Brooklyn Bodywrecker has come up in a few different conversations with a couple of different people recently. Originally, I think I didn’t key off on BBW when I was first discovering homoerotic wrestling online, primarily because of my own stuff. There was something intense and intimate about the way he would growl into the camera and taunt me, like, personally. I mean, I know he was taunting all of the fans watching, but there was this intimacy about it, about his questioning my toughness, his calling me names, his threats to do bodily harm to me like he was beating the living fuck out of the opponent in the ring with him. I’ve come a long way in my feelings of security about myself, and along the way, I grew to really love that fierce intimacy BBW struck with every opponent and fan watching from this side of the screen.
When a friend asked me just the other day something about X-Fights 10, I had to admit I hadn’t seen that gem from, what, 22 years ago? I was told in no uncertain terms that I needed to rectify that situation. And, hell, now that I’ve watched X-Fights 10, I’m berating myself for having waited this long! This will not surprise regular readers, but holy fuck, do I love a through-story. And there’s this seamless, insanely sexy simmering, to boiling, to exploding evolution of the first match of X-Fights 10 into the second match. Literally, the through-story is Yves Larocque, who gets thrashed and terrorized by champion ring sadist BBW, and then dumped in the matroom for the “undisputed superstar of the SM underworld, Donnie Russo.” Honestly, at first glance, I was seriously hot and bothered by the gorgeously nasty heels. But about 3 minutes into his match with BBW, I absolutely fall in lust with deer-in-the-headlights Yves! The still photos do NOT do this hunk justice. Holy fuck, is he the compelling leather-harnessed lamb to slaughter!?
BBW explains to me, personally, at the start of this match, that Yves is one of the countless BGE fans to write in asking for a shot at his heel crush, BBW. Apparently, Yves wrote that he’s got two wishes on his bucket list. 1. Meet BBW. 2. Beat BBW for the championship. Seriously, fuck, where has this French Canadian hunk been all my life?! The balls on this guy!!! And I say that well before lovely Yves gets his cock and balls lassoed and tortured by BBW. And, let me just make it clear, all that’s BEFORE the superstar of the SM underworld gets his go at the lucky fucker.
I sort of adore those early moments in a match when BBW gets rocked. Just a bit, of course. Yves does it in an inspired defensive maneuver. As he’s getting the shit beat out of those lovely, juicy pecs of his in the corner, he wraps his thick thighs around BBW, locks his ankles together behind BBW’s back, and crushes the bad boy. The drama is so fucking gorgeous. BBW keeps making a move to pound more forearms into Yves’ pecs to free himself, and each time, a split second before the blow rains down, Yves flexes his big, hairy quads hard enough to paralyze the nasty heel and suck the power right out of his threatened blow. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard someone credit BBW’s sell on the receiving end, but damn it all, he deserves it.
BBW is blunt force trauma. The moves are huge and straight forward. He repeatedly splashes his big, hairy chest into his battered, fading prey. He sprints corner to corner, to build up momentum, and, clearly, to terrorize the French Canadian with balls of steel. He very deliberately sets up a camel clutch so that the camera is staring down the throat of the screaming muscle hunk in his grasp. A chinlock isn’t sufficient. Just too fucking subtle for BBW. So, instead, he wraps his bulging right bicep across Yves’ throat and chokes him in the camel. Again, too subtle, so he also starts bouncing up and down, using Yves’ lower lumbar like a trampoline. Again, I say, it’s still too FUCKING subtle, so BBW then tries to rip his handsome face (despite BBW’s insults about Yves’ looks) right off his skull.
“You want to send a letter,” BBW asks me, personally, (I mean, the camera). I mean, fuck, the camera work here… Yves is literally not in the frame, his face slammed to the mat, but we hear him whimpering and wheezing and grunting in panic and pain beneath the champ. “Tell me how you’re going to smash me. Tell me how you’re going to squash me.” As BBW taunts me (personally), you can hear Yves whimper, and I swear to the homoerotic wrestling gods, openly cry in terror, as BBW grabs him by the hair and yanks his head up and into the frame. “Then, this face could be yours! Hey mom and dad, look at your pretty boy,” he snarls, slapping him in the face. “We’re only just beginning here,” BBW explains to me (personally), as the camera pans back. “This is just the start. The massacre is just starting.”
Yves eventually gets planted on top of the turnbuckle, and an “X marks the spot BBW took your fucking ass” shaved into his thick hairy pecs. BBW cleans off the shaving cream with the g-string he rips off Yves’ suffering, hot (did I mention HOT?) body. His own g-string pouch tied across his face, his cock and balls leashed, and every fucking ounce of dignity stripped from him, Yves is planted by BBW him across his back, screaming, twitching, and weeping as he’s carried around the ring like BBW is just picking up the trash. Finally, the heel hoists Yves’ naked ass over one shoulder and walks him out of the ring room, to hand-deliver him to Donnie in the mat room.
Woah. These days, I’m enthralled with the very same thing that sort of terrified me early on. BBW is talking directly to me. He’s taunting me, personally, challenging me to reconsider my fantasies of going toe-to-toe with the big, bad heels in the ring. The immediacy of this match, what, 22 years later, is so palpable. So, a send-up to BBW, and to all the army of his fans who still fantasize about what he’d do to them in the ring, these years later. And please, please, please someone send my very best to lovely, hairy, hunky, naked (hopefully still) Yves. We hardly knew you, buddy, but you were stunning!