Who’s Your Daddy

One of the things I like the most about BGEast is there’s not, really, a generic BGEast wrestler look; the Boss signs a broad spectrum of wrestlers, from the twink to the muscle boy to the muscle god to the athlete to the daddy-type. I never saw myself as a daddy-type, really; it was a surprise when my first match was released and I saw a lot of talk about me on-line about me as a ‘masked daddy.’

I just assumed it was the hairy body. There weren’t many of us at BGEast who were hairy, and the Boss always got annoyed with me whenever I showed up for a taping and had shaved my body hair off. I’ve always been hairy; I started growing body hair when I was eleven and it’s never stopped. From about age thirty-three to almost fifty at least once a month I shed my body hair, which was an enormous pain in the ass and was quite a relief when I finally stopped doing it once and for all. I still trim it down from time to time, but I can’t remember the last time I shaved my legs or torso. I was always told that the smoother you were the better and more distinct, more defined, your muscles looked; which was why bodybuilders are always hairless at competitions. I never really gave it a lot of thought. I thought smooth guys were sexy and I thought hairy guys were sexy.

Me in varying degrees of hirsuteness in past matches.

I’ve already commented on how gear, lighting and camera angles can make you look completely different in pictures taken on the same day.

Case in point:

I guess I don’t look that much different…other than the mask. But I always felt the higher on me the waistband of the trunks, the less lean I looked; it has to do with where my pelvic bones are and so forth and yes, I know I am really hard on myself.

Anyway, I always had a thing for the Brooklyn Bodywrecker; I regret to this day we never went in front of the cameras in the ring.

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Seriously, what isn’t there to like there?

I wanted to do a really nasty Dark Knights-type match with him, and let him take my mask. It never happened, but we did at least have a really hot private match.

(In an interesting aside, Bard’s blog has been doing a tournament of sorts to determine the top heel of gay-interest wrestling; yesterday was me and BBW, based on a fan vote. No surprise, I got clobbered…)

And of course, Powergunz is also one hot daddy.

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I don’t remember exactly when he landed on my radar; but I do know his match with Cole Cassidy was the first BGEast match of his I’d seen–it’s exceptional, by the way; definitely give it a look–and after that I knew I wanted to wrestle him. We’re about the same height, but his muscles were/are a lot thicker than mine (those arms!) and that chest hair…fuck me.

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I was pretty jazzed when the Boss set up a match for us. I mean, fuck me.

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And away we went… (to be continued)

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.