|Reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy: 5'10", 145 lbs Skrapper|
|Scorching Jake Jenkins: 5'7", 155 lbs.|
Jake has a notoriously steady hand on the rudder when he wrestles. He looks like a chess master through most of his matches, as much as a seriously dangerous powerhouse muscleman who, as Skrapper learns, can wrestle, punch, and kick with equally devastating results. Skrapper spends the first half of this match chipping away at the cool as ice exterior on lovely Jake. Having lured him to the mats for some "training," he instantly and literally knocks Jake on his heels with the surprise that he wants to box. It takes approximately a blink of an eye for Jake to recalibrate and start unloading a semi full of bell ringing strikes with fists, feet, knees and elbows.
|Skrapper may not have gotten the memo that Jake is also an MMA fighter!|
Bit by bit, Skrapper keeps chipping away, not giving Jake a moment to breathe, not a second to recover when he gets the wind knocked out of him. Slowly it dawns on Jake that this isn't about "training" at all. As Skrapper starts both dominating and humiliating the "little fucking monkey," Jake starts to lose his patience. "What's your problem, dude!" he snaps angrily when Skrapper stays on the offense well past the point of "practicing" a hold. Between Skrapper and Jake, I suspect there may be more utterances of the word "dude" in this match than any other in the history of homoerotic wrestling. I could find that grating, but I don't. Not for a second. Because like Jake, I just don't have time to catch a breath or be bothered by anything. Skrapper sucker punches and pounds and squeezes his way inside Jake's guard and underneath Jake's flawless skin, and right around the time sweat is pouring off of both of these boys' bodies in streams, Jake is seriously pissed off and I'm completely turned on.
|I'd pay good money to trade places with Skrapper at this very moment!|
The baggy shorts come off pretty quickly, thank the homoerotic wrestling gods. More than 5 minutes with Jake Jenkins in anything more than very low-rise briefs is a crime against all that's right and good in this world, as far as I'm concerned. And fuck, Skrapper! Damn! He's no muscleboy, mind you, but he's seriously fit, toned, and does a mighty fine job of making his own pair of athletic-fit Calvins stretch at all the right seams. Their two well-lubricated bodies sliding and squeezing all over each other is somewhere between a religious experience and insanely masterful art. Skrapper's face and hands go places I'd give a kidney to go, and the more moisture their bodies generate, the more I swoon at the sound of hard, muscled bodies slapping wetly into each other... and the mat... and the walls.
|I don't know what you call this, but I call it sexy as hell!|
|Skrapper messes with the bull...|
|Is he finally down for good!?|
|Chalk up another victory for that little fucking monkey!|