Message from John Carter

This blog is rated R and is not appropriate for people under the age of 18. If you are offended by gay content, please move on and read some other blog.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

I Do Not Wrestle (today)

Man, those two guys in the picture above are going at it, aren't they?  Part wrestling, part fucking. 

I was scheduled to wrestle a guy this morning, but things did not work out.  And, I've agonized about how I'd approach explaining this to you guys.  You see, I was not able to get together with the guy - let's call him Mr. B - because he could not fly into my town on account of the fact that he had lost power at his home to Hurricane Irene and his mother lives with him and she's on oxygen which requires electricity to generate, and he needs to keep the generator running.  Obviously, in the equation of Mother's Life vs. Wrestling, Mother's Life wins. 

But it's not exactly that simple.  Mr. B and I have been trying to meet up for years.  I think I first heard from him maybe five years ago.  He has work that brings him to my town on occasion and we've set up maybe six meetings over the years to get together.  Every single time something has come up.  Usually it involves his work - he has to travel with his boss or a co-worker and he can't get away.  Earlier this year, I flew to his home town, and we set up a meeting.  At last, right?  But no.  Unbelievably, his father died.  Yeah, died. 

Let me say that based on the photos I've seen of this guy, he's good looking. Not too big (around 165 pounds) and pretty cut.  He doesn't want to wrestle so much as flex and trade holds.  That's cool.  But I swear I'm beginning to think that there is some sort of curse on us.  Really, I did not expect to get with him this morning.  I set up my plans to do so - cleared my schedule at work, took off half a day - but I knew that there was a really good chance that we would not get together.  And I was right.

All of this is a really good example of how it is to communicate with someone over the internet.  I've never met Mr. B.  Never spoken to him on the phone.  For all I know, he could be some fourteen-year-old jerk in Ohio who's fucking with me.  The pictures he sends to me are relatively unchanged over all these years.  It could be a hoax.

But I don't think so.  As I've mentioned before in this column, you develop a sense about these things that helps you to determine when to stop emailing and when to keep going.  In this case, I think Mr. B is telling me the truth.  I find it hard to believe someone would maintain this sort of correspondence over years as a joke for such a small pay-off.  I think he really does want to get together, and I will put myself out there to meet him, if I can.  Cursed?  Well, I don't believe in those things, but man, we've had a string of bad luck.  Still, I want to meet him.  I just hope it's not a big let down when it finally happens. 

 

Saturday, August 27, 2011

What Took Me So Long to Post?

Hey guys.  Sorry I haven't posted any this week, but between work, writing, working out and wrestling (the four W's) I haven't had much time for posting.  But here it is, Saturday, and I've got a few minutes. 

First of all, I want to thank everyone who wrote in listing their secret actor wrestling crushes.  I have to say, I thought my list was a bit odd.  Thanks for putting things in perspective for me!  Tom Selleck?  Really?  Maybe the 1970's Tom Selleck, but not the 2011-version, right?  Will Ferrell?  Yes, he does run around naked quite a bit, but you actually want to put your hands on him?

Of course, a lot of guys listed pro wrestlers as their secret wrestling actor crushes.  At first I thought this was a little odd - are they really actors?  But on second thought, John Cena...okay.  I get it.  He does have a nice body although I don't care for the long blue jean shorts.

On another note, I got to do some wrestling this week.  A guy I know from down south came up and we wrestled for quite a while.  He has about forty pounds on me, and once he'd get on top of me, I had a very hard time getting him off.  But I was stronger than him, and was able to submit him at least twice.  I had a great time.  I think he did, too.

Of course, disappointment was also the order of the day - or weekend - as I was unable to get together with my bud from Texas.  I was sure hoping to wrestle him again.  But he could not come up and...well...it's just as well.  I'm working this weekend, yet again.  Arrrg!  But soon!  I will wrestle him again, and hopefully get some pictures.  He's one of the hottest guys I've ever wrestled!

Okay, gotta go.  I'll write again as soon as I can.  Wrestle hard, dudes!   

Friday, August 19, 2011

At the Gym (Part 4) and some miscellaneous stuff

Before I continue with my story about meeting a guy at the gym, there is some Tom Hardy news that I need to pass along.  Remember Tom?  He's the guy I talked about a few posts ago who will be staring in a movie about Mixed Martial Arts called Warrior, and he will also be staring as Bane, Batman's opponent in the upcoming The Dark Knight Rises.  First of all, there is a story making the rounds on the internet that Tom was "knocked out" by Shia LeBeouf - the dude who stars in all those Transformer movies.  According to Tom himself, Shia punched him and knocked him out back stage during the filming of an up-coming movie. To this I say, WHAT THE H?!?  Tom, even if it's true, don't say it!  Shia's a punk.

The other story, posted on Britain's Daily Mail online site, was an excerpt from an interview with Tom in which he said that he'd had relations with men.  That peaked my interest as you can well imagine.  Of course, the story was accompanied by a picture of Tom with some pretty actress (I forget who) that I think he's going to marry.  So all that gay-ing around is in his past.  Tom!  Before you swear it all off for good, how about a wrestling match with me?  Think about it, dude. Then, after I've beaten you, I'll kick Shia's ass for you.  I swear it. 






Okay, back to my story:

That Saturday morning was one of those perfect late summer days when the humidity was not so oppressive and the sky was absolutely perfectly blue.  I was stoked to wrestle my friend, and a little nervous, too.  I knew he was married, so I was wondering exactly how all this was going to work out.  Just about fifteen minutes before ten I took off, drove across town, and got to his place right at ten (I'm a stickler for being on time).

He lived in a perfectly normal ranch style house.  There were a few kids toys in the front yard, and that unfortunately reminded me that he had a family.  Still, I bounded out of my car and up to the front door.  I rang the bell...and his wife answered the door.  I was a little shocked, but recovered myself pretty well.  She was nice, and asked if I was Doug's (have I mentioned his name?  It was Doug) wrestling partner.  Odd choice of words--partner.  But I said, yeah, and she let me in.  I was suddenly seized with the fear that I was going to be wrestling Doug in the garage or backyard while his kids and wife watched and I was SO not cool with that.  But, she was gathering up her things and shuttling her kids to a minivan.  They were off to her mother's for the weekend and he was hanging around with me before going to work that afternoon.  So, I settled down, and sat on the couch while all that domestic activity went on around me.

Honestly, in spite of the fact that she was leaving, I wanted to go.  I felt like I'd stumbled into some odd situation where I did not belong.  It was all so...wrong...and I really just wanted to bolt out the door.  But I didn't, as much for Doug's sake as mine, and soon she and the kids were gone.

Doug walked into the living room and sat down in a chair.  He was dressed in gym shorts and a tank - he looked good.  And he was in a good mood.  He told me she was gone for the weekend and that he had to go into work around one.  But that we had plenty of time to work out (his words).

I quite naturally asked, "Where are we going to wrestle?"

He answered me by pointing at the floor (which sort of confused me for a second) until I realized that he wanted to wrestle there in the living room.  He jumped up and pushed back the chair, and then asked me to help move the coffee table.  The room was carpeted in an ancient shag, and I had visions of carpet burns.  But he left and then returned with a big quilt which he threw onto the floor.  Then, to my amazement, he stripped off his shirt and got down on his hands and knees.

"Come on, dude," he said, grinning.

I hesitantly stripped off my shirt and shoes and got down on the floor with him.  He was impatient, and the whole time I was getting off my shoes, he was slapping the floor and saying "Let's go!"

We faced each other and he stood up on his knees and stretched out his chest.  "I'm not going to go easy on you today, Jack," he said.  "I'm going to get you in a hold and I'm not going to let you go?  You ready to be my bitch, dude?"

I had gone through so many emotions over the previous few moments that I had a hard time shifting into pretend bad-ass mode, so I just sort of grimaced and went at him.  We locked up and immediately I could tell that he was enjoying feeling our bodies together.  Unlike when I'd wrestled him at the gym, here he was not looking to submit me as much as to just feel me.  He was grinning like crazy and we took turns getting each other in holds.  He got me in a hold,  then released, and then I got him in one, and released.  This went on for a bit, until he got me in a headlock.  He did not apply real pressure.  Rather he just held me around the neck.  I worked to break his hold but he wasn't looking to end this.  He was enjoying keeping me under control, and he moved in close to me, working his legs around mine so that he was absolutely flattened against me.  That was when I realized that he was hard as a rock.

He pushed forward against me until I was on all fours and he was draped across my back, his arms around my neck.  He began to thrust against my ass with his groin. He was wearing shorts--as was I--but I could feel how hard he was and he began to moan.  So, I suggested we break, strip, and resume our positions.

Without saying a word, he stood, kicked off his shorts and then got back down on the quilt.  I did the same.  He positioned himself behind me and we were right back where we had been, his hard cock pressed against my ass.

I decided not to let him just take me, so I used his distraction to break loose and reverse him.  We wrestled for a while, back and forth, and slowly we got more serious about it.  Something told me that whoever won would do what they wanted, and I wasn't ready to let him have me.  I wasn't sure I could stand it.  So, I wrestled as hard as I could, and eventually I got his back and worked one of his arms around behind him.  My arm was around his neck, and he struggled for a bit, but then gasped out, "I give.  You...you beat me.  I'm...I'm yours..."


That was one of those moments in life where you hang, suspended in air.  I had a choice to make.  I could indulge myself--I'd earned it by beating him--or I could release him.  I understood his situation in life, his responsibilities, his obligations.  I knew he wasn't free, and that anything I did to him could be considered, on some level, morally objectionable.  I thought, for a brief fraction of a split second about the wife and kids who'd tumbled out the door and into the minivan.  I thought of the jingle of the keys, the wave of hands, the sippy cup full of purple liquid.  I thought of all those things, and I hesitated.

But then I fucked him.

So, sue me, I'm only human. 

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

At the Gym (Part 3)

Around nine o'clock we made our way out to the parking lot.  As we stepped outside, he stripped off his sweat-drenched T and let the night air dry his chest.  He shook his head and sweat flipped off like a wet dog.  I wasn't sure where things were going, or even if they were going anywhere, but I followed along with him to his car.  Instead of climbing inside, he leaned against the door and looked at me.

His smile was over-whelming, mainly because it conveyed so much and so little.  He looked satisfied, a little tired, but also sort of interested.  The way he met my eyes...I couldn't tell if he was saying he wanted more or if he was just worn out. 

"So..." He spoke first, and he hesitated over the word.  "...are we going to wrestle again...sometime?"

"Absolutely," I answered, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

He just laughed.

After a few heart-beats, I added, "So, when do you want to get together?"

He looked off toward the gym and seemed to ponder this deeply, then he turned back to me and said, "Let's not wrestle here.  Let's wrestle at my place."  My heart leaped.  Then he added, "But not tonight.  I can't...not tonight.  But maybe later this week?"

We traded phone numbers and shook hands.  On the way home, I was flying.  Not only was I flushed with that feeling of having wrestled -- of having accomplished something, of having struggled and fought against another human being -- I was also flushed with desire.  I liked him.  Wanted him.  I couldn't wait to hear from him.

Of course, I'm old enough that I had gotten a hold on myself by next morning.  I knew there was a good chance that I would not hear from him again.  What might have seemed like a good idea the night before may have faded by now, so I looked myself in the mirror and steeled myself for the possibility of a big let down.  I wanted him to call.  I wanted to see him again.  I definitely wanted to wrestle him again.  But I'd seen the mark on his finger where he'd removed his wedding ring the night before.  So I knew that there was a really good chance that I would never see, let alone wrestle, him again.

And, over the next few days, my doubts and fears were justified.  I did not hear from him.  Sure I could have called him, but he asked me not to.  He specifically said, "Let me call you."  So, I did not call him.  And I waited.  And I waited.

Then, about three weeks later, on a Friday night, he called.  He asked if I could come over to his place the following day.  I tried to act casual (the fact that my smart phone had displayed his name when he called gave me a chance to collect myself).  But I agreed to come over.  As I pressed END on my phone, I almost jumped for joy.  I was going over to his house to wrestle.

Saturday, August 13, 2011

At the Gym (Part 2)

I arrived at the MMA gym a few minutes early.  The owner, a guy I'd met several times in the past, asked me if I was there to join the kick-boxing class that was going on.  If I was, I was late.  I told him I was meeting a friend to do some grappling.

The gym is in a converted warehouse space.  It is essentially one big room with a huge amount of mat space.  One side was taken up with a bunch of people doing a sort of kick-boxing, aerobic routine (they had dance music playing).  I moved over to a section of the mats away from them, sat down and started doing some stretching.  As time passed, and I stretched and stretched, I began to wander if I was going to be stood up.  I didn't have the guy's phone number.  We had just agreed to meet at seven.  It was now seven fifteen or so.  I made a mental pact with myself to wait until seven thirty and then leave.

As yet another K$ysha song started to play, I was just about to get to my feet and leave, when he walked into the gym.  He was smiling and he waved to me as he approached.  He was dressed a little differently than I'd hoped he would be.  He was wearing a pair of baggy shorts, sandals, and a long-sleeved T shirt.  I guess it was the long-sleeved T that most put me off.  He was showing so little skin that I was just a little put out.  Still, he had good legs - hairy and sort of muscular.  But still.

And of course, I was a little put out because he was late.  I am habitually on-time and have always had a hard time with people who treat deadlines and appointments as approximate times.  Still, he apologized - sort of - and I shrugged it off.  At least I'd get to wrestle him.  I could just use my anger. 

He talked while he stretched - just random things.  I wasn't really listening too carefully to what he was saying.  Rather I was listening to his voice.  He had a nice voice.  Deep and masculine.  Sort of sand-papery but boyish.  I liked his voice.  There was a calmness to it, but strength as well.

Finally, we started to wrestle.  He began on his back, which I had not expected.  I thought he would want to start in a neutral position (both of us on our feet) but instead he lay back and invited me to try and cross his guard. 

I shrugged it off, and went after him, but he used his legs very effectively to keep me at bay.  After a few futile attempts, I remembered an old trick I'd seen once.  I grabbed one of his legs and swung him around, then doubled back and got into his half guard.  From there, we really started wrestling.  He was strong.  Stronger than me, I guess.  But not by too much.  I was able to hold him on the ground and work on an arm for a bit before he bridged me off and worked out of it.  We seemed to roll across each other, chest to chest, chest to back, chest to chest, and pretty soon his T was wet with sweat.  He had a man's smell to him.  Not an unpleasant funk, just the smell of a guy and I liked it.  Liked the way he felt in my arms, the way our legs intertwined, the feel of the back of his head (he had very close-cropped hair).

He laughed a lot when he wrestled.  As though he was enjoying himself.  Sometimes when he strained to break a hold, he'd emit a faint grunt, sort of like a martial artist does to direct their chi.  For a while he had me from behind, and worked to get his arm around my neck.  I could feel his breath on my neck.  And he sort of laughed and told me that it was looking bad for me.  But then I broke free and we were on all fours facing each other.

I'm not sure when the kick-boxing class broke up.  We continued to wrestle, and I think for a bit a couple of people stood around and watched us go at it.  I was completely in the zone wrestling this guy, and all of that was merely the most vague movement beyond my concentration.  I was enjoying myself, too,  Enjoying the way he felt, his hairy legs, the dark sweat patch of his T that clung to his hard body, the way he put his hand on my crotch and lifted me, letting it linger just a second - or was that my imagination?

Finally, we broke and both of us laid back on the mats.  We were breathing hard and sweat was running down my face in rivulets.  I brought my T up to wipe my face and he reached over and patted me on the stomach.  I think he wanted to feel my abs, and I let him, holding the shirt up a moment longer.

"Man, you're a blast to wrestle," I said.

He was sitting up now, looking at me with a big old grin.  "Yeah."  He nodded, and I swear he blushed.  Then he looked down at his bare feet.  "Wanna go again?"

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

At the Gym

I had seen him at the gym many times in the past.  He was around five eight, broad-shouldered, with very short-cropped hair.  He had pale blue eyes and a sort of pug nose.  Typically, he dressed in an over-sized T shirt, but some days he arrived in a tank showing off his well-defined shoulders.  In many respects, he was just what I found attractive, although he was quite hairy, with hairy forearms and legs, and from what I could tell when he wore the tank, a hairy chest.

Initially we did not acknowledge each others' presence.  We would pass each other in the narrow hallway leading to the dressing room and barely make eye-contact, let alone speak.  But, as time passed, and we became accustomed to seeing each other, we smiled and said hello.

I work out in a part of the gym that is fairly secluded.  There are two areas with free weights - one below by the front door, and another at the back and up some stairs.  I always went to the back, mainly because it tended to have less people.  One warm June day, he showed up in my section, and we began working out side-by-side in front of the banks of mirrors. 

The first time this happened, we barely spoke.  But the second time, he put down his weights after a set, wiped his brow and stood there, watching me lift.  As I completed my set, and put down my weights, he smiled.  "You're looking good, man,"he said. 

I smiled back and mentioned that I thought he was looking pretty damned good too.  I was wearing an old baggy pair of gym shorts, a gray T shirt that said "Wrestling" across the front, and my wrestling shoes.  My typical gym attire.  He noticed and motioned to my shoes.

"What kind of shoes are those?"

"Wrestling."

"Really?  Do you wrestle?"

"Yeah," I nodded. 

"I don't really wrestle, but I do grapple," he said, apparently not realizing that grappling and wrestling were pretty much the same thing.

"Oh yeah?"  I turned toward him and asked where he grappled.  It turned out he was a member of a local MMA gym - one to which I also belonged - and he'd been taking lessons off and on for about two months.  He really liked it.  I told him that I was a member of that gym, and asked if he'd like to try working out together some time.  To make a long story short, he said he would and we agreed to meet up at the MMA gym the following night.

To be continued...

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

The Possibilities are Endless

I borrowed the picture above from the Blog - Ringside at Skull Island.  It appears to have been borrowed - in turn - from BG East DVDs.  I like the way the guy pulls his singlet out and away from his body exposing his nice abs.  I'd like to see the whole video some time.  I just wish BG East let you download their movies rather than have to buy them through the mail.

Anyway, I've had this fantasy for quite a while where I get an email from some guy who tells me he's moving to my town, that he loves to wrestle, that he will have mats, and that he really wants to wrestle me.  My fantasy came true the other day.  I got the email.

My town isn't exactly the garden spot of wrestling.  Although I'm able to get in a match once in a while, there isn't a list of guys waiting around to wrestle like there is in a town like Chicago or Philadelphia.  On any given day, my chances of wrestling another guy are low to zero.  So, the chance to have someone in town who likes to wrestle, who wants to wrestle, and who will have mats is just too good to pass up.

The guy says that he will be moving here in a few weeks.  He's bigger than me - no great shock there - but not so much bigger as to be out of the question.  His profile says he's around 180 (to my 145), so that's okay.  He appears to be fairly accomplished at submission wrestling.  He said he had a black belt in jui jitsu. That could spell trouble.  I don't even have...well, any color of belt in jui jitsu.  So I expect that he'll probably submit me over and over.  That's not a problem if he's not a jerk about it and beats me half to death.  Hopefully he'll want to show me some things.  Help me to improve. 

One thing that sort of took me aback was the fact that his profile mentioned that he liked to wrestle for top.  I really don't do that.  I have not indulged in any anal goings-ons since Reagan was still upright and functioning.  So, I guess I'll have to have a conversation with him about that.  Hopefully that isn't some sort of deal breaker with him. 

On another note, I am hoping against hope that I have a match with Mr. G - the stud from Texas I wrestled a month or so ago - this weekend.  Mr. G was so hot that I can shot just thinking about him.  And he's a super nice guy to boot.  I won't know until later this week whether he can get free.  Please keep your fingers crossed for me!

Meanwhile, I hope you guys are getting in some wrestling.  I've heard back from quite a few guys telling me who their secret actor-crushes are.  I'll list some of them in an upcoming post.  And, I still haven't heard from Max Anderson.  Max, come on, let's get to wrestling dude! 

 

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Guys I Want to Wrestle

I'm not sure if I have a type or not, but I do think it's fair to say that I like short guys.  They don't have to be real muscular, but that certainly helps.  For instance, among college wrestlers, I would really like to wrestle Brad Pataki, a guy who wrestled for Penn State until this past year - when he graduated.

Brad looks like a kid, though, doesn't he?  He's not.  And he's one of the better wrestlers in the country, so I know he'd kick my sorry ass.  But...still. 

Another college wrestler I'd like to get my hands on is Zach Sanders, a stand-out at Minnesota, who I would love to see win an NCAA but who probably never will because of Matt McDonough at Iowa.  Here's a picture of Zach.  He's on the left getting some hapless dude in a headlock.


If I were to cast my net a bit wider, I'd say that I would like to wrestle Kevin Connolly, from the HBO TV show Entourage.  I think he'd be a tough opponent and he seems to be in decent shape, although I could not find a photo of him shirtless.

I would also like a chance to throw down with Larenz Tate from Rescue Me.  He's a little stud and I'm sure would be tough to pin, but I don't care.  I wanna try.  Below, you can see him all ready to  box.  Nice build, eh?


Another dude I think needs to strip down and take me on is Marshall Allman, Tommy, from True Blood.   I know, a lot of you guys prefer Sam or Bill or Eric, but I think Tommy would be fun to wrestle one hot afternoon in the backyard.  We'd both start in just a pair of jeans.  Then things would get a little frisky.

How about B.D. Wong?

James Kyson Lee, from the primo-lame-o Heroes?

Yeah, now that would be fun to wrestle.  Jesus, he's got some fine abs, yeah? 

Okay, okay, I told myself I would not indulge in this sort of teen fantasy wish-I-could-wrestle-but-he's-too-famous shit.  But I'm working and it's about two in the morning (waiting on a program to complete its run) so what else is there for me to do?  Care to share your secret actor-crush?  Send me an email and tell me who you'd like to get all sweaty with on the mats.   Just keep in mind, it's late.  So please, no one say Kevin James.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Humiliation Part II

Another scenario that I find extremely exciting is the idea of a hero who wins and wins, but finally wrestles a match where he is beaten and humiliated in front of a crowd of on-lookers.  This past year, in college wrestling, I got to see just that scenario.  The guy in the photo above is David Taylor, a sophomore (last year) from Penn State - okay, I guess that's sort of obvious.  David was an outstanding high school wrestler, and in his first year of competing at the college level he won match after match. 





It was amazing to me, watching David win his matches.  I went to Chicago over last winter and watched him wrestle at Northwestern University during the Big Ten Tournament.  David out-wrestled everyone he met on the mats.  I was increasingly worried about him - wondering if he'd be able to keep the momentum going.  And, in his match with Derrick St. John, a tough wrestler from Iowa, David looked to be in trouble.  He almost got turned over and pinned in the first period, but he righted himself in time and won.

I then went to the NCAA Championships in Philadelphia.  There, I knew David would be up against St. John again, as well as Bubba Jenkins, a tough wrestler from Arizona State that David had not had to wrestle yet during the year.  Bubba has a history with Penn State and with David.  He'd wrestled for Penn State the previous few years and had worked out a lot with David Taylor.  He knew David's moves, and he was stronger than David.  But, Bubba ran foul of Head Coach Cael Sanderson and transferred to Arizona State.  So, when David defeated St. John again, the finals match was between Cael Sanderson's undefeated boy-wonder and a disgruntled and angry Bubba Jenkins who - we all knew - intended to humiliate David in front of a national audience. 

The question was: could he do it?




During the first period, David was not his usual self.  He did not press the attack and seemed to be holding back.  Jenkins was the aggressor, going in for single and double legs, but David was intent on escaping.  Then, just as the second period got started, Bubba (who had taken the top position) clamped on a cradle and before my astonished eyes, David Taylor was turned over and pinned right there in front of a national audience and - of course - his coach Cael Sanderson.  Jenkins had gotten his revenge.

The themes that emerge from this story - the innocent looking young champion winning victory after victory, the revenge-driven former teammate looking to humiliate and debase, the crowd of anxious on-lookers - all figure into a recurring sexual fantasy of mine in which I am fated to wrestle someone who I should beat - who everyone expects me to beat - but who turns the tables and humiliates me in front of my friends and fans.  I am sure that David Taylor derived no sexual pleasure from being beaten, but in my own fantasy world, I thought it was an amazing story.

So, what about you guys?  What sort of scenario turns you on? 

Friday, August 5, 2011

Humiliation

A golden moment in a wrestling match is that moment where you catch your opponent flat footed and pull him over, exposing his body to the mats.  He struggles, helpless in your grasp, sweat pouring from him, as he works to break free.  But it is all in vain.  No matter how he struggles, he cannot break your grip and you hold him, immobile, in front of his friends and other wrestlers, for all to see.  A loser.  Your victim.  Your boy. 

I have been the recipient of those types of holds as much as the giver.  More than once in my life have I been placed in a hold, made helpless, and forced to endure the taunts and sarcasm of my opponent.  I like to win, but I also like to lose, and it is this type of hold that I find most appealing.  I like to be rendered incapable of moving and to have my cock worked over, as I sweat it out and try, try to escape.

One time, several years ago, I wrestle this guy who came to town once in a great while.  He worked for the airlines so he was in and out on occasion.  I wrestled him one night in his hotel room and found out what it was like to be beaten and humiliated.  He wasn't so much bigger than me, and he wasn't so much stronger.  We were both about the same size, but he knew a lot more about wrestling than I did at that time, and he easily worked me over onto my back where he ground his cock into mine, working the sweat into a foam of lubrication that brought me to the brink of orgasm over and over.  Each time he'd wait until I was so close, and then relax the pressure, wearing me down and sapping my strength.



Then he rolled around and trapped my body by laying across my chest at an angle, his back to my head.  I was wrestling him in the nude and he began to work the head of my cock in his hand.  I tried to bridge him off me, to roll to my side, but I was trapped, unable to escape from his remorseless fondling and rubbing of my exposed and hard cock.  Like the wrestler above, I was utterly trapped and presented to the crowd as his bitch, his boy.  Then he spit into his hand and really went to work.  I begged him to stop.  I struggled, and fought, but eventually the pressure was too much.  I came again and again, and he rolled off.  I was spent in every sense of the word, and then...his slave.   

Thursday, August 4, 2011

What the F**k?

I looked at the post I put out here yesterday and thought I'd stumbled onto Tigerbeat.com or something.  I gotta get a hold on myself.  Like I'll ever wrestle Michael Stahl-David.  Like he even wrestles!

So, I'm getting geared up (figuratively speaking) to do some wrestling over the next week or so.  I'm hoping I'll be able to wrestle a friend of mine from Texas in about another week.  He is definitely one of my favorite guys to wrestle.  I'm still thinking about the last time we hooked up.  He's got this solid, muscular body that is proportioned just like mine (well, he may look a little better).  We wrestled all over the bed and then wrestled standing up in front of a mirror.   At one point he got me from behind and had his hand up under my ass and around the shaft of my cock.  I was so turned on.  I still get hard thinking about it. 

There is another guy I might wrestle in the next week.  An old friend.  He isn't really that into wrestling.  In fact, although he's always game for anything, I can tell that it isn't his real turn on.  I guess he just humors me.  He's way too strong for me, unfortunately, and since he doesn't really wrestle, he doesn't understand how to hold back.  I have to be careful not to get hurt.  I guess I'm still contemplating whether to wrestle him again.  As I write this, I realize that I haven't really decided if it's a good thing to do. 

I have to work some this weekend...drag.  But I hope you guys have a good weekend.  Get out there and enjoy yourself.  Do some wrestling. 

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Ruminations

I'm guessing you guys are a lot like me, in that sometimes you become fixated on an actor for no easily discernible reason.  One object of my fascination is an actor named Michael David-Stahl, perhaps not the most well-known dude in Hollywood, but one that caught my eye a while back.  And, as you might be able to guess, I want to wrestle him.

Michael is probably best known for his part in Cloverfield, the J.J. Abrams monster flick from a few years back.  Michael's character, Rob, really got to me for some reason and he's stuck in my head even years later. 

The picture above (yes, he's on the right) is from a very-short-lived TV series called My Generation.  I saw a few episodes on my ipad (the show was canceled after one or two episodes) and it wasn't very good.  Worse, I didn't really like Michael's character too much.  But, you can see that he cleans up pretty well, and can pass for a high school senior.  Never a bad thing in a potential wrestling partner.

I am under the impression that he lives in Chicago, and since I travel to Chicago fairly often, I think that if any of you guys know Michael or have seen him in Chicago, you should let him know that I'm ready to wrestle him when I come up.  Just a friendly match.  Nothing too competitive.  Unless he likes competitive. 

I have no idea where the image above came from.  It looks like Michael tripped and fell into the eighties.  Maybe a Michael Mann production with a soundtrack dominated by synthesizers and a drum-machine?  Perhaps I could offer to help him up and out of that suit?  Or maybe he's doing his Toby Macguire impersonation?  

So, anyway, help me out here guys.  If you see this guy at a bar or at the gym, tap him on the shoulder and point him to my blog.  Meanwhile, where is that Max Anderson?  He's dodging me. 

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Bane

A week or so ago, I wrote a post about Tom Hardy, an actor I saw in the movie Inception who will soon be in a movie about MMA called The Warrior.  I forgot to mention that Tom - I call him Tom since we're on a first name basis - will be in the new Batman movie - The Dark Knight Rises which will be released in the summer of 2012.  Tom will be playing Bane, the Venom-enhanced monster that breaks Batman's back - in the comics anyway.  By now you've probably seen the photos that have been posted on the internet.  Tom does not look like the drawing of Bane shown above.  Too bad.  I wish he did not wear a shirt in the movie.

On another note, thanks to everyone who wrote in to defend me against Anonymous Dude, the jerk who told me that I would never, and should never, wrestle Max Anderson.  It was really nice to get so many comments and emails from readers and friends.  Thanks guys.  But it really didn't bother me that much. 

The main reason I brought it up was to highlight how mean some folks can be on these blogs.  The guy who writes/draws the Rants Roids Rasslin blog has had some really unkind comments over the last few months, and I think that has been bothering me.  I really like the drawings he does, and it angers me that people are so small-minded and mean when it comes to what and when he draws.  I guess Anonymous' post just got to me for that reason.  As for whether I'm in Max Anderson's league, or anyone's elses' league for that matter - I don't care.  I'm too busy working out and wrestling - or thinking about wrestling - to worry about that.

So, Max, if you're out there - I still want to wrestle you, dude!  And again, thank you, everyone. 

Monday, August 1, 2011

August

Well, it's August first down south and the heat is rising along with the hard southern cocks.  Some people may think it's too hot to do much of anything this time of year, but I say it's the perfect time to strip down and stand toe-to-toe with a muscled stud and get to some serious yard wrestling.  Yeah, you'll be covered in sweat in mere seconds, and the grass, still a little wet from the early-morning watering, will cling to your back and thighs - but that's no reason not to wrestle your buddy.

Or if that just won't do, find a darkened room where the window unit is droning on and on, and do some bed wrestling.  Feel those massive legs work their way around your mid-section and then squeeze.  Clamp on a nelson and make your buddy squeak.  Wrestle naked and let your tight balls and hard cock press up against a muscled-back or a well-toned ass.  Then look up into the mirror and see the both of you, struggling, your muscles clearly defined. 

I have not heard back from Max Anderson.  Several people have written to offer encouragement and hints as to his whereabouts - turns out he's quite a bit bigger than me.  Like six foot something and around 185.  That's about forty pounds heavier than me.  I don't care.  I still want to wrestle him.

The pictures are from a new video site I came across (no pun intended) this weekend called Rock Hard Wrestling.  I'm guessing a lot of my readers are familiar with the site.  The wrestlers look pretty hot - lots of defined muscles and the wrestling looks real - although it is pretty much pro-oriented. 

These pictures illustrate the type of match I want with Max.  I'd like to wrestle him in a ring, but with submission rules.  No boots. Just bikini briefs.  Maybe even in oil.  I realize that he's bigger and younger, and would probably kick my ass - but I don't care.  I still want a shot.  I want to try and beat him.  That's the point.  To see if I can even get him off his feet and onto the mats.  Once there, I think I'm strong enough and skilled enough to give him some trouble.  But we'll see.

One guy wrote me this weekend with an amazingly blunt assessment of my chances of wrestling Max - or anyone even remotely like Max.

None.

Zero.

He mentioned that I was not particularly attractive and that I was not even in really great shape.  He told me that someone like Max would not want to wrestle me because I was not in his league. 

Now, I suppose I could have gotten a little down about that.  I am para-phrasing what the guy said - it was a lot less nice in the email.  But I refuse to let some anonymous dude on the internet get me down.  So I may not look like a movie star.  So I may not be built like a professional wrestler.  I don't care.  I'm in better shape than a lot of guys.  And I have not noticed that animals or small children recoil in horror at the site of my face.  So, screw you anonymous dude.  I remain steadfast in my desire to wrestle.  And, if I don't wrestle Max, I'll find someone else.

And, in the meantime, I will continue to try and eat right, work out, and prepare myself to hit the mats.  As for you guys out there - keep at it, too!  And if you get a chance to wrestle, wrestle...hard!