Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Held in a hold. Unable to move. Struggling feebly. All the while your friends look on, laughing at you.
He was good at getting around behind me. Those were the days before MMA, so he wasn't trying to submit me. He was trying to pin me. The school-boy pin. The ultimate end to any match in those days. When an opponent sat on your chest and held your wrists to the ground, laughing in your face while you struggled to escape and buck him off.
I did not give in easily. I turned and tried to force him back onto his back, but he was stronger, and from the slight smile on his face, I could see that he enjoyed messing with me.
One of my friends, David, leaned down and looked me in the face while I was held there.
"Get up," he commanded. "Don't you let this fag beat you."
I summoned my strength and tried again, raising up into a bridge while I tried to roll him off me, but he pressed his chest down into mine and I collapsed again onto the ground.
I was beaten.
My friends turned away and left me there on the grass, my opponent grinning above me.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Sometimes, when you wrestle a guy, you can just feel that he wants to be punished.
Some guys, they just shout it out. Not in so many words. Not in any words, quite frankly. But, their actions, their style of wrestling--everything says: "pin me and do your worst."
There was this guy I wrestled a few years back who just looked like a wrestler. Broad shoulders. Well-defined deltoids and biceps. A pair of pecs that made my cock harden almost instantaneously. When he stripped off his shirt, I was nodding in agreement with the wrestling gods. Yeah, well-done.
He was my size, roughly. I might have had a few pounds on him. But, overall it was gonna be a pretty square match. We came toward each other in just our jeans and stood, eye-to-eye for a bit, giving each other the once-over.
I admit it.
I was flexing my guns. And so was he. But we both knew that I had him in the sheer circumference category.
We locked up, and he instantly telegraphed that he was waiting to be taken. You could tell. He was tough, but he buckled easily, and I worked him over standing, throwing a blood choke on him, and then transitioning to a nelson.
I liked the feel of his smooth back against my pecs, and I was so hard that I could have broken through my jeans if they'd been a little tighter. He had some fight in him, though, and tried to break free only to have his arms pinned behind his back.
I worked him over to the bed and threw him, face-down. Then I was on top, putting on a chicken wing, locking my legs around his waist, squeezing and tweaking his nips. He wasn't just lying there. He tried to break free, but I could tell his will wasn't in it--not entirely. And the more I squeezed, the less he fought.
I stood up, rolled him over, and unbuttoned his jeans. His cock showed through his briefs and I let my hand slide purposefully across his shaft as I moved to pull his jeans down and off. I had my own off as quickly, and I had no underwear so my hard cock bobbed and throbbed above him.
He hadn't moved from where he lay on the mattress. He was too intent on looking me over. So I straddled him and ran my fingers just inside the waste band of his briefs. My fingertips brushed his head and I felt the pre-cum. He was enjoying this as much as me, so I pinned his arms above his head and began to lick his biceps and chest, letting my tongue linger on his nipples. He liked that. I could tell. And I playfully bit down. His back arched up and I knew I had him.
At that moment, he regained a sense of himself, and caught me unready. He rolled me over and tried to pin my arms, but I fought free and using my legs held him in place and squeezed. He groaned in pain and I pulled his head in close, working one arm around his neck until he was doubled over, his face against my cock.
I moved his head back and forth across the tip of my cock, and he began to lick. Then, he took my cock in his mouth and I released the choke hold. My legs relaxed as well, and he re-positioned himself so that he could work my shaft. I caught a handful of his hair and took control of his head, forcing him down on me, and then back again. With a free hand, he was working his own cock, and I knew he was enjoying himself.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
In general, gay wrestlers recognize that they are a breed apart. Akin to S&M - but not exactly into the bondage and collaring (although they can be). They are rather like the Cossacks of old, a wild, masculine fraternity of guys who live to be in the company of other men, who admire blue jeans and tight t-shirts, tank tops and leather boots.
And like any close-knit fraternity, wrestlers look after their own. When a wrestler is in trouble, other wrestlers recognize that they have an obligation to offer a hand, to step up, to do whatever they can to help.
One of our fraternity, Battleboi from DC, got some bad news this past week. He may have cancer.
Please, any of you guys out there who have wrestled Battleboi over the years, please take a moment to contact him and let him know how much we are all thinking about him.
Remember, I may be coming to your town next year, and, dude--I want to wrestle.
Monday, November 12, 2012
I wrestled a friend of mine a week or so ago, and we were lying on his bed talking. I asked him to tell me his greatest wrestling fantasy. He described a match between himself and...well, himself.
Do I want to wrestle me?
Well, let's put aside the science-fiction aspects of that question. After all, if you truly met your doppelganger--an alternate other you, would you wrestle it/him?
As a result, I like guys who are my height and weight. Nothing is hotter to me than being able to look a guy dead in the eyes and stand pec-to-pec with him (or cock-to-cock). I like to lock hands and struggle, our muscles bulging and beads of sweat popping out on our foreheads. I like the feel of his strength matched with mine and knowing that if I just find that will within myself, that I can beat him. But will I?
In those cases, I love it when the guy gives me a break. Let's me have the impression that I can beat him. It's all a game, isn't it? An attempt to recreate some primal scene from my dim, partially remembered past. Am I remembering some hot, sweaty summer night long ago when I wrestled a friend? I think I am, actually, and I guess I've spent my whole life looking for that same match.
I'm not done looking.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
I suppose if I really hustled around, I could find someone to wrestle today, but this past week has been a real drag in terms of the domestic situation. I won't go into all that. That's not why you check in. But, again, it's been no fun, and I find myself on a fall Saturday spending time with family and just generally trying to stay calm.
I am prone to bouts of introspection. Now, I'm no genius. Not even that smart. But I can see that my fascination with wrestling has colored my life from start to finish. And, to cut to the chase, I think in a good way. It's been primarily positive.
I'm one of those guys who has fantasized about wrestling all my life. In middle school, I remember lying on the couch in the family room and building these elaborate fantasies in my head about wrestling snakemen (how's that for Freudian?) and muscled neighbor boys. In high school, I wanted to see my friends in just a pair of jeans, and often after one beer too many, I would launch myself onto one of them and roll in the grass. In my twenties, I actively tried to meet gay guys who wanted to wrestle. But I was a complete failure.
All the guys I met were so feminine. They hated sports, of any kind. And, when I tried to get them to wrestle, they would be so passive and just give up. Or they would try and psycho-analyze me to figure out why I was fixated on wrestling--as opposed to just gay sex.
In some ways, that was the problem. When I had "straight" gay sex (is that even the correct term?), I was dis-satisfied with the experience. Even today, on the rare occasion when I meet a guy and just have sex with him, I don't really like it. I find myself trying to imagine wrestling him, or someone else. Even if the guy is built, I am off somewhere else in my head, wrestling him.
Maybe that's why I find it so dis-satisfying. I have to fantasize during sex to get off. Well, I don't want to fantasize. I want to LIVE it. And, thankfully that is what I've been doing a lot lately.
That's also what I mean when I say that I think wrestling is a positive for me. It allows me to actually participate in the sexual act. To be completely and totally present. That's an important point, I think. What is the point of having sex with someone if you aren't really even in the room with them? It's unfair to them, and it's slightly dishonest.
Yeah, I know, if every man who was not fully present with their sex partner were to leave, hardly anyone would have sex. Most married guys would be gone in a second. Probably most married women too. But, for me, I need that connection. I crave it. And when I find it, I feel good about myself. Not only because I have actually experienced sex like it should be experienced (for me) but because I have been fully, and totally engaged with another person.
And that, I think, is a rare gift.
So, I wrestle.
On another note, I saw Fun. (yeah, the period is not a typo, the band's name ends in a period) on Saturday Night Live the other night, and I was really taken with the guitarist, Jack Atonoff. Here's a pic of him:
Is he gay?
No, I don't think he is. I think he's dating Lena Dunham, the girl who created and stars in HBO's Girls, but I don't care. Jack and I need to square off.
How about you guys? Are you gonna just sit there, or are you gonna take a walk on the wild side? C'mon, let's WRESTLE!!!
Monday, November 5, 2012
In the picture above, that's me on top, raining down the blows on him. I am wearing a pair of gloves with weighted shot in them. If that was me taking those blows, I would have been yelling "stop!", but Leanmachine is a machine. He took blow after blow and enjoyed it.
Here I have him pinned to the wall as I continue to punish his abs.
Now, I'm not a big gut punch type of guy. I don't mind some shots, especially during a wrestling match, but I need to know a shot is coming so I can brace myself. And I am not interested in being doubled over. Leanmachine, however, can take a punch. I was not holding back. I did my best to make him give in to me, but I could not break him. He took blow after blow and just smiled.
In case you are wondering, we did quite a bit of wrestling too. Lean is pretty tough. We oiled up and really went at it. He and I are pretty evenly matched and it was a toss-up as to who would really dominate who.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
But the weight gain is tough.
I was stuck at 150 pounds for weeks. Then when I changed my work outs, I started gaining weight again. But, here's the weird thing: about a week ago I was at 154 (just a pound short of my goal). I didn't eat right over Saturday and Sunday, and by Monday morning, I weighed 151 pounds.
I have to eat like a maniac all the time to maintain the weight, and frankly, I'm getting sick of it.
I'm getting to the point where eating is a chore. Sometimes I joylessly shove food in my mouth and chew, even though I'm not hungry at all. It sort of sucks.
So, I have decided to back off on the massive amounts of protein. Maybe my body just isn't built to go to 155?
Bench presses (flat and then incline)
Shoulder presses/Military presses
Bench presses (flat and incline)
The next week I do shoulders on Monday and Friday.
When I work these exercises, I do five sets:
1. Relatively light
2. Heavier weight
3. Heaviest possible
4. Heaviest possible
5. Light to exhaustion
Using this system, I've increased all my weights. So, I'm getting stronger. But, like I said, the whole weight-gain thing is exhausting. I've started running again on Tuesday and Thursday mornings - and I still do 400 abs crunches every morning before work.
Now, don't get the impression that I'm discouraged. I'm not. It's just that I think this is part of the process. I have to learn how to mold my body. Eating is absolutely 90% of it, but I've got to figure out how to eat where I get the protein I need, but where I don't feel like I want to explode all the time.