Caging the Wolf

So, the little wolf worked me over a bit. It happens. Sure, there are matches where you spend the entire time mopping the floor with your opponent, but where’s the challenge in that?

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A foot in my face? You know, that took guts.

It also wasn’t particularly smart. It kind of pissed me off.

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Aw, does that hurt?

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Go to sleep, little bitch.

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Yeah, let me take your mask off. You shouldn’t be allowed to wear one, since you’re just  little bitch.

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I have to say, this was my first time ever unmasking someone, and it kind of made my dick hard. Who knew symbolically stripping my opponent of his power would be such a turn-on? I’d stripped opponents out of their trunks before, but this was a whole new world of arousal.

Oh, I took his trunks too.

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Yup, nothing more humiliating than having your own sweaty trunks shoved into your mouth.

Poor Lobolito. He always wanted a rematch, but it somehow never happened.

Pity.

Wolf’s Bane

Lobolito never knew what hit him.

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Newsflash: it was me, and I just kept on hitting the punk. There’s something satisfying, you know, about landing some blows, seeing the glaze of pain in your opponent’s eyes, listening to their labored breathing, their whimpering and sobbing.

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Although when they don’t really resist much, it’s disappointing. I can’t speak for other wrestlers–or viewers–but I get bored with matches that are just beat downs. And when you get bored, well, that’s when you make a mistake. That’s when your victim gets a chance to make his own move.

And I’m always up to see what the punk has to offer.

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Nice! If I weren’t so flexible, this would have been pretty fucking painful. But I didn’t submit, so the punk made a heel move and grabbed my crotch and squeezed.

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I can respect that, you know? It’s what I would have done. But you know what they say about payback…

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And again–props to not letting me get my breath and get back to speed before moving in on me again. Maybe the punk has some potential.

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Always go for the balls again when in doubt.

But you’d better fucking finish me off, punk.

Miss You Much

Well, it’s been awhile, hasn’t it?

Sorry about that, but I experienced a thirty-day ban on Facebook, during which time things got rather hectic in the day-to-day existence, and since I couldn’t share my blog on Facebook I didn’t see any real point in writing entries no one was going to see. Most of the traffic here is clicks from my Facebook page; hopefully I won’t get banned again–but I have also taken measures to ensure that if it does happen again, everything else will continue to operate as before.

In other words, fuck you Zuckerberg, and your puritanical employees.

The ban was triggered by someone reporting a picture of me in one of my matches, schoolboy pinning the loser; so basically my crotch was too close to his face for those community standards. Fuck right off. Good thing I didn’t post the picture of me forcing my cock down Boyd Hicks’ throat, right?

It’s also Carnival time here in New Orleans, and I am, in addition to my day job, working on multiple freelance projects. Since the first of the year I’ve gotten back into the gym on a regular basis, which is great; I can already see a difference in my body, and I can also feel a difference in my body as I slowly get back into the swing of things. Injuries, and the forced inactivity that comes with them, are a bitch; I am hoping to be back in wrestling shape again by the summer and hopefully hopping over the top rope into the ring again–probably only for private matches; I don’t see myself taping again.

Although there are some boys at BGEast now who have aroused my interest. More on that as time passes.

And I am going to pick up the thread of my previous, pre-banning posts too, but just wanted to get checked in here so you bitches can know where I’ve been.

Speaking of hot BGEast boys–here are two of them that have aroused my, ahem, interest:

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Yes, Richie Douglas and Colton Haynes. Pretty, aren’t they?

And now back to work. Talk to you soon, bitches.

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.

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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?

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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.

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

Bitch, please.

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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.

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

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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.

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And it was time for me to have some fun.

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It was a great time.

Pretty in Pink

I mean, seriously, look at him!

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

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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.

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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.

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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?

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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.

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

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

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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.

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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.

 

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I mean, fuck.

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Right?

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You can see why I fucking loved those red trunks.

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

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And then we met in the center of the ring.

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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.

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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.h1601_lg

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.

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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.

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I mean, fuck yeah.

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

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Seriously, what wasn’t to lust after?