Hungry Like the Wolf

One of the things about wrestling for BGEast is you do have to be careful before your match–jokes can be taken seriously. Back in the day, people used to send me gear–or give it to me in person, before match–that they thought would look hot on me; they usually wanted me to have pictures taking wearing the gear. Someone sent me a ridiculously skimpy pair of trunks, and during the what shall I wear portion of the pre-match with Lobolito I came across them in my big bag o’gear and jokingly put them on and showed them to the Boss.

And that’s why, in Masked Mayhem 3, wrestling Lobolito, I was dressed like this.

The trunks were clearly not meant for anything other than posing in them; after the match they were incredibly sweaty, and the gold was coming off just from being wet. I washed them by hand in the sink, and a lot more of the gold came off. So, they went into the garbage. They were a bit on the revealing side, don’t you think?

I  didn’t realize just how revealing they actually were. Yes, I’d posed in them before, but I didn’t realize they were little more than straps, a small pouch in the front, and a butt-crack cover in the back. A little more revealing than I would have liked, to be honest.

Sigh. Then again, I became a masked wrestler because I sent the Boss a picture of me in a mask as a joke…so, yeah, be careful when you make a joke with the Boss!

Lobolito, the ‘little wolf,’ actually challenged me, if you can believe that. He saw my tag match in Masked Mayhem 2, and somehow got it into his head that not only could he beat me, he could take my mask. I’m not sure why he got such a hard-on for me and how I was ‘debasing’ the tradition of masked wrestlers (his words, not mine)–please not he did not come for either the Enforcer, the Marauder, or Muscle Mask, all of whom were wearing masks before I was–but hey, I’m always game to give some cocky punk a beat down.

 

I mean, seriously. You want a piece of me?

Bitch, please.

A Puma Pounding

In his write-up of my match with Mitch Colby over at the Sidelineland blog, Bard mentioned that he’d never seen me become aroused by being beaten; that I’ve taken abuse rarely from my opponents–just enough for people to know it’s happened before, but not enough to be memorable. I suppose that’s true in a way, but one thing that has always been true about me, and my approach to wrestling, is that I am always looking for the stud who is going to dominate me, beat me down, put me in my place and make me suffer…and if you can’t do it, I am going to make you suffer.

I do love beating and dominating a sexy man, of course; who wouldn’t? But I also love the thought of being dominated, controlled, made to suffer and beg and plead for mercy.

Puma did leave me writhing in the corner of the ring at one point.

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Unfortunately for Puma, he didn’t finish me off. I was able to get past the pain he inflicted on me, get back up, and take the pain right back to him like the little muscle bitch he was.

And once I smell blood, you’re pretty much finished.

I abused him, smashed his balls, tossed him around like a tackling dummy, and finally finished him off with a sleeper. I emasculated him and took his mask.

And it was time for me to have some fun.

It was a great time.

Pretty in Pink

I mean, seriously, look at him!

I have to say, though, he looked pretty great in the squares he came out in to begin with.

In all seriousness, though, what wouldn’t he look good in? His body is perfect, isn’t it, the muscles all defined and properly proportioned, those perfectly shaped pecs with those lovely, sexy nipples…the abs, and I cannot think of a way to improve on that ass.

My engine was definitely ramped when I came out of the locker room and saw him in the ring, waiting for me.

I also would have never guessed that he was taller than me, even if it’s slightly. I think he was pretty, um, happy to see me as well…I wanted to beat him down and make him mine.

My lust is often coupled with a desire for dominance, and I love nothing more than manhandling a sexy young thing like Puma/Rafe…the mask, the squares–more to strip him out of, you know?

But you have to be careful not to get overconfident. Always. You can’t get distracted by how hot and sexy your opponent is, even if you think you’ve got the situation under control.

And who knew he had a mean streak in him? I should have known, having seen his earlier matches. Fool me once!

And I was screaming out an agonized submission before I knew it!

Some Blatant Self-Promotion

So, the BGEast annual Bestie awards ballot has been posted, and my match with Mitch has been selected as a finalist in two categories: Best Mat Battle and Sexiest Match.

Of course it was.

You can go vote for me and Mitch here. Don’t make us fucking hunt you down, because we will.

I mean, what could be sexier than me and Mitch? What mat battle could have been better? Everyone else should just withdraw, of course, since they can’t compete.

Seriously.

 

It just don’t get better.

Why Pumas Are Endangered

So, you can imagine my thrill when the Boss told me I was scheduled to wrestle Rafe Sanchez…and not only that, he wanted to wear a mask–which meant that not only was I going to kick his ass, I was going to take that punk’s mask away from him once I’d beaten him into submission.

Thinking about it made my dick hard.

I also got into what was probably the best shape I was ever in for a BGEast taping.

 

I mean, fuck.

Right?

You can see why I fucking loved those red trunks.

And just seeing him in his masked glory…well, yeah. FUCK yeah.

And then we met in the center of the ring.

Dat azz.

 

Beautiful Boy

As I said, Rafe Sanchez just oozes sex appeal. Watching him wrestle in person, his sexy body growing slick with sweat just a yard or so from where I stood with my camera, was an incredibly enjoyable experience. One of the things I liked about him was that, despite his lithe, lean muscled frame, he had no problem taking on guys who had a definitive size advantage over him, like Vlad Varek and Mitch Colby.

Vlad and Mitch also had a titanic battle in the ring of their own; Vlad towered over Mitch, which is no small feat. So, sexy young Rafe was giving up a lot of size to Vlad, but somehow managed to hold his own before going down to a bruising beating in the ring with him, on Ring Rookies 1.

And then, if that wasn’t enough, he got on the mats with Mitch Colby–and I can tell you now, from experience, that son-of-a-bitch is strong. But again, despite giving up some early falls to the bigger man, Rafe got some vengeance–and he enjoyed making the big man submit to him, before going down to defeat (Mat Hunks 9).

You’ve got to love that.

He also embraced the erotic side of wrestling, getting down and dirty with Billy Lodi in Catch Weight 3.

Peter Stallion, the beautiful eastern European stud, and Rafe also got down and dirty in Wrestle Worship 1:

And then there was his sizzling match with Sebastian Rios, X Fights 32: Caribbean Oil.

Yup, I needed to get in the ring with this punk.

Dream Boy

I’ve been asked many times over the years about my ‘type’; i.e. guys I am sexually attracted to. I’ve always thought it was a silly question; I’m attracted to all kinds of different guys, in all different shapes, colors, and sizes. I can’t really define what I find attractive in another man; it’s an amorphous thing, something you can’t really put your finger on and say, that’s what it is. Sure, a great body doesn’t hurt; but what is the proper definition of a great body? I was weaned on professional wrestling in the 1970’s, so the common body type of pro wrestlers from that period has always turned me on…and with no disrespect intended to those men, or men who are built like them, they aren’t exactly appearing on the cover of Men’s Fitness, are they? There’s an indefinable something, tho, that all the men I am attracted to have. I can’t say what it is; if it’s just a certain type of pheromone they emit (but that also can’t be it, either; since sometimes I see guys on videos that drive me wild with desire–some of the BGEast classics, like Cruze and Jose and Greg Leary and Dante Rosetti come to mind–or on television, so it can’t be pheromone driven always. Maybe it’s electricity, or chemistry of some sort; who knows? Whatever it is, it’s just there.

Take Rafe Sanchez, for example.

Seriously. Look at that face, that warm, adorable smile. You just want to take him in your arms and hold him, don’t you? And the lean, tightly compact, defined body? Those erect, quarter-sized nipples, just aching to be tweaked, pinched, nibbled? That line of muscle from the center of his chest to his navel, just asking for a tongue to be run down it?

Yeah, the first time I saw Rafe I wanted him, desired him; wanted to get in the ring with him.

I was there for his first matches for BGEast; not only did I work in front of the camera and write website copy, I also photographed a lot of matches with the still camera. I photographed his first matches, and I think I wrote the copy for the website. It wasn’t easy taking pictures, aware of the growing desire inside my pants.

So, so beautiful, and that smooth skin. Everything he wore played into and amplified his sex appeal. He was effortlessly sexy, and also off the mats, was a very nice guy. But when he got on the mats or in the ring, there was a surprising fierceness to him, a competitive edge that made him even sexier to me.

And dat ass.

I mean, fuck yeah.

And even better, Rate didn’t have a problem with nudity, or exploring the erotic aspects of wrestling….

Seriously, what wasn’t to lust after?

Star

Looks like Bard over at Sidelineland finally picked me as Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month again…although just like the last time, I have to share the honor. No worries; both wrestlers I shared the title with are hot as fuck, so I can’t really complain. Of course, this had everything to do with the Mitch match on Motel Madness 14, although I have to admit, I figured he’d pick Mitch since he’s been such a fanboy for so long.

You can read it here. 

Ah, Bard, one of these days we’ll get in the ring together.

Here’s the write-up of the first time I shared Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month.

Ringside at Skull Island also had some good things to say about the Mitch match, as well: Joe’s write up is here.

Here’s a little wayback Wednesday; the start of a story called “A Cowboy’s Work is Never Done,” that was originally published in an anthology called How the West Was Done.

The story was inspired by a BGEast wrestler…as were so many of my stories.

I’ve always had a thing for cowboy wrestlers.

To me, there was absolutely nothing sexier than a man in cowboy boots and black trunks climbing through the ring ropes wearing a pair of black leather chaps and a black leather vest open to show a powerful chest. They were always bad asses—tough stud who always took apart some pretty boy with ease. And there was no one sexier than Top Rope’s Big Bill Tucker. When I first discovered Top Rope’s website (“gay oriented wrestling!”), the front page had a huge picture of Big Bill, dressed exactly as my ultimate fantasy man: a tough sneer on his handsome face, a curly mullet dropping out from under his black hat, one black clad boot up on the lower rope in the corner, in his black trunks and black leather vest. The trunks couldn’t hide the huge bulge; I clicked through to see the match write-up and the pictures of him just taking a handsome muscle stud named Donnie Brooks apart—and the smile on his face showed just how much he enjoyed destroying the good looking young stud. I ordered the tape, and it was one of the hottest and sexiest matches I’d ever seen—Big Bill left Donnie crumpled and broken in the middle of the ring, stripped of his trunks, his big muscular bubble butt up in the air justb begging to be fucked by the big man. But Big Bill didn’t fuck him. He just tucked Donnie’s trunks into the front of his own, growled at him, and then climbed through the ropes and walked out as the camera faded to black. I ordered every tape that had Big Bill on it—and there were a lot of them over the next few years. No matter how much I hoped for a money shot, though, there never was one. Big Bill never took off his own trunks (although he always stripped his beaten foe out of his), and never did anything sexual with the loser. And then, there weren’t any more tapes with him. Like so many others, he’d apparently retired. And while Top Rope always introduced new studs, there was never another cowboy star.

 Apparently, Big Bill broke the mold.

After I went to work for Top Rope, I’d asked the Boss about him, but all I got was a shrug. “Last I heard, he was living in Dallas. He was supposed to come up and tape for us, no-showed, and he stopped returning calls or answering emails.” The Boss had shrugged. “It happens. We were sorry to lose him.”

Yup, I always had a thing for Big Clint Morgan. Day-um.

Vogue

Who doesn’t love gear?

I know I do. As RuPaul said, “we’re all born naked and everything else is just drag.” Part of the fun and eroticism of wrestling is the thrill of the gear; even if it’s just a thong or a speedo, if it’s the boots and pro trunks and pads and the whole ball of wax.

These were the first–and only–pro trunks I had made specifically for me. Both sets of trunks are actually mine; and those black boots were the first pair of actual pro boots I ever owned. Lacing them up the first time was a huge turn-on for me; almost as big of a turn-on as climbing into a ring for the first time. Here I am, wearing them for the first time:

The vast majority of my gear was purchased on-line, either from eBay or at various wrestling gear sites, like Highspots.

I loved gear, and I loved buying gear; I loved trying it on for the first time. And some of my gear wound up being worn by other wrestlers at BGEast–because I always brought my big bag o’gear with me every time I went to a taping.

Of course, BGEast has the most amazing collection of gear. Sometimes I wore theirs instead of mine. This was my  absolute favorite pair, which also looks fucking amazing on Kayden Keller:

I fucking love those red trunks. I should have stolen them, but then if I had, we wouldn’t have the treat of seeing sexy Kayden wearing them. Damn, he is a sexy boy, isn’t he?

And here’s Rees Wells and I wearing the same pair of trunks. How on earth we could fit into the same pair of trunks is beyond me–the kid is lean and trim.

Speaking of Rees, here we are in the same white speedo.

They don’t exactly fit us the same way, do they?

Likewise, these USA bikini trunks don’t look quite the same on me as they do on Bobby Horton:

It’s also amazing how different you can look in the same gear, at different times, based on facial and body hair.

Okay, I’m also a little leaner on the left. But it also has a lot to do with lighting and poses, too.

You can also look dramatically different from one video shoot to another on the same day. Believe it or not, both of these portraits were taken on the same weekend:

Pretty amazing, huh?

One last shot for you before I am done for today:

Have a good one, bitches.