Turn! Turn! Turn!

So, let’s talk about Braden Charron, shall we?

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Never been any doubt about his sexiness, really. I’ve always had a hard-on for Braden; another wrestler I regret never working with during my time in front of the cameras.

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I love beating down a muscle boy. The only thing more fun? Watching a muscle boy get beaten down. It makes me fucking hard.

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And then…there’s that ass.

Wow.

I mean…

Braden’s ass is a force of nature. Imagine how that would feel under your hand–whether smacking or squeezing. He could probably crack walnuts between those ass cheeks.

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No, no Alexi! You’re facing the wrong way!

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Braden must be a competitive bodybuilder, I think, because there are times when his body looks competition ready (above in the gold) and then there are times when he looks like he is in the bulking phase:

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He looks great in either case–and I’ve imagined beating the crap out of him in either shape.

Braden is the latest little muscle tank in a long and proud BGEast tradition going back to studs like Mike Columbo, Buster Bergeron, and Joe Mazetti–and usually, these short muscle studs tend to job (Mazetti being the exception to this rule; Columbo was both).

But lately, something’s been up with Braden…(to be continued)

Ain’t No Sunshine

When I was in high school, I read an essay by Mark Twain, from his collection Life on the Mississippi, in which he talked about how much he loved the Mississippi River when he was a kid and how his love for the river indelibly marked and changed and influenced his life, so much so that he couldn’t imagine doing anything other than being a riverboat captain when he grew up. And he did…learning how to read the signs of the river so he could pilot his boat safely, but in doing so, the river changed for him. It was no longer a big mystery; now he saw it as shoals and currents and sandbars and hazards for the boat. I’ve always, whenever I’ve chased down one of my dreams/fantasies, remembered that essay with a tinge of sadness, because I know exactly what he meant and how it feels.

Take Cole Cassidy as an example.

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I first encountered Cole Cassidy when I got the tape Ringwars 11. In it, Cole took on a young man who went by the name “Tarzan” Tyler Reece. Reece had a mop of long hair—very lord of the jungle—and he wore basically a wrestling trunks version of a loincloth. It was a terrific look, frankly, and not one I would usually go for. I’d bought the video (back in the day of videotapes) primarily for the Tommy Tara/Marco Guerra fight, but as I watched my way through the video—it took me a while to get past Match 2—Cole v. Tarzan.

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I originally got drawn into the match because of lithe, sexily lean Tyler—but it didn’t take long before Cole caught my attention—and kept it.

It’s not that hard to see why, is it? That fucking vascularity. Those veins are not only prominent, but enormous. A body builder doing a competition would envy that vascularity.

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I’ve often been accused of being a body fascist, which I’ve always taken with a degree of amusement. Yes, I appreciate the male form, and yes, I appreciate the male form that is in excellent shape—but it’s more of an aesthetic appreciation. I like all kinds of bodies—which is in no small degree influenced by my lifelong enjoyment of professional wrestling. Are John Cena and Randy Orton fucking gods walking the earth as men? Yes—but I also find the traditional pro-wrestler body, as evidenced by my lifelong attraction to some other, less body beautiful type wrestlers—Bob Orton, Ivan Koloff, etc. There’s a certain something that some guys have that I’m drawn to, and a lot of it has to do with how much they enjoy wrestling.

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Watching Cole in the ring against young Reese, he had that something I am drawn to—call it charisma, call it whatever you want to call it—he had it. It was also clear that he was enjoying himself; he was having a good time even when Reece had the upper hand and was punishing him. And looking at the two of them, it was clear who was filling the role of heel and who was the face; it was the classic wrestling trope–older, nasty heel taking on fresh-faced energetic youngster (apparently fresh out of the jungle), and it was a terrific, amazing match.

I began actively seeking out and ordering Cole’s matches; I became, as I said, a huge fan. It seemed that around the time Cole made his video debut was one of those transitional times at BGEast; when a new stable of stars was rising and the previous stable was giving way to the them. Cole was definitely in the mold of the BGEast heels I’d loved watching–Mikey Vee, Joe Mazetti, Cruz, Jose, the Bodywrecker–and it was fun watching him take pretty boys apart, piece by piece–and even taking on some of the previous generation’s heels in some terrific battles.

So, naturally, when I was invited to work in front of the cameras, and was asked whom I wanted to get in the ring with, without hesitation I replied, Cole Cassidy.

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Again, the definition on that body; the shape of the pecs perfection, the huge shoulder caps and biceps, the bulging veins on the massive quads, the hard and tight muscular ass.

That match has yet to see the light of day, but the “vault” matches somehow always seem to make their way out to the viewing public, so perhaps someday it will.

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Oh, that sexy sneer! I also don’t, usually, care for facial hair that much…but Cole’s just added to the nasty heel look he carried off so well.

But over the course of my first taping weekend–I don’t recall if it was before or after we got in the ring together for our match–Cole and I became friends. I don’t remember which night it was, but one of the nights that weekend we wound up being the last two people awake in the compound, and when I came back out to the living room he was watching The West Wing on television; a marathon on Bravo, I think it was. The West Wing was, and remains, one of my favorite television shows of all time, so soon we were talking about the show, politics, and bonding. We’ve seen each other a few times since then–taping weekends, business trips to the city where he lives–and while we have fallen out of touch somewhat over the years, I do still think of him fondly as a friend.

And I also learned the same lesson Twain discussed in his essay: now that I saw Cole as a person and as a friend, I no longer saw him as the heel of my dreams. Sure, he is still sexy as hell, and fantastic in whatever wrestling environment he appears in….but I no longer see him through an erotic, sexual lens; even thinking about that makes me feel uncomfortable. Now that I think of him as a friend, he is no longer an object of desire.

Which always gave me pause when thinking about potential opponents for before-the-camera work. Meeting and working with another wrestler, getting to know them as a person, completely changes the fantasy aspect, makes it almost impossible to  maintain–and kind of a squirmy discomfort. This also, it turns out, happened with other BGEast wrestlers I had fantasies about, were objects of lust; once I actually met them–whether we actually worked together or not–I could never quite seem them in the same way again.

Make a friend, lose the fantasy.

So while I do have some regrets about some of the guys I never worked with, in some cases I’m kind of glad we didn’t; I was able to preserve my fantasies that way.

Head over Heels

Joe Mazetti.

Fuck me, what a stud.

And yet another example of someone whose path I never crossed in the ring during my time as an active BGEast wrestler.

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That fucking body. Those tats. The attitude.

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Dat ass.

I first discovered Joe Mazetti when I got the Fantasymen 17 tape–yes, this was back before DVD’s and I still had dial-up Internet service, which should tell you how long ago this was; I was in the early stages of discovering all BGEast had to offer in those days–and I had already become a fan of three wrestlers: Mike Columbo, Buster Bergeron, and of course, Brad Rochelle (there was only one Brad; others have come close to no avail), and I wanted to see the Buster/Columbo match–it was a mat match with them starting in singlets and stripping down to thongs, basically; two amazing asses. Brad was taking on Mikey Vee in a ring match; I soon became a fan of his, as well. Back in the day of videotape, navigation wasn’t as easy as it is on DVD’s (you kids today have it so easy! Why, back when I was a kid we had to fast forward or rewind!) and so since Columbo/Bergeron was match one, I often never made it past that match when watching and satisfying my wrestling itch. But I finally made it to the last match on the tape, which was Joe Mazetti taking on a towering hulk of muscle named Johnny Modesto.

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Nice, right? But he wore even less to the ring to fight Joe:

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Fuck  me, those legs.

Imagine having those wrapped around your head! Mmmm, thank you sir, may I have some more?

Handsome face, massive upper body, thighs for days…yeah, hot fucking stuff.

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Joe is much smaller in stature, but the body is second to no one, and his nasty attitude makes him a lot taller.

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Poor Johnny didn’t stand a chance. He did get a few shots in–but that just seemed to inspire Joe to further nastiness and brutality.

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The match was incredibly hot, and I became a big fan of Joe.

I also wanted to beat the shit out of Johnny Modesto. (to be continued)

Remember When

One of the fun things about managing the BGEast Facebook page is coming up with monthly themes for posting pictures. Inevitably, this leads me to come across matches, and wrestlers, I’ve not thought about in a long time but at one point were, shall we say, rather important to my viewing fantasy life? Take March, for example. I decided to make March #MarchMuscles, and so then I had to find guys who, you know, I haven’t posted tons of pictures of in the past (cough Alexi Adamov cough Rio Garza cough) because, after all, my favorites aren’t necessarily everyone’s favorites; and besides, there are some guys who weren’t around as much, or haven’t been around in a while who deserve a shout out.

And I came across these two, from Fantasymen 18: Troy Milan and Corey Young.

Nice, right?

Check this out:

Right?

Seriously, where does the Boss find these guys?

I  originally ordered Fantasymen 18 because the other three matches on the tape featured wrestlers I loved to watch: Brad Rochelle, Mike Columbo, and Joe Mazetti. I never watched the fourth and final match on the tape–sometimes I’d get to the end of the Mazetti match with Derek D’amore and rather than stopping the tape, I’d start picking up things or doing something and the tape would keep playing, showing the start of this match, with the two of them, in shirts and shorts, entering the mat room. Then I’d stop, and go about the rest of whatever I was doing.

The tape was sitting in the VCR when I turned it on one day, and I hadn’t rewound; the previous time I’d let the tape keep going into the last match, the way I did sometimes, but when the tape started up, it was at the point where Troy Milan took off his tank top. Rather than hitting rewind, I thought, whoa, and set the remote down.

Matches aren’t always released close to when they are taped, and I know this was sometime after 2003? Maybe 2004? I don’t recall exactly, but I know I hadn’t switched the DVD’s yet, but I remember looking at Troy’s torn up, ratty cut-off jean shorts and thinking, wow, I used to have a pair similar to that but it’s been years.  And then Corey took his shirt off, and I decided it was time to watch this match at long last.

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At first, I was really drawn to Troy’s body; long, lean, ripped and defined. But…Corey, who was a little shorter and whose muscles were thicker, looked like one of those straight boys from the football team, you know what I mean? Muscled, somewhat defined but not ripped and lean; athletic and sexy and jockish. It was almost like a battle between a football player and a non-jock who loved working out, ate right, and wanted to look hot as fuck. The first fall, when they wrestled around in the cut off shorts and the square boxer-briefish shorts Corey was wearing, seemed more like two straight boys horsing around and having fun, wrestling to see who was the better wrestler.

They also both had incredibly thick Boston accents, which also kind of turns me on.

The first fall went to Troy, who got cocky and started mocking Corey for losing; and then slid off his shorts to show off a thong and an amazing ass. Corey just shook his head, said in his thick accent, “Oh, no you didn’t,” then slides off his own to reveal a red thong…and the quads and glutes of fucking death.

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And in that instant, I switched totally from Team Troy to Team Corey.

I wanted my thick football player with that fucking amazing ass to just wipe the mats with the lean muscleboy.

(to be continued)