Pros in Private 6 (DVD Review)

The 2007 BG East release Pros in Private 6 contains four matches.  I'm going to talk about just two of them.  I'm sure the other two matches will have their fans and defenders, and I've got nothing against them or the four fighters in them, but, for me personally, only two matches make this disk worth buying ... and forgive me if I gush about these two.

 Gushing is unmanly, I know.  I don't know what has gotten into me lately.  I've seen Avatar three times, my jaw dropping and eyes misting all three times, and now this.  Really I should know better.  In most respects, after all, I am manly.  I stand six feet tall, weigh close to 200 pounds, and, though not in my best shape and in my mid-fifties, still hold enough testosterone to sustain both male pattern baldness and the penile excitability of a sensitive virgin one third my age.  Clearly, I need to get a grip.


 Forgive me if I gush.

 I bought this DVD because, in a more recent BGE release, a match between Caleb Brand and Velvet Revolver stopped me dead in my tracks, and I needed (needed) more of these two guys, and PiP6 gives me both, in matches against other guys, who thankfully are as hot as hell as well.


Revolver, in trademark red velvet briefs that barely contain his buns (like soccer balls!), faces down Bullet Bernard, who is twice as cut and twice as sadistic.  Revolver remains my favorite, though:  he curves in all the right places, moves like mercury in the ring, and breaks a sweat by the end of round one.  Very nearly my ideal man.

Bernard fulfills the stereotype of the long-haired heel, but takes it to its classic best.  At one point he tells his boy-band-cute opponent, "I don't play fair," but by that point the remark is redundant, with Bernard already having proved he's mean as a snake, relishing nothing more than stretching his pretty rival in every direction at once.


As for the fight itself, let me just say this:  I could be standing in a crowded subway car surrounded by bible-thumping Baptists of the meanest, most offense-taking type, and let's say I catch a glimpse of just 30 seconds of this match ... I would jizz in my pants right on the spot.  I kid you not.  Rewatching this fight this afternoon, I lay belly down on my ice-cold hardwood floor so I could concentrate and take some at least passable notes on the fight for this review ... and you're ahead of me, aren't you? ... I still got hard wood and a splotch on my shorts.

 These fighters vocalize continuously and passionately, proving my pet theory that when a couple of heaving wrestlers moan loudly and constantly, nobody much misses the roar of a live crowd.

 Revolver and Bernard could not be more perfectly matched.  Frankly, I'm not a guy who usually cares who wins or loses these things.  The struggle itself is what counts for me, and these men give good struggle for the duration.  Back and forth all the way through.  They are the same size, with matching fighting heart.  Bernard crawls in the ring in tight black and gray fight shorts, and within seconds he barks, "Quit wasting my time, let's lock up!" 


And they do, and it is pure heaven for guys like me.

I don't know, dear readers, maybe it's the red velvet shorts, but Revolver gives me incurable blue balls.  I no sooner shoot, and I'm ready to jump his bones all over again!  It doesn't hurt that he looks a bit like a British Bulldog, but one restyled for the 22nd century.

In the next event, Caleb Brand battles fellow Canadian Mac Matthias.  Brand is an excellent heel these days, but in this, one of his early matches, when apparently he was just out of his teens, he is the rosy-cheeked babyface ... at first.  In the beginning, he sticks to the regulation pro-wrestling moves and executes them with killing aplomb.

In the course of the match, though, he nasties up, taking a cue from his local-hero-gone-to-seed opponent, who berates him, calling him "Fat Boy," and quipping, repeatedly, "You gotta play dirty to win this game."

Little could Matthias have suspected that this kid takes notes.


This match is blond on blond ... or rather blondish on blondish.  In skintight metallic white shorts, Matthias has the mass and the definition, as well as the ring experience, over Brand.  He starts off the match with a cowardly attack from behind, stripping off Brand's shirt and choking him with it.

Throughout the match he pulls hair, chokes, uses the ring ropes illegally, stomps face, poses for himself in the mirror (at one point purring, "Damn I'm looking good!"), and keeps coming at Brand even when a round is officially over.

He offsets his curly hair with a Herodian beard that squares the contours of his jaw.  His arrogance knows no limits.  When Brand clamps down on him with a backbreaking stretch, a hold that would break an ordinary man, Matthias defiantly snarls, "I'm too good looking to give up!"  (And he's right!)

He takes this boy to school (coincidentally in the previous match Bernard promises Revolver a schooling too).  But Brand's an apt pupil and picks up on the pro's tips ... and example ... giving Matthias a taste of what it's like to be on the receiving end of bullying.

I'm not at all sure what it is, but there's something about Caleb Brand, who is not the prettiest, the buffest, or the meanest guy on the BGE roster, something that makes me want to jump in the ring and start trading punches with the guy.

His face, with its severe (almost blank) majesty, combined with his shifty eyes and his lips, whose default position is pouty, is a good part of what I'm talking about.  It begs for a right hook even when he's not doing anything.  His unconvincing golden tan and blond highlights also work for me, and those details, I should add, usually turn me off.

I like that he's slim, not especially hard and curvy.  Something about him makes me want to bust him up.  Don't get me wrong, though ... I can see he's a tough competitor and I probably wouldn't stand a chance in the ring against him ... but it's like I could almost take this guy ... and there are few guys I ache to take the way I do Caleb Brand.


  1. Ah, who would think that plush red velvet, on the right wrestling trunks, on the right muscle stud, could be the cause of so much cum shooting forth from wrestling fans everywhere. Oh, mighty spandex, hand over your crown to a new champion of wrestling fantasy gear...


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