Happily, I've read at least two pieces on the crime that it is that men's beach volleyball players don't show the same quantity of skin as the women. This conversation surprises me primarily because the proposed remedy to equalize the sexes seems largely focused on the men wearing less rather than the women wearing more. Just goes to show that mainstreamers are recognizing what we've known all along: world class athletics is about sex. Of course in my imagination, it's all about homoerotic wrestling.
A frequent collaborator sent me pics of some outstanding beef that leaps and strikes on the beach volleyball court. Now that sounds like my kind of muscle man! And more importantly, it sounds like just the sort of inspiration for some fictional homoerotic wrestling. Sure, mainstreamers are lusting after their Olympic bodies, imagining walking these boys off the court, perhaps showering them off, and then fucking and getting fucked. You and I know the real sexy drama to exploit these beach badboys the best. Bump, set, spike, and then fill the beach volleyball stands with homoerotic wrestling fans, set up the pro wrestling ring, and let's see these tallboys throw down.
|American Jake Gibb - 6'7", 209 lbs., 36 y/o|
The first semi-final round match features fierce hardbody, American Jake Gibb, sprinting through the sand and diving underneath the ropes, sliding into the ring on his long, lean torso and then hopping to his feet and flexing for the fans. Gone are the pointless sleeveless t's and shorts hanging down to his calves. Jake's in the briefest navy blue trunks that speedo makes. He's oiled up, stripped down, and ready to bring home gold for the US in these homoerotic wrestling games in my imagination.
|Canadian Martin Reader - 6'7", 214 lbs, 28 y/o|
There's a collective gasp from the homoerotic wrestling fans packing the stands, as they see stunning Canadian volleyballer and model, Martin Reader, sauntering slowly through the sand. The gorgeous canuck is wearing white boxer briefs, which under other circumstances could be considered a serious fan foul, but an inspired Martin has soaked in the shower moments before stepping out of the locker room, resulting in his underwear transparently clinging to to long, luscious bod. The fans get a look at his cock, framed in a tightly coiffed ring of pubes, as clear as day through the transparent fabric, and Martin is the instant fan favorite. His arms hang loosely at his sides. There's just no other way to describe his slow approach to ringside: he's sauntering, allowing each step to enlist more roaring cheers from the crowd. He climbs up to the ring apron, staring impassively at his opponent. Jake rolls his eyes looking unimpressed, but that fools nobody. The Canadian leaves no one unimpressed. When he swings his left leg over the top rope, the 6'7" Canadian continues to move slowly, deliberately. Jake, on the other hand, sprints to the ropes, grabs the top rope in both hands, and yanks upward, racking Martin's balls. Groans of sympathy from the stands accompany the long, slow-motion fall of the Canadian into the ring, clutching his throbbing balls. Jake is vicious in the opening minutes of this match, following up the low blow with stomps to the Canadian's head. Martin doesn't know what to protect, until suddenly Jake has him by his ankles, spreading him wide, and spiking his forehead into Martin's crotch. Jake drags his breathless opponent to his feet by his hair in order to bash the big man's face into all four of the top turnbuckles before dragging him back into the center of the ring. Martin's knees begin to buckle, but Jake quickly steps behind him, locks his arms around his waist, and lifts him into the air. It looks like a suplex, as Jake leans far backward, rolling Martin high up his chest. But Jake switches momentum, driving him down in front of him. Martin's balls and tailbone crash into Jake's bent knee, and the Canadian bounces forward, falling flat on his face clutching his crushed crotch. Climbing to his feet, Jake inspects his work as he catches his breath. The sight of the tanned, toned Canadian rolled up on his side with his hands holding his balls makes Jake have to adjust the pouch of his trunks. The fans, who've been largely stunned to silence to this point, begin to shout encouragement to the big beautiful Canadian. Jake roars at the stands, flipping a double handed middle finger salute and screaming, "Fuck you all!" The provocation brings the fans to their feet, screaming back. Distracted by the crowd, Jake still keeps one eye on his opponent as he shouts profanity into the stands. When Martin manages to pull himself up to his knees and elbows, Jake gives him his full attention again. He drives his knee into the back of Martin's head, sending the Canadian sprawling flat on his stomach, his limbs quivering. Jake circles him, hands on hips, his ripped abs pumping as he breathes heavily, watching Martin slowly pull himself up to this hands and knees. Straddling him, Jake leaps into the air and then drops his tailbone hard into the big man's lower back. Again, Martin collapses, flat on his stomach. The determined fitness model pulls himself back up twice more, both times with the same result: Jake's tailbone crashing into this lower back. The stands are pulsing with the chant of Martin's name, which seems to inspire the Canadian to pull himself up to his hands and knees once more. This time, Jake laces his finger underneath Martin's handsome chin and sits down hard. Martin's hips sag to the mat as Jake leans backward, cranking on his neck and defying the crowd to keep encouraging his opponent. "This pretty boy is fucked!" The crowd stomps and claps in time, chanting Martin's name defiantly, drowning out the American's taunts. Big Martin seems to battle back from the brink of unconsciousness. He presses his hands against the mat and pulls his knees underneath him. Jake lifts his hips and drops his weight down onto the Canadian's lower back again. Martin's hips slam to the mat, but he's immediately pulling himself up to his knees again. Jake cranks harder on his chin, leaning backward to add pressure. Suddenly, Martin pushes his upperbody off the mat. The momentum sends both wrestlers backward. Martin lands on Jake, briefly knocking the air out of the American. He rolls off and manages to make it to his knees before Jake rolls to his feet. The American charges toward his opponent, but freezes when Martin suddenly wraps his massive mitt around Jake's pouch. The crowd roars with excitement as Martin rises to his feet. Nose to nose, he bares his teeth in a primal growl as Jake rises to the balls of his feet, gently holding his opponent's wrist. Martin smiles, nodding his head up and down as he sees the look of panic in Jake's eyes. Martin's right arm flexes, his muscles shining underneath the stadium lighting. Jake's shout of pain inspires a roar of taunts from the stands. Martin's left hand reaches out and wraps around Jake's neck. Jake gasps as Martin suddenly lunges low and lifts him, straight armed overhead, holding tightly to his balls and neck. The crowd chants Martin's name as he slowly turns in a circle in the middle of the ring, displaying his power for the fans. From the dizzing height, Jake finds himself abruptly slammed to his back with such strength that the American's body bounces a foot off the mat. Jake can't breath as the Canadian hooks his left leg, pins his right arm with Martin's long legs, and presses Jake's left shoulder to the mat with his right hand. Pinning the stunned American to his back, Martin lowers his hips, pressing his crotch against the American's face. "ONE!" Martin screams, pumping one finger into the air. "TWO!" the crowd joins him, picking up the count as Martin pumps two fingers. "THREE!," they roar, as Martin flexes his left bicep in victory.
|Switzerland's Sascha Heyer - 6'8", 229 lbs., 40 y/o|
The crowd is still on their feet 20 minutes later when Swiss beefcake, Sascha Heyer jogs to the ring. He's the biggest man in the tournament, and his long, powerful body glistens in baby oil as he climbs over the top rope in a tiny red speedo with the white Swiss cross stitched to his crotch. Size freaks lead the screams of adoration, which seem to make Sascha blush as he waves to the crowd.
|Netherlands' Reinder Nummador - 6'4", 194 lbs., 35 y/o|
The crowd seems to be irrevocably on Sascha's side when his opponent, Dutch hottie Reinder Nummandor jogs to the ring and climbs through the top two ropes. At 6'4", the Dutchman is long, tanned, and gorgeous, but he's simply dwarfed by his towering opponent. His skin tight orange square cut trunks cling to his sculpted body, outlining his cock which is already swelling with excitement and stretching underneath the fabric toward his left hip. The two contenders circle one another warily, bringing the roar of the crowd to an anticipatory hush. The collar and elbow tie up appears to be a mismatch, as Sascha uses his superior size to push the Dutchman back into the ropes. Sascha holds him against the ropes for several dominating seconds, and then warily releases his hold. Reinder cautiously does the same. As Sascha begins to step backward for a clean break, Reinder suddenly reaches out and pinches the Swiss beefcake's nipples. Shocked, Sascha smacks his hands away and backs quickly away, looking pissed. Reinder pushes himself off the ropes, and the two circle one another briefly before locking up by collar and elbow again. Once again, Sascha's size inevitably sends the Dutchman stutter-stepping back into the ropes. Once again, Sascha initiates a clean break off the ropes, but as he takes a step backward, Reinder's left hand shoots out and strokes the big man's Swiss pouch. Sascha furiously smacks the hand away and slaps the Dutchman's face. Suddenly, Reinder has him by the neck and trades places, rolling Sascha back into the ropes and pinning him there with his forearms pressing against his chest. Sascha holds his hands up, calling for another clean break, but Reinder has other plans. Suddenly grabbing him by the back of the neck with both hands, Reinder yanks Sascha's head down. Rolling to the balls of his feet, the Dutchman plants his mouth across the stunned Swiss hunk's lips. Sascha plants the palms of his hands against Reinder's chest, but he doesn't immediately push him away. The Dutchman's kiss seems to momentarily distract him as their tongues wrestle in Sascha's mouth. Abruptly, the Swiss hunk shoves his opponent away with such force that Reinder trips and falls to his ass in the middle of the ring. Sascha dives on top of him in a flash, lacing his legs and pressing Reinder's legs open wide while pinning the Dutchman's shoulders to the mat underneath his huge hands. The Swiss hunk stares down furiously into his opponent's face, but seems confused when Reinder lustfully shouts, "Yes!" The Dutchman slowly slides his hands up Sascha's bulging arms and strokes the big man's powerful pecs. The crowd screams for Sascha to count out a pinfall victory, but when the Dutchman kneads his nipples with his fingers again, his jaw drops open dumbly, clearly distracted. Reinder licks his lips slowly, and as if obeying a command, Sascha lowers his upperbody down and locks his lips on top of his opponent's. Reinder's hands quickly reach around Sascha's waist and slide underneath his trunks. His hands squeeze the Swiss hunk's ass. Sascha groans, and a moment later the Dutchman has rolled him over to his back, lips still locked together, his right hand now gently massaging the white cross of his opponent's pouch while his left hand cradles the Swiss hunk's neck. Some in the crowd shout for Sascha to snap out of the spell his opponent has woven, but most are hushed as they watch the seduction. Sascha's hands claw deep into the Dutchman's glutes, both men grunting loudly. The passion continues to mount, when slowly Reinder's hips slide to his opponent's side. At no point do his lips leave his opponent's hungry mouth, but his right hand slowly slides down Sascha's thigh and around to the back of the big man's knee. Sascha seems not to notice as his opponent hooks his leg and pulls it upward, rolling Sascha's shoulders flat on the mat. With his left hand, Reinder slaps the mat over Sascha's head, still sucking face fiercely as the crowd yells back, "One!" Again, Reinder slaps the mat and the crowd shouts, "Two!" As the Dutchman's palm raises for the three count, Sascha's eyes snap open. Before he can be counted out, he shoves Reinder's chest, sending the Dutchman flying off of him. The crowd roars to life again, shouting their encouragement for the Swiss rally. They both reach their feet at the same time, but Sascha's reach advantage manages to lock the Dutchman's head against his side, Sascha's incredibly long arm wrapped around his neck. In a flash, Sascha drops, driving Reinder's face to the mat. The Dutchman clutches his nose as he rolls to his side. His opponent leaps on top of him and shoves his shoulders to the mat. The Swiss hunk straddles his waist, his left hand pinning Reinder's shoulder to the mat. His clenches his right fist and cocks it next to his ear, taking aim. Almost faster than the crowd can see, he drives a vicious strike into the center of the Dutchman's chest. Reinder's mouth falls open dumbly as his eyes roll up into his head, his heart skipping a beat. Stroking the Dutchman's chest briefly, Sascha cocks his fist again next to his ear and in a flash spikes another heart stopping punch. Reinder's body spasms, his mouth continuing to hang open soundlessly. Again, Sascha cocks his fist, but before he can land another punch, Reinder slaps the mat frantically, unable to voice his submission. The crowd roars its approval, even as Sascha smiles broadly, leaning down and locking on one last lingering victory kiss.
|Sascha goes for gold|
|Martin's marvelous muscles|
A half an hour later, the gold medal contenders make their way through the sand, back to the ring. It's two of the biggest, fittest, most powerful strikers in the competition: Swiss pounder Sascha Heyer and Canadian coverboy, Martin Reader. Both hunks wear the gear they wore in their semi-final matches. Sascha sports a brief Swiss flag emblazoned red speedo. Martin's tight white boxer briefs are newly soaked and almost entirely transparent. There's no clear fan favorite, though Martin seems to inspire a slightly louder roar from the stands. The collar and elbow tie up in the center of the ring is, all in itself, stunning. Muscles flex and bulge. They lean into one another, pressing their legs and pushing with their arms to muscle one another backward. Sascha makes the Canadian hunk take a stutter step backward, but Martin quickly squelches the momentum and brings them to a stalemate once again. Frustrated, they abruptly shove each other away and circle, carefully examining each other's incredible physiques for any possible weakness. A second collar and elbow has the same results: a 2 minute long flex and jostle with no advantage to either man. As they approach for a third standoff, abruptly Sascha windmill's his right arm and savagely chops at his opponent's neck. The power behind the spike drops Martin to his knees in an instant. Sascha wraps his insanely long left arm around Martin's neck and pins the side of his head against his ribs, dragging the canuck to his feet. Another windmill right fist pounds into the fitness model's muscled back, directly between the shoulder blades. Martin's knees buckle to the mat, but he's quickly dragged back up, his head still locked tightly against his opponent's ribs. Yet another windmilling spike to his back drops the big Canadian again, and this time Sascha releases his head, plants his right foot on the Canadian's bulging right pec, and kicks the stunned competitor to his back. The Swiss hunk kneels between his opponent's knees, leaning forward, pinning his right shoulder to the mat and cocking his fist for a heart stopping punch to the chest. When he strikes, Martin's left hand shoots up defensively, deflecting the potentially crippling blow. Frustrated, Sascha cocks his fist again, but as he strikes, Martin grabs his wrist and holds tight. Sascha tries to pry his arm free, but when he leans back to use his left hand to pry Martin away, Martin's right arm wraps around the back of his neck, dragging him down on top of him. The clinch is tight and the scramble if desperate. Martin's knees press into Sascha's hips. Sascha drives a sharp punch to the Canadian's kidneys with his right fist. Martin slides his knees up his opponent's torso and then stretches, sliding his opponent down his sweaty body. Sascha throws another punch, but Martin is holding him too close to generate any momentum. Sascha's face is crushed against Martin's massive pecs, and as Martin again slides his knees upward and stretches, Sascha's face slides down his opponent's soaked body, coming to a halt with his nose pressed against Martin's navel. When Sascha pulls his right fist back to try to land another blow, Martin swiftly lifts his leg over Sascha's right shoulder. Sascha's chin is buried low against his opponent's crotch, and he's growing desperate. His left hand jerks free from Martin's hold and swings, but it's exactly what Martin wanted. In a flash, the Canadian's left leg hooks over Sascha's shoulder and his ankles lock behind the Swiss hunk's back. Sascha's face is smothered against his opponent's soaked crotch. When Martin laces his fingers behind Sascha's neck and pulls, the Swiss hunk has no unobstructed airway left. Martin arches his back, rolling up to his shoulders, adding powerful torque to the back of the big hunk's neck. The noise from the crowd is rising in anticipation. Sascha climbs to his knees, then shockingly pulls his feet underneath him, his back stretched forward with his opponent's 214 pounds dragging him down by the neck. He's got seconds left before his oxygen-starved muscles give out. The crowd gasps as Sascha wraps his arms around Martin's legs and manages to lift the Canadian's shoulders off the mat about a foot before dropping him crashing down to the mat. Martin's suffocating scissors hold rock steady, and 20 seconds later the Swiss competitor's knees buckle to the mat. He slaps Martin's legs, submitting in a growing panic, but the Canadian doesn't let go. Sascha's fists slap and strike at his opponent's legs wildly, but another 30 seconds pass and his arms begin to go limp. Martin flexes his quads, and a half a minute later, the Swiss hopeful is completely unconscious. Disentangling himself from his fallen foe, the Canadian climbs to his feet and wipes the sweat from his eyes. His briefs are tented, his mammoth cock hanging heavily at a 45 degree angle to the floor. The fans scream for their Canadian gold medalist.
The tag team medal competition features four fierce pairs. In one corner stand semi-finalist Jake Gibb and his American partner, Sean Rosenthal. Jake's sporting his briefest of navy blue speedos, and Sean wears complimentary red trunks.
|Team Netherlands - Shuil and Nummador|
|Team Switzerland - Chevallier and Heyer|
|Team Canada - Reader and Binstock|
|Sebastien Chevallier - 6'4", 196 lbs., 25 y/o|
|Josh Binstock - 6'5", 218 lbs, 31 y/o|
The first two to face off are Sebastien and Josh. A collar and elbow tie up results in Sebastien backed slowly but surely into the Dutch corner. As Josh pins him against the turnbuckle, the Dutch team exploits the opportunity. Reinder is on his knees, pulling on Sebastien's hips and gently biting at the Swiss stud's bubble butt. Richard gently strums Sebastian's ribs and obliques with his fingers. When Sascha steps a foot into the ring, threatening to intervene on his partner's behalf, the Swiss team step away. Suddenly, Josh hooks his right arm underneath Sebastian's left arm and hip tosses the Swiss hunk into the center of the ring. With one eye warily on the 6'8" giant looming nearby, Josh grabs Sebastien by the ankles, laces his right leg around his opponent's left leg, and falls to the mat locking on a knee-breaking figure-4 leg lock. Sebastien rises to a seated position in panic, begging for the Canadian's mercy. Josh spits in his face, which is just too much for Sebastian's partner to stand. The giant hunk roars into the ring and lands a heart pounding heel strike to the center of Josh's chest. Martin is halfway inside the ring to counter the dirty doubleteam, but Sascha retreats to his corner quickly. Josh and Sebastien are both winded, struggling for their feet. It's a race against time as they focus on their corners. Josh lunges across the corner and tags Martin in. Martin sprints across the ring and grabs Sebastien by the hair before he can make contact with his partner's reaching hand. Martin drags Sebastien on his hands and knees back to the center of the mat, scoops him up and bodyslams him hard. He repeats the devastating maneuver two more times. Hands on his hips and strolling slowly around the battered Swiss beauty, Martin surprises the Dutch team by suddenly slapping Reinder's hand.
|Reinder reluctantly enters the fray|
|Sascha's back with a vengeance|
|Jake has a go with the Swiss pounder|
|Sean Rosenthal - 6'4", 194 lbs, 32 y/o|
Sascha has single handedly taken out the American team like it was nothing. He looks at the remaining teams, his gaze alternating, challenging, between the Canadians and the Dutch. It's all the same to him. It's Reinder who climbs through the ropes to join the fray and sets up a rematch of the semi-finalists. He winks at Sascha, and somehow the Swiss hunk seems stung. He winces, blinks rapidly, and then refocuses, the intensity returning to his face. They circle one another briefly before pounding into another collar and elbow tie up. This time Reinder manages to move the mountain. Sascha's strength is waning, and the smaller man backs him up until Sascha's back leans into the Dutch corner. Recognizing the danger he's in, Sascha tries to escape, but Richard has dropped to the sand outside the ring and has hold of the Swiss hunk's ankles. The Canadian team isn't about to protest the dirty double team, and the Dutch scrappers have their way with the big man. Richard yanks on his ankles, dropping Sascha to his knees. Reinder shoves his crotch into Sascha's face. Richard is back on the the ring apron, on his knees, yanking down the front of Sascha's speedo and stimulating the swelling Swiss beef. Sascha's fight seeps out of him like a pin bursting a balloon. Almost mindlessly, he works Reinder's cock with his teeth and tongue through the fabric of the orange squarecuts. When Richard has him near orgasm, the Swiss pounder admits defeat and submits. The Dutch team drops him and kicks him out of the ring. Josh is in the ring in an instant, but Reinder's attention is squarely on him. There's no surprise attack. As they circle, Josh is careful to stay out of arms reach of the Dutch corner. Josh has just a slight height advantage, but he's clearly wary of the handsome young Dutchman. As well he should be. With lightening quickness, Reinder drops to one knee and sweeps a leg. Josh is on his back, folded in half, with his opponent straddling his face. His shoulders are pinned underneath Reinder's knees, and the Dutchman counts out a decisive 3-count pin.
|Martin poised to pounce|
|Martin's long, gorgeous body|
|Team Gold: Netherlands!|