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.

 

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.

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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:

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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:

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Have a good one, bitches.

Start Me Up

So I wanted to wrestle Mitch Colby. Badly. I wanted to see how we’d match up, how it would go, who would come out on top.

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That’s what wrestling is, and always has been: a competition between two men, the only weapon their bodies, to see whose strength, skill, agility, and ability is the better. As with any contest, some luck also comes into play; an accidental slip, a momentary loss of focus, or even temporary distraction for even just a split second can be the difference between victory and loss.

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Yet despite my eagerness for this match to happen, it didn’t. Delays, excuses, scheduling issues; it was always something. And you begin to wonder, what the fuck is the problem here? Am I not GOOD enough for Mr. Musclehead?

Well, fuck you too.

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So, I started calling him out on the BGEast message boards.

And the name Mitch kind of lends itself to Bitch, doesn’t it?

The Sin of Narcissus

In Greek mythology, Narcissus was a son of the river god Cephissus and the nymph Liriope; which I suppose would have made him a demi-god? Narcissus was beautiful; known far and wide for it, so beautiful that people often fell madly in love with him just by seeing him. Narcissus, however, never loved anyone back and in fact, held his admirers in contempt. Nemesis, seeing this pride and disdain in him, lured him to a reflecting pool; Narcissus caught sight of his own reflection and fell in love with his own image…to the point he refused to leave and eventually wasted away.

It’s easy to imagine Narcissus looking like Mitch Colby.

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This debut, against Alexi Adamov at arguably his most sexy, was most auspicious. As much as I lusted after Alexi, as much as I wanted him to face me in the ring, I kept having my eyes drawn back to the ripped, older muscle hunk packed into a tiny neon orange and yellow bikini that didn’t disguise the big bulge in the front and showed off the hard muscle ass in the back.

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And the sweat. My God, he was drenched in it, making every definition in his glistening muscles that much more obvious.

Alexi was also a big time sweat-monster. So it wasn’t long before both of them were soaking wet, slaking it off themselves as they fought nastily on the mats in the gazebo. Alexi, despite rarely winning a match, is intimidated by no one, doesn’t ever back down, and has crazy mad skills.

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Alexi is not, as I have said before, a small guy. Neither is Mitch. There’s some trash talking as they check each other out, see who’s bigger…and of course, Alexi points out that Mitch is older: “What are you man, in your forties?”

As someone who had just starting wrestling for BGEast at forty-five…that made me want to see the blue-eyed blond put a major hurt on Sexy Alexi…as well as put one on him myself.

Mitch and Sexy Alexi were pretty evenly matched, despite the size and age advantage going to Alexi. It’s a great battle, back and forth, lots of action and lots of brutality…and lots of beautiful bodies being put through the ringer.

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Look at those muscles, glistening with sweat.

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And never mistake Alexi for a jobber whose an easy beatdown. He fights dirty, too.

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And when I finished watching…I wanted to fight them both.

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The Centerpiece

Arrogance has always been a mainstay for professional wrestling. Almost every promotion has had some wrestler whose incredible arrogance made the viewers hate him, regardless of talent, skill level, or body–and despite their skill, almost always lost. Heels are always arrogant but there was also that heel who somehow always managed to lose to a face (someone the audience loved; a good guy hero who usually feuded with the main star heels over titles and ethics and ‘cheating’; while they weren’t jobbers per se, they didn’t win matches very often but were there to build up the resume of the hero). When I watched Georgia Championship Wrestling in the 1980’s, there was one whose name I can’t remember, but he had a great body and long hair bleached blond. I want to say it was Chip something, but I know that was wrong. Let me consult the Google.

Ah, Chic Donovan. I was close

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Jobe Zander is sort of that same type, at least when he first came to BGEast. Handsome and sexy–and that bulge! But the arrogance…oy.

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And dat ass.

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He also made his already hot body over, but that’s a subject for another time.

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Jobe and I had some fun back-and-forth on the BGEast list-serve for a while…he proudly displayed his arrogance and so I couldn’t resist.

The end result? The Boss scheduled us to wrestle in the ring in the spring after my trip to Las Vegas.

The Boss originally had me in this gear:

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While it was hot, it wasn’t exactly practical for fighting in the ring, especially with an arrogant ass with no respect for the rule like Jobe….

(to be continued)