There's a new catalogue up for sale over at BGEast.com, with some matches that have gotten my dick's attention. Always nice to see what new talent the Boss has found as well. I kind of have a thing for this Beauxregard dude who takes on Twink Extraodinaire Ty Alexander in a new X-Fight.
Smokin' hot, no?
It's funny how tastes change the older you get, isn't it? I remember when I was a gay twink, and the leather daddies made me nervous. Now I think they're hot as hell, and whenever I see one I want to get in the ring with him.
I hope Big Beau isn't a one-and-done wrestler; one of the things that's been missing from the catalogues is the leather daddy heel stud.
Then again, it's not easy to fill the shoes of the Brooklyn Bodywrecker.
Or, for that matter, Big Clint Morgan.
I never got a chance to wrestle Big Clint, but always wanted to. He was, to me, the epitome of a type: the redneck Southern heel. He was also a BIG fucking man. Day-umm.
I did get to wrestle BBW--not on film, but privately--and it remains one of my favorite private matches.
Big Beau looks like he might have what it takes to fill those big shoes....but I guess I should wait and see the match first.
Some of you like to see me suffer.
Can't say that I blame you; I suffer beautifully.
Look at that stretch! Nice, right?
Bear hugs are also something I enjoy being on the receiving end of--I like to feel just how strong the poor bitch who got in the ring with me is.
After all, just a straight up squash, where my opponent just gets beaten and beaten and humiliated, can get boring for me.
I'm also insanely flexible, so it's always nice when the bitch gives me a nice stretch.
Gotta give the Russian mad props--he stretched my back beautifully.
I've never really understood why Alexi couldn't close out matches. He had it all--great body, mad skills on both the mat and in the ring, and he was a strong motherfucker. And yet...he always wound up getting his ass kicked. Go figure.
He also enjoyed hurting his opponents, and got off on being dominant.
Hmmm. I might need to watch that match again....
What is a wrestler without gear?
I'll be honest, I never really understood the fascination some wrestlers had with gear until the very first time I put on a pair of pro boots.
I remember sliding my feet into them, fixing the tongue so it was right, and then slowly working the laces through the eyelets, pulling them tight each time, making sure the laces remained the same length, the way the boots caressed my feet, my ankles, my calves. By the time I tied the laces into bows and tucked them back inside the boots, my dick was completely hard, and I was sold.
I knew I had to own a pair, and the sooner the better.
And the first time I put on a mask? I practically came in my trunks.
Christ, just thinking about it makes my dick hard and my nipples erect.
I used to travel a lot for work, and I always tried to make sure I got in a few matches everywhere I traveled. I can honestly say I only had maybe a couple of matches I didn't enjoy, and I can also honestly say no-shows was never a really big problem for me. Not every match wound up being sexual in nature; some were just straight up wrestling. Others....well, wrestling always made me dick hard, and if my opponent was also aroused, well, things tend to happen.
I was so into gear that I wasn't so much into having nude matches. I didn't have a problem with ending up nude during a match, but I really liked the gear. That was part of the fun for me. Then, a stud I'd been talking smack with on-line for several years and I finally were able to hook up for a match....and he wanted to go nude--me in just a mask, him completely naked. I kind of wanted to start out in gear--there's something rather erotic about stripping your opponent out of his trunks, and then choking him with them, shoving them in his mouth, and then leaving him broken, sweaty and battered, drenched in his own cum with some of mine mixed in for good measure--what was I talking about? Oh, yeah, nude matches.
But I've always been kind of a live and let live kind of guy. Someone wants to work me over? Sure, I can go for that--but you have to make me believe. For private matches, I always let my opponent decide on the kind of match and what I wear and so on...and I really wanted to wrestle this guy, so I finally said, sure, nude is fine, I'll come out in just a mask.
It was, without question, one of the hottest matches I have ever had. My God, we fought for hours, and that match is still the gold standard of my matches, bar none. The two rematches we had, while also incredibly hot, weren't as hot as that very first one.
Which just goes to show you--my mentality of going along with my opponent's idea of a fantasy match is pretty smart, really.
And if you are like me, and wrestling in general is a turn-on, you really can't go wrong.
I still have never wrestled nude in a ring from start to finish.
I've always been a leg fan.
You can't have a great ass without having great legs. It's simple. When I was a personal trainer, I was always stunned at how many gay men would be all about the arms and chest and would be more than willing to skip Leg Day. To be fair, I get that--Leg Day completely sucks, and I dread it more than any other workout of the week.
But I can't look like this by skipping Leg Day.
When I first got interested in wrestling, my favorite hold was the scissors--whether across the waist or around the head, I was all in for that. When I first started looking for other wrestlers on-line, my screen name was Scissorstud (which also caused some hilarious confusion; more than once someone thought I was a hair stylist).
Even now, it's my favorite hold to apply and my favorite hold to be put in.
Of course, applying them is even more dick-hardening for me.
I love flexing my leg muscles as my victim squirms and begs for mercy as he struggles to breathe...
Yeah, that's a good time for me, what can I say? And while I can appreciate chests and arms and backs and shoulders and abs, if the legs are skinny and there's no ass...don't waste my time, bro.
Austin Cooper, for example.
Also, there's the jaw-dropping round hardness of the ass belonging to Kid Karisma.
And of course, Cameron Matthews...who should be modeling underwear for Calvin Klein.
Although I have to say, probably the greatest leg match ever filmed by BGeast, with tons of scissor holds and vicious scissor brutality, had to be Scott Williams vs. Brad Rochelle. it's an old match, but a classic.
Brad Rochelle, of course, was physically perfect.
Williams was no slouch.
And the match was sweaty, nasty, and brutal.
In fact, I think I need to watch it again.
I fucking love comebacks.
I'm not talking about comebacks in a match--which are incredibly hot, too--where one wrestler gets his ass used to mop up the ring or the mats before rallying to win the match. I'm talking about wrestling stars who go away and then return. This has happened at BGEast a few times; a wrestler is in a bunch of catalogues in a row for a year or more before vanishing from the arena...then comes back triumphantly several years (or more) later.
When I first went on-line and discovered the BGEast website, one of my favorite heels was Joe Mazetti. I was a huge fan. He had a great attitude, beat the crap out of people, and that body. Damn.
I think the first match I saw him in was with Mike Columbo (another brick shithouse of a wrestler, with a boyish face and muscles on muscles on muscles; sometimes he heeled, sometimes he jobbed--Joe turned him into his bitch). Joe was also one of the few studs at BGEast willing to do a heel vs. heel match; he took on Cole Cassidy, among others.
Joe almost always wore black trunks--low rising and resting right on his hip bones. But he looked good no matter what trunks he wore, like these red ones.
And that body! Jesus F. Christ, that body. I mean, look at that ass, as he beats the shit out of beautiful Justin Pierce:
So, you can imagine how hard my dick got when I saw that not only is he BACK--after being gone way too long--he is also looking hot as ever:
He doesn't look that much older, frankly.
And he's taking on li'l muscle tank Biff Farrell....
Can't wait for this DVD to arrive.
Hmmm....wonder if Joe could unmask me?
Domination. Who doesn't love it in one form or the other--being dominant, or being dominated? If you're into pro wrestling, you generally prefer one over the other--hence jobbers/heels.
Then there's wrestlers like me--always looking for someone who's got the balls to dominate him, and always being sadly disappointed.
That's not true, really. I love pro wrestling, and it doesn't matter who I am fighting, or where--it can be in a ring, on mats, in a motel room, wherever--it always gets my dick hard and I am ready to go.
It also doesn't matter what kind of gear is involved--but anything involving pants or shirts doesn't interest me. Singlets are okay--as long as the straps are going to get peeled down at some point. I also don't mind no gear at all--some of my hottest matches were nude ones.
But there is something about putting on boots and knee pads.
And there's something about a ring, too. Don't get me wrong. I love any match anywhere, but the ring? The ring is something else.
I think part of my draw to pro wrestling has always been that it was, when I was a kid, one of the things that first awakened my sexuality. Watching those men, usually in trunks and boots (sometimes tights and singlets; I never liked that quite as much), and sometimes with big bellies and almost always hairy, stirred desires inside of my young body.
Bruno Sammartino was an especial favorite of mine.
I loved watching Bruno wrestle. I loved seeing the sweat glistening in his chest hair, the way he could make his pecs bounce.
My earliest fantasies about boys I was attracted to were always about pro wrestling; I used to write wrestling stories, using guys I was attracted to as the wrestlers, and even came up with an entire pro wrestling promotion, with tag teams champions, light and heavy weight champions, tournaments, feuds, everything. Pro wrestling was entwined so intricately with my sexuality that it was sometimes difficult for me to differentiate the two.
And then I got to live out my childhood fantasies.
The last few years, I've not had the time to devote to it as I used to. This year, that is going to change.
Just thinking about it gets me hard.
Happy New Year, bitches! Did you get what you wanted for Christmas?
Did all you jobber bitches get the heel of your dreams under your tree?
And what about you heel wannabes? Did you get a nice jobber toy to play with?
What am I looking forward to in the New Year? Making jobber fantasies come true, for one; being more faithful to you bitches here; and I am writing another Cage book. It's overdue, and I haven't even written any damned wrestling stories in way too long.
So, stay tuned, bitches.
I'd never realized how large a part gold trunks have played in my wrestling career.
I've worn gold to wrestle for BGEast twice; against Lobolito and then again against Jobe Zander. The bikini I wore to destroy Lobolito was something I never thought I'd ever wear in an actual match for BGEast; as I mentioned before, as I was doing my pre-match fashion show for the Boss to figure out what to wear, I jokingly put those on--never wear something as a joke unless you're prepared to wear them for the cameras--and I have to say, skimpy as they were...they looked great on me in the video.
Let's face it. I look great in anything, really.
If I'm not wearing gold, sometimes my opponents do. First was Goldenrod--who was dispatched rather easily.
But then the Boss decided to have me break in another rookie, one who went by the name of Gold Mantis. Ask yourself this: would you have said no to this?
I mean, seriously. The body was quite beautiful, the ass magnificent, and the bulge definitely tasty.
Nah, couldn't say no to that, really.
I wanted to get my hands on him so bad I didn't even wait for him to get in the ring.
To be continued....
My, it's been awhile. Sorry about that, bitches--the day job and the other me have been swamped and basically working nonstop for way too long. I haven't forgot about you bitches, just haven't had the time to get on here and give you an entry that was worthy of ME. I've been toying around with another book by Cage, but like I said, Other Me has taken too much of my fucking time lately.
And that pisses me off.
When last I left you bitches, Lightning Rod and I were in the ring with Stinger, whose partner chose wisely not to show up. (If Stinger had half a brain, he would have taken that chance to bail as well, but he didn't have half a brain, and even more stupidly thought he could take us both on at the same time.) Ordinarily, I am opposed to such obvious mismatches--hell, me taking on Stinger by myself was a mismatch, since I had about forty pounds of muscle on him--but hey, he insisted, and who am I to deny a hot little muscle boy a beating when he's asking for one?
Insisting on one, in fact.
And my adrenaline was up, so was my dick, and there's this hot little boy mouthing off on the other side of the ring....so why not let him be annihilated?
Then again, if I let everyone back out of their matches with me when they actually are face to face with me and about to have their bodies cash the check their mouths have written....I'd never get to wrestle.
And what ensued was definitely carnage. Lightning Rod and I are both sadistic pricks (we also have big dicks), and so poor little Stinger never had a chance. And as the match wore on, and we basically tortured his lithe little muscleboy body, we got more and more aroused.
Which wasn't a good thing for li'l Stinger. We took his mask and we took his dignity, and we eventually took his trunks.
It was an enormously satisfying match...and I said before, Lightning Rod pushes every erotic button in my body.
I have so many fantasies about him--tagging with him again, taking him on myself...
Can you imagine me and Lightning Rod facing each other in the ring?
Hours of wrestling torture and erotic pleasure would surely ensue.
I have often mocked Mitch the Bitch Colby for picking on guys half his size. I am not really a fan of matches where there is a huge size disparity; it always seems borderline bullying to me. And it seems like Bitch only books these matches so he can get some wins; he never manages to beat someone close to him in size.
See what I mean? His arms are almost Rees Wells' size. And yet the kid didn't go down easy; the big bully had to actually fight for it.
To be fair, Boyd Hicks wasn't exactly my size. But that match wasn't my idea; he fucking challenged me--and let's face it, he had a good time.
So, when the little punk Stinger wanted to get in the ring with me, I demurred. "Tell him to get a tag partner, and I'll get one," I told the Boss, "which will make it a bit more fair."
That's me, always trying to be kind to the next jobber about to get a beating, you know? I don't get enough fucking credit. I knew who I wanted as my partner--Maxx having retired from ring action by then--I wanted this sexy hunk of manflesh.
If you think the picture's hot, you should stand next to him sometime. He oozes sexuality and sensuality out of every pore. My dick gets hard just looking at him across the room. So, yeah, I always figured it would be awesome to tag with him sometime.
Stinger and his loser partner were the perfect targets.
And then of course, Stinger's loser partner--I won't reveal his cowardly name--didn't show.
And there we all were, amped up and adrenaline flowing, with no outlet.
"Maybe a three way match?" I suggested--taking on Lightning Rod was a wet dream come true--but Stinger would have none of that.
"I'll take you both on," he snarled, hurling insults and writing checks with his fat mouth that his body were going to be cashing...
and so it began.