Wednesday, May 23, 2012
The guy at the top is Chris Shiflett, the lead guitarist of the band Foo Fighters. I saw Chris on Saturday Night Live the other night when the Foo Fighters backed up Mick Jagger on a cover of Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown. Chris really stuck out to me. He has a good build, plays guitar like crazy, and has a good face. In fact, that's my favorite thing about him (besides the guitar playing). He has what I would call a kind face.
The guy at the bottom is Tyler Southwick. Tyler is a Fitness Model and YouTube geek that films himself after having worked out. He does a lot of flexing and showing off for his fans, and as you can see, they get their money's worth (okay, it's free).
I've never been a big lover of tattoos, but I like Chris. He wears a t-shirt well, has a nice scruffy beard and just looks intelligent. Judging from his solo work (check out the Dead Peasants on Itunes), Chris is fixated on that whole early '70's Gram Parsons, Eagles, Flying Burrito Brothers thang. I like it. I have several Gram Parson's albums loaded to my iPod and I own a copy of Sweetheart of the Rodeo. So, that just makes it even easier for me to like him.
Tyler, on the other hand is so relentlessly and conventionally attractive that he's sort of distracting. I like the dazed and confused look on his face - "dude, I am so not going to wrestle you naked" - but I get the impression that if the topic strayed too far from Tyler that he'd get bored and leave. Still, that dude can wear his pants low, can't he? And he has a great pair of arms.
So, who would you rather wrestle?
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
This doctored comic cover really touched me in a fundamental and very primal way. Unlike a lot of guys who like wrestling, I did not come to this sport--fetish--whatever through pro wrestling. Although I did watch some pro wrestling on Saturday mornings when I was a kid, I wasn't turned on by the huge guys I saw there. Instead, I was getting hard reading comic books.
I've mentioned before in this blog how I was so turned on by comic books as a kid that I actually viewed them as pornography. It was difficult for me to go into a comic book store and just browse without getting extremely turned on.
I remember one time, I sat on the floor of my local comic store and leafed through box upon box of old comics. As cover after cover flashed before my eyes, I got harder and harder. I kept looking around, wondering if anyone felt the way I did. They did not appear to. So, I left.
The cover above in particular struck me because of the various elements that go into the picture. The leering Master of the Plant World looks on through the glass as the helpless Atom struggles feebly in the grasp of the plant, whose tentacles reach out to ensnare his hardening member and hold him captive. The Atom has the presence of mind to think that he's trapped, "as helpless as a kitten," as he says (thinks), as he tries to escape before being made the sexual slave of the plant.
I have to admit that this scene has flashed through my mind several times over the last few days. I've even worked on the full scenario. What happens to the Atom? Does he escape? Or is he truly ensnared and milked by the plant to the profound amusement and lust of the Master of the Plant World. Once he's been milked, does the plant continue to hold him? Waiting patiently as the Atom awakes from his sexual delirium only to begin the process of milking him again?
I'd be interested to know if any of your guys out there have the same sort of fantasies as me about comics. If you do, write me. Tell me about your favorite comic book cover. Here's my all time favorite.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
Some people inspire a certain loyalty in their fans. Their desire to exceed your expectations is so evident in everything they do, that they galvanize you, rivet you, to your seat as they strive to do things that you can only dream about. Rarely do people come along that never fail you, or themselves, in that regard.
Cael Sanderson comes immediately to mind, of course. He never lost a match in all four years of college wrestling. But that sort of outcome is so rare. Far more interesting is the hero who sets your expectations high, only to fail at the worst of times.
In some respects, that is David Taylor, the tanned, thin, impossibly talented college wrestler from Penn State.
David just finished his sophomore season without losing a single match. He was awarded every medal and trophy that the NCAA could think up at the end of the NCAA Championships in St. Louis. We hung around after the matches ended to watch him have his arms stuffed with trophy after trophy. It was a great moment for him, a watershed moment, that stood in such remarkable contrast to a year previous when he'd finished his unbeaten freshman season by being pinned--PINNED!!--by Bubba Jenkins from Arizona State.
I had jumped out of my chair in shock when that happened and my wrestling friends never tire of reminding me of how dejected I was after leaving the finals of the 2011 NCAA Championships. The only thing that could rally my spirits was a good old fashion wrestle off - which we had in my room.
David's 2012 was going great. He was a National Champion. He was a Hodge Trophy Winner (like the Heisman). So, he decided to go to Iowa City to try and make the USA Wrestling team that is bound for London this summer.
David arrived and found that he was going to have to wrestle a very strong group of individuals. In particular, he would find himself matched with Andrew Howe, the 2010 NCAA Champion who had been off on a redshirt year, preparing for the Olympics. Another person he'd potentially have to face was Jordon Burroughs, the reigning world champion and one of the few US wrestlers to win a gold medal in freestyle wrestling in the last few years. Yet, another person whom David would have to walk over was Kyle Dake, the blond Cornell wrestler who has won three NCAA Championships in three years, and is David's best friend.
David did well out of the gate, defeating a guy named Moza Fey, an experienced and much older freestyle wrestler. Below you can see David taking on Moza (David is in the dark singlet). He won, and advanced in the bracket.
Next, unfortunately, David had to wrestle Andrew Howe. This match was significant for David for several reasons. Howe is the same weight as David and will be competing next year at 165 (we now know for the University of Oklahoma). This means that Andrew will be one of the people David will have to defeat if he hopes to get another NCAA championship.
The match did not go well. David was shut out in each of the periods. If you are unfamiliar with freestyle wrestling, each period stands alone. You win, or you lose. David lost period one and period two. So there was no period three. He lost. And he was unable to score on Andrew. A bad sign. The trouble? Howe had spent the past year doing nothing but practicing freestyle wrestling (as opposed to college's folkstyle) but also, Howe was stronger. Just a bigger, more physical guy. Below you can see David struggling with Andrew. Things look okay in the picture, but they didn't end well.
So, David was sent to the wrestle-backs. His best friend, Kyle, also suffered a loss. His was to Travis Paulson, a hot guy who has been out of college for years and has (along with his twin brother) been training for the Olympics for years. Travis beat Kyle in a hotly contested three-period match. Below, you can see the blond Kyle Dake in a dangerous position.
This loss set up a match between the best friends. Wrestling fans had been hoping to see a match between these two guys for years. Everyone knows they are close friends, and that they haven't wrestled against each other in years. So, would Dake take the victory? He's was a three-time NCAA Champion, incredibly limber and tough to score on. Or would our hero, David Taylor take it? The one-time NCAA Champion, forced to fight it out in front of 16,000 fans with his best friend--a best friend who will most-likely be one of the guys David will have to wrestle in order to get another NCAA Championship.
Below is a Youtube clip of the second period. In the first period, Dake gets in his under-hooks and turns David's back to the mat. In the clip below, you can see why Kyle Dake is so difficult to beat. Even when David gets him in a seemingly bad position, he is still dangerous.
So, David was pinned again, before a huge crowd. Before his father. His best friend's father. And the next year looks tough. Our hero will have to find a way to defeat Andrew Howe, and Kyle Dake, if he hopes to get another NCAA. Will he succeed and over-come his opponents? Or will it all end as it ended in 2011 and this spring at the Olympic Trials--with David Taylor, pinned and humiliated?
Either way, I'll be watching.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Rob was surprised at how Jack had fixed up the old barn. From the outside, it looked like any dilapidated old barn in that part of Missouri, but inside, Rob could see that Jack had made it into quite a home gym.
The walls were insulated and there was a floor heater in a corner, making the room quite comfortable, considering the cold outside. The mats were a bit worn but obviously clean, and a set of heavy weights, while also obviously a bit dated, had been re-painted and the handles cleaned of rust.
Jack took off his hoodie as soon as he entered, and Rob couldn’t help but watch as Jack’s mid-section was revealed as his t-shirt was pulled up. Rob hadn’t really ever seen Jack with his shirt off, and he was impressed by the sharply delineated grooves of his abs. Jack grinned as he tossed the hoodie to the side, and Rob looked away, suddenly aware that he’d been staring. He hadn’t meant to, but then again, did it matter?
That was the confusing part. Rob had never been able to just look, to take another guy in. His instincts were so strong that even here, when he thought that it was okay, he still immediately sought out something else in the room to fixate on.
“Those are nice weights,” he said, stepping up onto the mats. He stopped. He had on his boots, and the mats were clean. “I’m…sorry. I should take these off, shouldn’t I?”
Jack plopped down on the mats and began to unlace a boot. “Yeah. You want to roll for a bit?”
Rob hesitated. Wrestle with Jack? The thought suddenly seemed over-whelming. He’d wrestled Jack before. Wrestled so many guys. But this time it seemed different. They were alone, in the barn, and they both knew—didn’t they?—that this was going to be something more than just a grappling session.
Rob swallowed hard. “Yeah…yeah…” He hadn’t meant to sound so hesitant, but his heart was racing and he felt hot. His whole body seemed charged with electricity and although he didn’t want to, he tried to imagine Jack in just a pair of gym shorts.
Jack, for his part, seemed totally unconcerned. He flipped off one boot and then the other, and then his socks. He hopped to his feet and stripped off his t-shirt, revealing a body that made Rob gasp. Jack was built, Rob knew that, but without a shirt, without a singlet—which was how Rob had seen him in the past—Jack was muscled and gloriously defined. His skin was dark and his pecs were decorated with a fine mat of black hair.
Rob got hard.
“C’mon,” said Jack, playfully. “I can’t believe I’m finally alone with you. You are so…handsome, you know that Rob?”
Rob laughed. More of a snort really, and he wiped at his nose. He felt like a child suddenly. Like an awkward little boy with a man. This wasn’t good. He was going to have to wrestle Jack in less than two weeks for a State Championship, and he couldn’t let him intimidate him. Even though Rob knew that Jack wasn’t attempting to do that. Probably wasn’t even thinking about that.
Still, Rob stood on the edge of the mats, frozen, and unable to move. Jack grinned, and walked over to him, and unbuttoned Rob’s heavy coat. He folded it and put it on a chair. Then he walked back to Rob, who stood there, unable to move, while Jack continued to undress him—removing his sweatshirt and t-shirt—and as Rob compliantly sat on the mats, his boots and socks.
Then they both stood, boy to boy, in just their jeans, facing each other. Jack was smiling, and Rob smiled, too. He was so self-conscious, so aware that he was pale to Jack’s dark, so…hairless…compared to Jack. He reached out, and touched Jack’s arm, and felt a rush of excitement. Jack took a step closer and they were only inches apart, Jack’s head inclined toward his. Rob’s breathing seemed labored, as though he were attempting to breath underwater, and he almost broke out into a sweat as he nodded his head to angle it closer to Jack’s. Jack’s hand came up and brushed against Rob’s abs, and he contracted his stomach. Jack laughed, almost a silent laugh, and his hand brushed Rob’s abs again. Then he grasped Rob’s jeans and he gently pulled Rob toward him. Their heads came together, softly; their foreheads touching, and then they turned and their lips met.
Rob had never kissed a guy before. Never felt another man’s lips on his. Jack’s breath was warm, and he had a musky, manly smell to him. Rob had been hard, but now his cock became insistent against the fabric of his jeans, and he leaned in closer, feeling Jack’s body pressed against his. He opened his lips and Jack’s tongue entered.
Almost before Rob knew it, they were on the mats, rolling, exploring, touching. Jack’s body felt so sublime so absolutely right. Rob almost wanted to cry, not with sadness, but with recognition, with the realization that finally, finally it was happening. That he was where he belonged. That every broken puzzle piece had been turned right and now fit exactly as it should.
Then, their hands interlocked and they began to playfully struggle. Rob straddled Jack and held him on the mats, while Jack furiously kissed Rob and pressed upward, not only with his muscular arms but with his crotch—a sensation that staggered Rob with its implications. It was enough to make him loose focus, and suddenly Jack was on top, his hand down Rob’s pants, grasping Rob’s hard cock, and his tongue down Rob’s throat. Rob arched his back in a feeble attempt to bridge, but he wasn’t attempting an escape. He didn’t want to escape. He wanted to be pinned there on the mats, his back wet with rising perspiration, as Jack held him in his hand.
But there was an instinct there in Rob. An instinct born of countless years on the mats, in competition and practice, and in spite of how much he loved Jack’s hand on him, he worked a leg around and turned Jack. The hand down Rob’s pants meant that Jack wasn’t posted properly, so Rob was able to angle him up and over and catch Jack in a pin. Jack sensed the shift, and rolled to his stomach, working his legs up underneath him for an escape. But Rob was emboldened know, and instead of catching Jack in a tight waist, he plunged his hand down Jack’s pants and caught hold of Jack’s cock. He felt the slight pre-cum on the head and worked it with his thumb, causing Jack to emit a groan of pleasure. Rob caught Jack around the neck with his free arm and pulled Jack backward on top of him, angling Jack for backpoints that no one was there to award. He worked on Jack’s cock in a furious, frantic sort of way, sure that Jack was breaking, giving up, ready to succumb to Rob.
But he didn’t, not yet. Instead he rolled free and they both, by some mutual ascent, stood and stripped off their jeans and shorts. And then they moved in, and locked up again.
They went at it, arms entangled, and bodies flushed with sweat and the excitement of their passion. There was real competition there, but also a playful friendliness as they caught hold of one-another and released, as they worked for a pin, and escaped. Their strength was so even, their bodies so different, and yet so well-matched, that the effort to gain control was always met with an equal resolve to escape. Over and over, their hands found each other, working each other’s member. Over and over, their mouths found each other too, their tongues sinking deeper and their sighs and groans filling the room.
Then, almost before they knew it, they came.
Both of them.
At the same time.
Their bodies erupting in spasms of pleasure. They held onto each other, tense and nervous, shaking as the last drops were teased forth onto the mats shiny with their sweat. And then they collapsed against each other, holding tighter than they’d ever thought possible.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
On another note, it's the weekend and I'm not wrestling. I wanted to too (I always do) and a guy from out of town contacted me and asked me to wrestle tomorrow, but I can't do it. Family responsibilities. Yes, I have them. But hopefully he'll come into town again.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Recently, James Cameron, the director of the award-winning movie The Titanic, plunged to the very bottom of the Mariana’s Trench in the South Pacific in a custom-built submarine. Cameron descended over seven miles to the bottom of the trench where he found…nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just sand and a sterile (and unforgiving) environment.
Like James Cameron, I plunged into an unforgiving environment last night, descending over twenty miles (take that Cameron) into the depths of a territory peopled by Sex Offenders, Meth Addicts and (apparently) deluded and clueless old men. I did this as a public service. As a means of answering that age old question: will I get laid? And will it be any good?
The answers: No, and, even if I had been, no.
I drove all the way out a gravel road to a couple of trailers arranged in a haphazard jumble under the spreading arms of a brace of oaks to wrestle a guy who was my absolute first guy to wrestle from globalfight. This was, in many ways, a return home. A joining of the circle.
Aw, fuck it. Let’s not tart it up. What a fucking drag.
This dude met me with his hound dog on the edge of his drive (some grass pressed flat by his big ol’pick-em-up truck) dressed in a hoodie and sweats. He looked like he’d gotten out of bed in the previous few minutes. He took one look at me and went all gol-lee.
Did I wrestle him? Yes. For about an hour.
Was it fun? No.
He is some sort of jiu-jitsu black belt bullshit and has no idea how to grapple with someone who is not at his skill level. He kept talking about how hot I was, as he lay, prone and sweaty, on top of me. Have I mentioned how excited I get when an out-of-shape guy lays on me, immobile, for several minutes and says things like “You’re mine, bitch,” in my ear? No, I don’t think I have. I won’t either.
I finally pushed him off and told him that I would not be coming back. I tried to explain to him that there was nothing erotic about having him elbow me in the face. Or use his chin to break a hold. Or the fact that he was forty pounds heavier than me and in terrible shape and hadn’t bothered to bath that day.
So, there it is. The Circle of Life. Cue Elton John. I hopped in my blue Honda Fit and motored my ass outta there. I swerved so as to miss said hound dog and headed back to civilization where I swore never again to let my desire to wrestle override my good sense.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
So, I am hoping to do some wrestling this evening. I will be driving up to a guy's place-- he lives about twenty miles from me. He has his own home out in the country and he has mats. So, this sounds promising. If he turns out to be a nice guy and fun to wrestle, I hope this develops into a weekly thing. But, I'm just going to go with the flow and see what happens.
As I had told you guys in an earlier post, I wrestled this guy once before, many years ago. In fact, he was the absolute first person I ever met and wrestled using the internet.
It was not a good experience.
He was quite a bit stronger than me and didn't seem to understand the concept of "tapping out." He put me in some leg-scissors and almost broke one of my ribs.
So, you ask, what the hell am I doing going up to see him again?
Well, that's a good question. I have been examining my motivations and here's what I think.
I really want to find a person that I can wrestle with on a regular basis. I realize that this guy hurt me last time, but in my conversations with him, I told him what happened last time, and I explained that if he wanted me to come up and wrestle, that he needed to gear things down. Otherwise, he'd never see me again.
He apologized and assured me that he would not repeat his behavior. So, I'm going. Yeah, I may be stupid. I may get hurt. I hope not. But I'm going. And I'll let you guys know how it turns out.
On another note: I am going to be posting some excerpts from a new book that I am writing on this blog in the next few weeks. I hope you guys will take some time and read them. Here's an overview:
Jack and Robert are much alike. Both are outstanding high school wrestlers and good students. They are good looking, and motivated. Jack is the outstanding wrestler for the Stockton Senators, a team that has not had a State Champion since 1958. Robert is the star for Lee's Summit Christian School, a tiny private school with only five guys on the team. Both boys have dreams of having their hands raised in victory.
Jack lives on a run-down farm with a brooding step-father. Desperately poor and equally desperate to escape to a Division I college, Jack trains incessantly to win. Robert is the son of a prominent attorney. He has good parents, and friends and teammates who support him. He has set a goal for himself: to win a State Championship. And Robert always attains his goals.
But then they wrestle...and fall in love.
Wrestling With Adversity is the story of two high school seniors, who each have their reasons for needing to win a State Championship, and how they attempt to reconcile their desire to win with their desire for each other.