Message from John Carter

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Sunday, May 5, 2013

Thinking Back

Okay, so this is a true story.

One warm Spring night when I was in Eighth Grade, I was hanging around in the garage with my older brother.  My brother loved motorcycles, and all his friends did, too.  So, it was pretty typical for him to open the garage door and tinker with his rides.  Sometimes I hung around just to talk.



A car pulled up and one of my brother's friends got out.  He had a guy with him.  He was my age.  Blonde.  In pretty descent shape.  His name was Doug, and I'd seen him at school, although he didn't really run with the same crowd as me.  When they walked into the garage, everyone greeted each other, and Doug and I, since we were younger, naturally paired off.

I remember walking around to the front yard with Doug.  I think we must have been talking about school or something.  Then, on an impulse, I asked Doug if he wanted to wrestle.  I did that a lot in those days.  I had not reservations about it, although a lot of times, guys turned me down.

Doug did not.

We walked around to a place between our house and a neighbor's house where we could wrestle with no interruptions.  I suppose it was my idea for us to wrestle there.  I think it was my idea to wrestle with no shirts, too.

I loved wrestling Doug.  He was strong, but no more than me, so when we wrestled it was an endless change of position and dominance.  He had a great body.  Not really muscular but definitely well-defined.  He was tanned and I liked that he was blonde.

I'm not sure how long we wrestled, but when we were done, Doug announced to my brother and his friends that we'd been wrestling.  I know that my face must have gone scarlet, because to me, wrestling was sex.  I equated them so strongly with each other that the mere mention of wrestling could turn me on.  As you might expect, my brother and his friends grunted something and kept talking about motorcycles.

From that day, I became Doug's best friend.  He constantly invited me over to his house where we wrestled endlessly on his bed in his bedroom.  He had a dark bedroom that was downstairs, and away from his parents bedroom.  The walls of his bedroom were covered in blacklight posters (it was the 70's, so sue me) and we frequently wrestled in the near darkness.

I was hopelessly in love with Doug, and he was oddly attracted to me.  I began to hang with his friends, who were all jocks compared to my previous friends.   Several of them, Joe and Mike, in particular, were really handsome and they liked to wrestle too, although not as often as Doug and I.

Eighth, ninth and tenth grade passed like that with Doug and I experimenting with drinking and smoking while wrestling in the darkness in his room.  The wrestling only slowly became more sexual, and as it did, Doug began to pull away from me. 

I remember one night, in particular, in ninth grade, when Doug and I were alone in his parents' house.  He wanted to wrestle, and insisted that we drag this huge mattress up from the basement so that we could wrestle on it. I insisted that we wrestle in just our briefs.

Doug had improved as a wrestler by ninth grade, and he was slowly becoming stronger than me.  I loved that because for the previous year I had dominated him, and I wanted him to fight me more.  Suddenly, he could.  As we wrestled that night, I got harder and harder, and so did he.

And then suddenly, he stood up and said, "I don't wanna do this any more."

That ended our wrestling.  We put away the mattress while I basically pleaded with him to wrestle me some more.  Then, I got on my bike and went home, tears running down my face.

The next few months were torture.  I wanted to see Doug so badly, but he avoided me at school and would not return my phone calls.  Once, when he did, he asked me to come over, and I hopped on my bike and rode as fast as I could.  But when I arrived, he'd gone.  It had been just a cruel set-up.

I guess I seem pretty pathetic in this story, but remember, I was only a middle schooler, and Doug was my first, true love.  My heart literally broke, and I could not discuss it with anyone.  I had never felt so all alone.  So absolutely isolated.

You see, wrestling is not just about the sexual excitement, to me, it is also an attempt, however misguided, to recapture something that I lost.  It is a vain, foolish hope sustained by an almost unconscious need to reconnect with someone who, quite frankly, does not exist anymore.  I am no middle school kid anymore.  I am an adult, and I have an adult's understanding of how the world works and how powerful our first sexual experiences can be.  Even when those first experiences are not, strictly speaking, sexual.  But I still hold out a hope.  A dumb-ass, misguided hope about the world and it's inhabitants.  I guess I'm still looking for Doug.

 

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