The Breaking Point (Review)
Hereabouts, the big event of the summer of 2010 appears to be the cross-pollination of the gay underground wrestling promotions. Sure, these crossovers are not new things--witness the multifaceted career path of Cameron Mathews over the past five years, just for one example.
But the big stir this year appears to be that UCW-Milwaukee's Axel has begun his promised expansion to other venues (under the name of Ethan Andrews at Rock Hard Wrestling), and Rusty Stevens, lately of Naked Kombat and Can-Am, has landed in BG East's latest catalog (82) in a match against burly Mitch Colby, on The Breaking Point: Sexy, Sexier, Sexiest!
I was out of the country when these two promising developments occurred, but I ordered both DVDs almost as soon as I landed. And today, three days later, The Breaking Point arrived by mail: once again, BGE can't be beat for expeditious delivery of the meat my kinks feed on.
For days, Bard's review of the Stevens-v-Colby match whetted my appetite for this prize. Not that it really needed whetting. I'd be hard pressed to say whether Bard is any less or any more devoted to Rusty than I--the difference, if any, being microscopic.
In my book, Rusty Stevens, 6'0", 200#, is Carnation Instant God. As I have stated elsewhere, his aggressively sexual skirmish with Tommy Defendi at Naked Kombat is reason enough by itself for NK to exist, and I'd be only too happy to second any motion to have that match officially declared an international homoerotic shrine--it is queerdom's Yellowstone and Iliad rolled into one.
I can't think of another performer who combines looks, muscle, fight, animal magnetism, and verbal wit as smoothly as Stevens does. Not many guys make me hard, make me laugh, and make me want to throw a punch all at the same time.
First up on Breaking Point, though, is veteran Christopher Bruce matched against golden-boy Aryx Quinn, whose apparent defection to Can-Am a year ago was all the buzz on gay blogs for a while. Well, he's back, cocky as ever, and hungry for a piece of Bruce.
It takes a good fifteen minutes for the actual fight to start--we get a workout sequence that makes the wedding at the beginning of The Godfather look like a Vegas quickie. When Bruce and Quinn get to the ring, the trash talk takes up another five minutes--but the time passes quickly if you focus your eyes on Quinn's sky-blue briefs riding his five-star buttocks and gripping the solid bulge of his cock. (And, as a matter of personal taste, the hair on his legs and in his pits is the perfect complement to Quinn's never-sexier physique.)
Aryx's opening sucker punch backfires, and he finds himself trapped headfirst between Chris's legendary thighs. After a brief struggle, he locks his no less impressive thighs on Bruce's ears, and the two men look like they're going to 69 each other to death. Already we can see the boys are not going to play coy about the sexual heat that male-on-male domination generates.
Furious over his humiliation in the first round, Aryx dives into Chris with a rapid string of cheap and dirty shots. Much good it does him, though, since the veteran comes right back at him, putting him back in his place. But it's round three where things get interesting, and Bruce pushes Quinn's ego over the edge, with fairly exciting results.
Too much is made (I think) of Bruce's age in the banter in this match and other recent BGE matches. Sure, he's not the apple-cheeked youth he was in the 1990s, but he's hardly as ancient as Stallone or Swarzenegger or, I would guess, a good two-thirds of the guys (like me) who are going to buy this video.
I'm not immune to the appeal of a daddy-versus-studpuppy match, but I see no point giving the daddy dialogue that makes him sound like Wilford Brimley. It kind of kills the sexiness of the scenario, in my opinion. Yeah, we get that there's an age difference here--now let the two dudes just kick each other's butt.
In the next match Rio Garza faces Jobe Zander. Zander starts this match with about a full quart of flop sweat. Clearly intimidated by his opponent's smooth muscle, he yammers on and on about the pounding he's going to give the stunningly sensuous Garza, whose silver briefs barely contain his beefy voluptuousness. All Garza has to do is flash his effortless smile, and we see Zander as the desperate character he is.
When the fight actually starts, the two appear to be evenly matched. Zander operates on the premise that guile and a quickly fattening cock are enough to dominate and control the Latin stud. But however much the pretty boy he is, Garza is no pushover, and he takes his man down in the first round and makes him squeal out his submission.
Round two is Jobe's revenge. He attacks Garza's leg, lower back, and abs. He wedges the back of Garza's briefs up humiliatingly between his butt cheeks. Zander straddles Rio's waist, his stiff package bumping on the young man's belly, and claws his pecs. Not satisfied with just beating the kid up, he wants to demolish him. Garza suffers beautifully, which must both thrill and frustrate his inflamed yet envious tormentor. And nobody's likely to complain when Zander strips Garza's briefs off to reveal a matching silver G-string.
True to the DVD's subtitle, the second match is sexier than the first. Zander's assaults are relentless, and the two men become slick and shiny under the hot lights. Zander savors his domination of Garza's smooth perfection, and Garza's moans suggest agony mixed with primal and fevered sensations that have no corollaries in human words.
Deliberately, I resisted forging ahead to the third ("sexiest") match with my man Rusty Stevens. Not that I wasn't tempted. My friend Bard has written probably the definitive review of this match, but no review can prepare you for the visual force of Rusty's body, in ambiguously predator-print squarecuts, circling in on Mitch Colby, a sly smirk curling his lip up above his incisors.
Colby takes immediate charge of Stevens' chiseled physique and can't quite wipe the grin off his face as he does it. Who can blame him? Rusty's a red-hot number, and Mitch and Rusty both know it. Rusty suffers beautifully while delivering a string of acid wisecracks--a feat I don't recall ever seeing before. So while Mitch tortures Rusty's sculpted body, Rusty slings withering verbal abuse on top of abuse, in a bid to break his opponent psychologically.
Colby can't get Stevens out of his pants fast enough, as far as I'm concerned. Nobody wears a heather-gray jockstrap like Stevens. But Stevens is not a guy to roll over and take his medicine. He trades tit for tat, and sixteen or seventeen minutes into the fight, Colby is huffing just to keep up with Stevens' bobcat-quick strikes. The man is a force of nature ... and, yes, I gush.
It's a sure token of Kid Leopard's wisdom that the gray jockstrap eventually peels down to reveal Rusty's chubby. Beyond that, I'll say no more, except to say that, sure, there are bound to be differences in personal tastes, and it's conceivable, but only barely, that some alien non-carbon-based life-forms will not feel the pull of Stevens' star power, but this customer hopes to see lots more of Rusty on future BGE cards.
But the big stir this year appears to be that UCW-Milwaukee's Axel has begun his promised expansion to other venues (under the name of Ethan Andrews at Rock Hard Wrestling), and Rusty Stevens, lately of Naked Kombat and Can-Am, has landed in BG East's latest catalog (82) in a match against burly Mitch Colby, on The Breaking Point: Sexy, Sexier, Sexiest!
I was out of the country when these two promising developments occurred, but I ordered both DVDs almost as soon as I landed. And today, three days later, The Breaking Point arrived by mail: once again, BGE can't be beat for expeditious delivery of the meat my kinks feed on.
For days, Bard's review of the Stevens-v-Colby match whetted my appetite for this prize. Not that it really needed whetting. I'd be hard pressed to say whether Bard is any less or any more devoted to Rusty than I--the difference, if any, being microscopic.
In my book, Rusty Stevens, 6'0", 200#, is Carnation Instant God. As I have stated elsewhere, his aggressively sexual skirmish with Tommy Defendi at Naked Kombat is reason enough by itself for NK to exist, and I'd be only too happy to second any motion to have that match officially declared an international homoerotic shrine--it is queerdom's Yellowstone and Iliad rolled into one.
I can't think of another performer who combines looks, muscle, fight, animal magnetism, and verbal wit as smoothly as Stevens does. Not many guys make me hard, make me laugh, and make me want to throw a punch all at the same time.
First up on Breaking Point, though, is veteran Christopher Bruce matched against golden-boy Aryx Quinn, whose apparent defection to Can-Am a year ago was all the buzz on gay blogs for a while. Well, he's back, cocky as ever, and hungry for a piece of Bruce.
It takes a good fifteen minutes for the actual fight to start--we get a workout sequence that makes the wedding at the beginning of The Godfather look like a Vegas quickie. When Bruce and Quinn get to the ring, the trash talk takes up another five minutes--but the time passes quickly if you focus your eyes on Quinn's sky-blue briefs riding his five-star buttocks and gripping the solid bulge of his cock. (And, as a matter of personal taste, the hair on his legs and in his pits is the perfect complement to Quinn's never-sexier physique.)
Aryx's opening sucker punch backfires, and he finds himself trapped headfirst between Chris's legendary thighs. After a brief struggle, he locks his no less impressive thighs on Bruce's ears, and the two men look like they're going to 69 each other to death. Already we can see the boys are not going to play coy about the sexual heat that male-on-male domination generates.
Furious over his humiliation in the first round, Aryx dives into Chris with a rapid string of cheap and dirty shots. Much good it does him, though, since the veteran comes right back at him, putting him back in his place. But it's round three where things get interesting, and Bruce pushes Quinn's ego over the edge, with fairly exciting results.
Too much is made (I think) of Bruce's age in the banter in this match and other recent BGE matches. Sure, he's not the apple-cheeked youth he was in the 1990s, but he's hardly as ancient as Stallone or Swarzenegger or, I would guess, a good two-thirds of the guys (like me) who are going to buy this video.
I'm not immune to the appeal of a daddy-versus-studpuppy match, but I see no point giving the daddy dialogue that makes him sound like Wilford Brimley. It kind of kills the sexiness of the scenario, in my opinion. Yeah, we get that there's an age difference here--now let the two dudes just kick each other's butt.
In the next match Rio Garza faces Jobe Zander. Zander starts this match with about a full quart of flop sweat. Clearly intimidated by his opponent's smooth muscle, he yammers on and on about the pounding he's going to give the stunningly sensuous Garza, whose silver briefs barely contain his beefy voluptuousness. All Garza has to do is flash his effortless smile, and we see Zander as the desperate character he is.
When the fight actually starts, the two appear to be evenly matched. Zander operates on the premise that guile and a quickly fattening cock are enough to dominate and control the Latin stud. But however much the pretty boy he is, Garza is no pushover, and he takes his man down in the first round and makes him squeal out his submission.
Round two is Jobe's revenge. He attacks Garza's leg, lower back, and abs. He wedges the back of Garza's briefs up humiliatingly between his butt cheeks. Zander straddles Rio's waist, his stiff package bumping on the young man's belly, and claws his pecs. Not satisfied with just beating the kid up, he wants to demolish him. Garza suffers beautifully, which must both thrill and frustrate his inflamed yet envious tormentor. And nobody's likely to complain when Zander strips Garza's briefs off to reveal a matching silver G-string.
True to the DVD's subtitle, the second match is sexier than the first. Zander's assaults are relentless, and the two men become slick and shiny under the hot lights. Zander savors his domination of Garza's smooth perfection, and Garza's moans suggest agony mixed with primal and fevered sensations that have no corollaries in human words.
Deliberately, I resisted forging ahead to the third ("sexiest") match with my man Rusty Stevens. Not that I wasn't tempted. My friend Bard has written probably the definitive review of this match, but no review can prepare you for the visual force of Rusty's body, in ambiguously predator-print squarecuts, circling in on Mitch Colby, a sly smirk curling his lip up above his incisors.
Colby takes immediate charge of Stevens' chiseled physique and can't quite wipe the grin off his face as he does it. Who can blame him? Rusty's a red-hot number, and Mitch and Rusty both know it. Rusty suffers beautifully while delivering a string of acid wisecracks--a feat I don't recall ever seeing before. So while Mitch tortures Rusty's sculpted body, Rusty slings withering verbal abuse on top of abuse, in a bid to break his opponent psychologically.
Colby can't get Stevens out of his pants fast enough, as far as I'm concerned. Nobody wears a heather-gray jockstrap like Stevens. But Stevens is not a guy to roll over and take his medicine. He trades tit for tat, and sixteen or seventeen minutes into the fight, Colby is huffing just to keep up with Stevens' bobcat-quick strikes. The man is a force of nature ... and, yes, I gush.
It's a sure token of Kid Leopard's wisdom that the gray jockstrap eventually peels down to reveal Rusty's chubby. Beyond that, I'll say no more, except to say that, sure, there are bound to be differences in personal tastes, and it's conceivable, but only barely, that some alien non-carbon-based life-forms will not feel the pull of Stevens' star power, but this customer hopes to see lots more of Rusty on future BGE cards.
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