Looks like Bard over at Sidelineland finally picked me as Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month again…although just like the last time, I have to share the honor. No worries; both wrestlers I shared the title with are hot as fuck, so I can’t really complain. Of course, this had everything to do with the Mitch match on Motel Madness 14, although I have to admit, I figured he’d pick Mitch since he’s been such a fanboy for so long.
You can read it here.
Ah, Bard, one of these days we’ll get in the ring together.
Here’s the write-up of the first time I shared Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month.
Ringside at Skull Island also had some good things to say about the Mitch match, as well: Joe’s write up is here.
Here’s a little wayback Wednesday; the start of a story called “A Cowboy’s Work is Never Done,” that was originally published in an anthology called How the West Was Done.
The story was inspired by a BGEast wrestler…as were so many of my stories.
I’ve always had a thing for cowboy wrestlers.
To me, there was absolutely nothing sexier than a man in cowboy boots and black trunks climbing through the ring ropes wearing a pair of black leather chaps and a black leather vest open to show a powerful chest. They were always bad asses—tough stud who always took apart some pretty boy with ease. And there was no one sexier than Top Rope’s Big Bill Tucker. When I first discovered Top Rope’s website (“gay oriented wrestling!”), the front page had a huge picture of Big Bill, dressed exactly as my ultimate fantasy man: a tough sneer on his handsome face, a curly mullet dropping out from under his black hat, one black clad boot up on the lower rope in the corner, in his black trunks and black leather vest. The trunks couldn’t hide the huge bulge; I clicked through to see the match write-up and the pictures of him just taking a handsome muscle stud named Donnie Brooks apart—and the smile on his face showed just how much he enjoyed destroying the good looking young stud. I ordered the tape, and it was one of the hottest and sexiest matches I’d ever seen—Big Bill left Donnie crumpled and broken in the middle of the ring, stripped of his trunks, his big muscular bubble butt up in the air justb begging to be fucked by the big man. But Big Bill didn’t fuck him. He just tucked Donnie’s trunks into the front of his own, growled at him, and then climbed through the ropes and walked out as the camera faded to black. I ordered every tape that had Big Bill on it—and there were a lot of them over the next few years. No matter how much I hoped for a money shot, though, there never was one. Big Bill never took off his own trunks (although he always stripped his beaten foe out of his), and never did anything sexual with the loser. And then, there weren’t any more tapes with him. Like so many others, he’d apparently retired. And while Top Rope always introduced new studs, there was never another cowboy star.
Apparently, Big Bill broke the mold.
After I went to work for Top Rope, I’d asked the Boss about him, but all I got was a shrug. “Last I heard, he was living in Dallas. He was supposed to come up and tape for us, no-showed, and he stopped returning calls or answering emails.” The Boss had shrugged. “It happens. We were sorry to lose him.”
Yup, I always had a thing for Big Clint Morgan. Day-um.