.

And then, it’s no wonder at all that I had to toss Hunter back into some action, because, let me explain again, he was such an epic, major league cocktease! I was seriously working some shit out in Hunter’s second match, facing off against Ben Godfre in the first Secretarial Pool match, which, now that I think about it, later evolved into an elimination tournament to select the newest member of Eli Brody’s elite executive team, with blog readers weighing in. Fuck, what a stroll down memory lane. Fuck, I loved those hunky executive assistants hard! Fuck… Ben Godfre! This, all before Ben hoisted his spectacular full monty freak flag for the average joe, like me, to see that he’s even kinkier and sexier than even my overactive imagination was picturing!

And finally, for this update, the first Major Domo match. As I remember it, the Major Domo stories emerged from my serious, certainly obvious crush I have ALWAYS had on the main character in the Producer’s Ring universe, West Coast Titan Eli Brody. Eli is in almost every story, but he’s pulling strings and typically fully clothed in business suits. Writing him so much, I quickly developed a crush, and I ached to see Eli do more than just sit back and watch, though, honestly, there’s something super sexy about a knock-dead gorgeous beefcake in a suit sitting back and watching two nearly naked/naked hunks ripping into each other. But I digress. The Major Domos took the action to Eli’s living room, and were built on the premise that, on rare occasions, Eli involves himself personally in providing… let’s say, “career advice,” to struggling hunks.

I hope that pulling these stories from the homoerotic wrestling fiction archives tickle at least some of you just right.

And just because I feel compelled to say “I told you so,” I just wanted to point out that low-key genius artist AR immediately sent me a humble disclaimer of all of the praise I heaped on him in my last pose. Seriously, that guy is freaking brilliant, and ridiculously humble. Send him some love at his DeviantArt profile, and tell him that I sent you. It’ll drive him nuts.

Will Breaker

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AR is genuinely low-key genius when it comes to his eye for homoerotic wrestling. One of the unexpectedly fun aspects of my recent collaboration with him, co-creating with me my first illustrated homoerotic wrestling fiction, was the particular give and take of the creative process. At times, I’d take the lead with some text, describing the scene, detailing a hold, scripting the dialogue. Then, like half a day later, AR would have created a 3D image in astonishing detail of that moment that had, just hours earlier, only existed in my mind’s eye. At other times, he would craft an image of a hold or a plot point, and then I’d write the text through the middle of the lane markers that he so skillfully generated for the story. It was a very cool creative process that we’re already investing in replicating.

One of the coolest moments in the creative process of putting together the Focus Group homoerotic wrestling match, featuring Ryan Gosling and Timothée Chalamet, was near the end of our work, when AR asked if we were missing a beat in the narrative. We built this moment in the plot when one hot, hard hunk is at the brink of despair, and AR asked the perfect question, of whether the action we’d constructed sufficiently and convincingly shoved the poor, gorgeous fucker over that edge. It was AR’s idea to add one more hold to fully justify the way the story unfolds, and he was the one who suggested that we use the Will Breaker.

Charlie Evans in the Will Breaker in Ring Rookies 5

I know this hold from Charming Chase Addams’ matches, and from having enjoyed the opportunity in the past to hear Chase talk about the development of the hold, and his creative process in coming up with the name for it. Chase is an innovator, and a passionately devoted student of the science and art of pro wrestling. The range of holds in his arsenal is pretty fucking incredible, particularly when I think about how ridiculously young and pretty he is. (Not that being pretty has anything to do with it. I just wanted to mention how pretty Chase is.)

Kirk Donahue in the Will Breaker in Florida Fights 7, winner of 2018 Best Submission!

I don’t think I really fully appreciated the complexity and beauty of the Will Breaker until it came time for me to try to describe, in words, one homoerotic wrestler applying the hold to another. Like, fuck, the words fail me! I watch him do it, mind you. It’s not like some mystery that happens behind a curtain somewhere. The spotlight over the ring allows no slight of hand or smoke and mirrors. I watch him do it, and even still, it’s fucking complex and nuanced and mysterious!

Tiko meets the Will Breaker in Chase’s Wrestler Spotlight Collection.

AR suggested something similar in his creative process of constructing a 3D render of the hold. He mentioned needing to painstakingly place each limb and joint, because there are no software shortcuts to create something like that. It’s not a position the human body was meant to easily slip into, or to endure for very long, so shaping a 3D rendering was, as I understand it, a significant challenge. And, thus, I repeat myself when I say that AR is a low-key genius. As soon as I publish this post, I’m going to get an email from him, humbly insisting on a disclaimer from my praise, but don’t believe him. He’s fucking brilliant.

Chase is, obviously, brilliant at what he does, as well. He’s not low-key about it, though. Chase knows his own genius, and he strips down to nearly nothing, climbs into a wrestling ring in front of a room full of cameras and microphones, and does magic like this that makes me gasp.

Christian Taylor gets the Will Breaker in Chase’s debut, in Tag Team Torture 19, Best Ring Match and Best Overall Match of 2016!

Anyway, I’m appreciating today these two young geniuses with such a passion for the science and art of homoerotic wrestling, of one fierce hunk taking possession of another, crushing one man’s hopes and dignity, and handing his body entirely over to his opponent. In their own ways, AR and Chase both get it, so deeply and fully!

Richie Douglas reaches Will Breaker perfection in Ring Wars 32, Best Ring Match and Best Submission of 2019 (see a pattern!?)

Producer’s Ring

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Holy shit. It’s been about 14 years since I first started posting celebrity-themed homoerotic wrestling fiction, in what I came to call the Producer’s Ring. Suddenly, I feel old. Honestly, though, I feel sexy, too, so if this is growing old, I’m all for it.

Back to my original point, however. If you’ve read these pages recently, you’re aware that I resurrected the old Sideline Stories archive, and rescued it from Google purgatory, by beginning to transcribe the old stories there to a new site on the updated Google platform. I’m not sure how many more reinventions I’ve got in me, if/when Google decides to sunset this version of Google Sites in the infinite search for appearing innovative and relevant. However, I’ve been painstakingly reconstructing Sidelineland Stories (reborn) here, and having a good time of it (and happy to receive comments on the stories on the pages of this blog).

First republished Sidelineland Stories matches were in the Brothers in Arms Series.

I’ve been planning on doing the same for the Producer’s Ring archives, as well. Producer’s Ring actually predates the Sidelineland Stories archives by a couple of years. Producer’s Ring was an obliviously ambitious effort at world-building, setting dozens of homoerotic wrestling matches in an alternate universe where, more plausibly than in this universe, homoerotic wrestling contests break out all-the-fucking-time. The setting also allowed me some mental freedom to write my favorite celebrity crushes into the action, because if you haven’t cottoned on, I’m mentally composing homoerotic wrestling scenarios constantly IRL. I’m thrilled to report that I’ve begun the transfer from the old Producer’s Ring group site to a new site, available for your perusal without the annoying bit of me curating a membership list. I’m still sort of waiting on the other shoe to drop with pulling down the members-eyes-only wall, but so far, I’m willfully carefree and enjoying the rebirth of these old stories that I loved writing, and am surprised by how much I’m loving re-reading. I’m doing my best to keep my editing hands off of the old material, even when I find it cringy. I’m relieved that none of it has been all that cringy at all for me, but I’m sorely tempted to correct errors, reduce the repetitions, use more evocative metaphors. I’m doing pretty well at restraining myself, in the interest of letting the historical record stand on its own feet (not sure that absolutely anyone else in the world would ever give a flying fuck, but it’s meaningful to me). Check out the first re-mastered (with such a light hand) matches from the Producer’s Ring here, and you can find a portal in the Sidelineland Stories archives too, for your convenience.

The first Focus Group match I ever published (now re-published): Daniel Craig vs. Christian Bale

To really bury the lead, let me finally get around to explaining why I accelerated the Producer’s Ring reboot. An artist at Deviant Art approached me to collaborate on a project. Low, and behold, he’s an old Producer’s Ring reader, and it was his idea (I swear!) to collaborate on an illustrated version of a brand new Focus Group match. In honor of that, and to give the new illustrated version a place to land, I’ve started by posting some of the original Focus Group matches. I’m so stoked with the fun of working on this, my collaborator working up artwork as I generate text. It’s going to be sexy as fuck, and I’m going to be incredibly proud of it, once we get it put to bed. Hold your breath, because we’re both pretty fired up with getting this puppy finished up! Details to come…

Breaking Shane

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The first two chapters of Shane’s Big Break got rave reviews from Bgklmangler, so I put a rush on re-posting the next two chapters to my new homoerotic wrestling fiction archive, Sidelineland Stories. I’m a sucker for praise (feel free to manipulate me, now), and truth be told, I’m really pleased to rediscover these stories that I wrote more than 10 years ago. And I’m really, really pleased/pleasured by how compelling I find them, even in hindsight (which often makes me cringe when looking back at old work).

Shane

While the first chapter was a fun thought-experiment between me and Bearhugs (Bearhugs writing chapter 1, and then seeing what I’d do with chapter 2), I grew seriously attached to the characters and the backstory of Shane and his old high school classmate, Neil. So, both of these next two chapters were all mine, and I set out to complicate Shane’s world in a way that might set up still more chapters to come. In chapter 3 (“Home Town Hero”), Shane returns to the ring before a roaring crowd wanting to see him do them proud and make up for the squash he suffered at Neil’s hands the week before. He’s lined up to wrestle a lightweight rookie, a former champ, who willingly puts Shane over and whips the home town crowd into a frenzy to see their old high school quarterback make good.

Lightweight former champ, Mikey

But this is pro wrestling, so get ready for a healthy second helping of melodrama, when heel-turned bodybuilder and former “friend” Neil interrupts Shane’s virginal victory celebration to, quite literally, wipe the mat with him all over again.

Shane’s nemesis, Neil

Honestly, I love Neil (holy fuck, am I a heel-fan after all!?). I’m infatuated with the new character, Mikey (nope, nope, I’m still a sucker for a babyface). And for some reason, I love/hate, love hating, Shane, and I do not grow tired of watching him (in literary fashion), with the taste of victory just brushing his palate, have glory slapped out of his mouth, humiliated all over again. If you read chapter 4 (“Scores to Settle”), you may sense my ambivalence about poor, poor Shane. Let me know what you think. I’ve sworn off writing new fiction for a while, while I enjoy doing some graphic adaptations of my homoerotic wrestling fiction, but damn it all, if I don’t seriously want another couple of chapters in Shane’s Big Break. Where do you think the story could take us next?

Shane’s Big Break

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One of my favorite unintended consequences of sharing my thoughts about homoerotic wrestling for just anyone to read about here, is the opportunity it’s given me to collaborate with other like-minded men. As soon as I started posting the products of my homoerotic wrestling imagination on this blog, and in the pages of my homoerotic wrestling fiction, I began getting contacted by gay wrestling fans with burgeoning imaginations of their own. I think it was a sexy Swede named Swito who was the first to co-write a piece of homoerotic wrestling fiction with me. We fell out of touch, but still to this day, I get a little extra hit of excitement when I see someone from Svenska logged on here (fuck, I love the Swedes).

Shane, who has no fucking clue

After I started writing my original homoerotic wrestling fiction, set in the Producer’s Ring universe (I swear, I’ll be reposting those stories in a new Google Site soon), and my first collab with Swito came about there, I started the companion site (Sidelineland Stories), expressly to encourage new writers and maximize the opportunities for more collaborations. I’ve completely lost track of the writer Bearhugs (yo, Bearhugs!), but he challenged me to “finish” a story he started, starring a washed-up, former star high school quarterback, who reconnects with an old classmate who gives him the opportunity to break into the local pro wrestling fed. Bearhugs wrote, and I posted, the first chapter, in which Shane finds out just how far old high school friendships can stretch in his first pro match.

Neil, who’s overdue for a heel turn

Then it was my turn. Bearhugs challenged me to write what comes next. I’m not sure that Bearhugs was picturing things going the direction that I took them, but fuck it, that’s the beauty of collaborating with other homoerotic wrestling fans, isn’t it? I decided to twist the straight up squash job into a homoerotic wrestling after-show. It’s populated by you, and me, and a handful of other serious homoerotic wrestling fans, with cash burning a whole in their pockets and a local wrestling company happy to recruit their wrestlers to do what it takes to earn that money.

Sometimes, I sort of dread re-reading things I’ve written in the past. My writing evolved and, frankly, improved over time, and some of the early stuff trips me up with obtuse descriptions and clumsy exposition. But I’m genuinely happy, and just a little proud, to report that I really enjoyed recently reacquainting myself with Shane and his colleagues. Like, seriously, I enjoyed it A LOT (and then rehydrated). Bearhugs picked the only two images I have for this story, so there are limited graphics to accompany your imagination. I have half a mind to put this in the cue to draw in comic format (let me know what you think).

So, now, the first couple of chapters (Bearhugs’ story 1, and my “what happens next“) are posted to the newly launched Sideline Stories reborn. Thanks, Google Sites, for making me re-discover the good, bad, and ugly of my homoerotic wrestling fiction history, as I migrate materials over to the new platform. There are two more chapters (another pro match, followed by the after-match drama) that I plan to post soon, because fuck it if they don’t make me seriously happy, as well! I hope they bring you at least a fraction of the pleasure that they’ve brought me. Take a read, and let me know what you think in the comments here.

Seriously, Cleaning House

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I’ve had a slow start to my day. It’s taken me a while to recover from an exhausting day yesterday. One of two scenarios played out for me yesterday. I’ll let you decide which is fact and which is fiction:

1) Moments after I posted my plan to clean house, Arthur Napiontek knocked at my front door. Adorable Art was dressed in khakis and a sleeveless t-shirt, and he carried a bucket of soaps and rags with him. I was once again struck by those gorgeous boulders for shoulders he has. He wore a sly grin as he asked, “Where would you like me to start?”
When there was another knock at the door, I was standing in the kitchen with a bourbon, watching Art as he scrubbed the floor on his hands and knees. Watching his khaki-clad ass swing back and forth as he scrubbed, I think it required a another, louder knock at the door to break me out of my reverie. “Keep scrubbing,” I told Art as I padded off.
You guessed it: upon opening the door I was greeted with the stunning form and ridiculously handsome face of Greg Plitt. Greg was in very low-rise jeans squeezed around those tree-trunk thighs and muscle butt. Like Art, he wore a sleeveless t-shirt, showing off his tremendously thick arms. He caught me staring, slack-jawed, at his bulging biceps. With a cocky grin that told me he knew the effect he had on mere mortals, he said, “I heard you could use some help with some heavily lifting.”
As I promised you, dear reader, once both of these cleaning hunks had arrived, my agenda for the day changed dramatically. I called Art over to join us in the living room, and we pulled all the furniture out. I told the boys I’d like to see some arm wrestling with those guns they were both packing. Greg rolled his eyes dismissively as he looked at Art’s model-perfect body. I had both hunks stretch out on their stomachs on the floor. Art was sincere as hell, but when I said, “Go,” Greg just played with him a few seconds. Art’s face turned almost as red as the hair on his head as he strained against Greg’s astonishing power. Greg chuckled, letting Art gain an advantage. Art had the back of the big man’s hand a half an inch from the floor when Greg finally stepped on the gas pedal and slammed Art’s hand hard to the floor as if Art was a child.
Art was embarrassed, but no less enthusiastic when I suggested a two-on-one. Greg looked up at me, sizing me up for several seconds, and then he took another assessment of Art. Finally he shrugged, smiled coyly and accepted the challenge. I stretched out on my stomach shoulder to boulder with Art. Greg planted his elbow on the floor and held open the palm of his hand. I grasped his hand in mine, though truth be told, his hand pretty much swallowed mine whole. Seriously, I had not appreciated how huge his hands are! As he squeezed my hand, I could feel the irresistible power coursing through his arm. Frankly, I’m no slouch, but I was quickly convinced that I’d do no better than Art in a head-to-head. But when Art placed the palm of his hand against the back of mine and wrapped his fingers around Greg and my grasped hands, I could also feel Art’s strength coming to a focus. I thought at that moment that Greg may have bitten off more than he could chew. Through gritted teeth, I grunted, “Go,” and Art and I slowly began to press Greg’s arm backward. The bemused smile on Greg’s face quickly faded, and he pursed his lips in concentration, finally halting the progress of our advantage. Every ounce of strength I had was pouring through my shoulder and arm. My hand felt like every bone was about to be crushed, but when I saw a bead of sweat pop out on Greg’s forehead, I knew we had him. I was sure Art saw it too, because I felt a renewed rush of strength pressing against the back of my hand.
All three of our arms were quivering with exhaustion after several seconds of our stalemate. I was past the point of exhaustion, really, but I was determined to see this muscle god in front of me suffer a humiliating defeat. His arm gave a fraction of an inch suddenly, and we held the back of his hand a mere three inches off the floor. One more burst of energy, and I was certain we had him.
But then, Greg began to growl. His face grew flushed with effort as he continued to clench his teeth. The growl was deep and fierce, and I simply could not believe that he was pressing both Art and my hands backward. It was slow going, but after a few seconds he’d wiped away our advantage completely, and our upper arms were perpendicular to the floor once more. Greg’s sustained growl continued as he forced our hands backward. My wrist was in excruciating pain, and I closed my eyes to concentrate everything I had left into resisting his power. We kept losing ground though. I opened my eyes and stared in awe at Greg’s gargantuan, flexed bicep, bigger than a grapefruit. The back of Art’s hand was finally pressed to the floor with me still staring at Greg’s awesome bicep.

Greg’s face opened up in to a wide, confident smile again. He flashed his pearly whites, as all three of us gasped, our arms numb. “Nice try, boys,” Greg said. He moved to pull his hand away, but I grabbed our grasped hands with my free hand and held tight. Art dove on top of Greg, spinning around and hooking his forearm across the big man’s throat. Greg tried to reach for Art’s arm, but I pinned his forearm to the floor underneath my chest.

It was over quicker than I’d expected. Greg was unconscious in little over a minute. Art and I tied his wrists over his head to the banister of the stairs (reinforced for just such an occasion) a few minutes later, after working hard to hoist his massive hardbody off the ground. Art stripped out of his khakis, then proceeded to strip Greg’s jeans off of him. We waited a few minutes, catching our breath, until finally Greg roused again.
I couldn’t get the image of Prometheus Bound from my head, as I grabbed Greg’s t-shirt by the front of the collar and ripped it off of him. He initially struggled against his bindings, but once he was convinced he was trapped, he just looked into my face with that domineering grin. I took my time, feeling up and down the length of his muscled body, now dressed only in very brief bikini underwear. Typically I’m not really into underarms, but I was irresistibly drawn to lick both his lightly hairy, sweaty pits. His salty taste on my tongue, I stepped back and gave Greg a wink.
Art stepped forward at that point and stripped out of his t-shirt. Like Greg, he was now encumbered only by his white briefs. “Start slowly,” I told him. Art flexed his fists, as he tilted his head, examining Greg’s armored core. Realizing what was on its way, Greg lifted his chin and taunted, “Give it your best shot, kid.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Art and I trading turns on our Prometheus punching bag. Impressively, it took over an hour before Greg was really showing the effects of our blows. Another hour after that, his head was hanging low and the once powerful god was whimpering his submission.
Art and I untied Greg. You might imagine there would be hard feelings, but trust me, no one was left unsatisfied by this session. In fact, freshly showered, the three of us were on the couch finishing off a leftover bottle of champagne I had in the fridge from the celebration the night before.


OR….

2) I spent all afternoon cleaning the house, exterminating dust-bunnies, polishing off even the tops of cabinets and picture frames, until the whole place gleamed and smelled lemony fresh.

I’ll let you decide which is fact and which is fiction. I’ll just say that by the end of the day, I was seriously exhausted and thoroughly and totally satisfied with the day’s adventure.
Oh, and Art says to say “hello” to everyone.

Battle of the Gods, continued

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I’m sure it’s just me, but once again I notice that just days after SteelMuscleGod posts a muscle worship video, Adam400m puts one up. They probably don’t realize it, but they’re engaged in some fierce body-on-body competition in my imagination, and the tide may be turning once more.
SteelMuscleGod has posted a bald-face appeal for worshippers to bid on a private show somewhere in Europe. Snarling his pitch, SMG strips off his body-hugging top and gives a brief preview of what could be yours (to lease) in person. With his stunning upper body, the last time I had pictured it, I imagined SMG barely enduring a long, tortuous body scissor from Adam400m, relying on those rippled abs to prevent him from suffering serious internal injuries. Then SMG clamped on a dizzying headlock, followed by a bearhug, before finally wearing Adam down to his knees and commanding the Brit to worship him.

Taking a look at Adam400m’s post of a leg workout and posing session (complete with unabashed body worship by the cameraman), has made me reconsider if these two warriors are, in fact, done with their battle. I’m imagining that just as Adam is tracing his tongue across SMG’s washboard abs in seeming surrender, his eyes flicker open, finally catching his breath and coming back to his senses. Continuing to worship SMG into his own distracted reverie, Adam licks his way up to the crevice between SMG’s thunderous pecs. Just as SMG’s deep, husky voice fades into indistinct moans of pleasure, Adam knees him in the crotch, doubling his opponent forward.

With SMG clutching his assaulted balls, Adam shoves his opponent’s head between his gargantuan quads and squeezes. His legs flash hard and striated, the veins rising to the surface, as SMG’s screams of anguish are muffled between Adam’s upper legs, each one as thick as SMG’s waist. SMG’s body is shaking and convulsing in muffled sobs as he slowly drops to his knees, frantically trying to pull his opponent’s legs apart enough to pop free his head.
Adam slowly grinds his hips in tight rotations, his abdominals constricting in waves like a python. The irrepresible, cocky confidence of the SteelMuscleGod is reduced to sobs of pain as he tries punching his fists into the slabs of beef crushing his skull. The punches have no effect other than to bruise SMG’s knuckles. “When gods are brought to their knees, it’s time for them to do some worshipping,” Adam says, a light chuckle in his voice.
Again, I’m just saying…