Message from John Carter

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Monday, January 20, 2014

How'd This All Get Started?

The other day I was trying to remember how I ever got interested in wrestling.  I'm aware that most of the guys who equate wrestling with sex came to it through professional wrestling.  And I watched pro wresting on Saturday afternoons on occasion.  But most of the time my grandmother was busy watching it too, and she really believed that it was real.  She actually fell out of her chair one day watching a match.  I thought she'd hurt herself.

But I don't recall being particularly turned on by pro wrestling until I was in my teens.  I think part of the reason I didn't like it as much was because the guys always seemed so huge...and older.  Many of them had full beards.  They looked like grown men, and I think I was just not that turned on in those days by a huge, hairy guy.  I've changed now.  I can definitely appreciate a muscled guy with a hairy chest, and I certainly have no issue with the age of a guy.  But I'm talking about when I was a kid.

So, anyway, pro wrestling was not the genesis of my interest in wrestling.  Rather, I'm pretty sure it originated from reading comic books.  I loved comics, and I was lucky that I was bought comics by my mom pretty often.  Whenever we went down to Weingarden's, I would sit on the floor in front of the spinning rack of comics and search for the one's I wanted.  When I got my haircut, the barber had tons of DC comics.  I invariably read the Flash or the Green Lantern while I got my bi-weekly crewcut.  And when we went to the drug store, I was at the rack again, buying copies of the Amazing Spider-man, Thor, Hercules, and the Sub-Mariner. 

I'm not sure how I translated the pictures of the muscular guys in tight spandex into sex.  I mean, I'm not sure why that is what happened with me, as opposed to just liking comics.  Probably the fact that I was gay and desperately wanted to have sex (even at eleven and twelve) got sublimated into a fetish for muscled guys who struggled against each other.

My absolute first encounter with wrestling involved a kid who lived on my block.  In those days, my mom and dad both worked during the day, so I was turned out into the streets to play until dark.  I also had the run of the house, so there was plenty of privacy if I wanted it.

Anyway, this kid on my block was a year younger than me.  He was very handsome and had a great body.  It sounds sort of pervy now, doesn't it?  But when you're eleven or twelve and you really want to have sex, you try your best to find a way to do it.  The problem was that I did not know what the hell sex was.  I just knew that wrestling a guy really got me excited.

So, anyway, this kid - let's call him Ken - and I were playing.  I don't remember what we had been doing, but I suggested we go over to my house.  My older brother was out, and the house was quite and dark.  For some reason Ken and I wound up in my parent's bedroom.  We were not on the bed, however.  Instead, we were in the floor, talking.  I remember the room being dark - the shades were drawn, and my mom's vibrating exercise machine was against the wall.  You know what I mean (I hope) --one of those machines with the band that wound got around your waist and then it would shake the shit out of you and you were supposed to lose weight.

I suggested that we wrestle.  Kids, young kids especially, always want to wrestle it seemed to me.  And Ken was ready to take me on.  We wrestled back and forth across the carpet, and pretty soon we were hot and sweaty.  We both had that smell guys get when they're wrestling.  That clean sweat smell - I haven't smelled it in a long time.  Men don't smell the same.  And frankly that it fine with me.  But I can't help but remember how we smelled.  And how I wanted to wrestle with our shirts off.
I'm sure I told Ken that we need to strip down because we were so hot.  I vaguely remember telling him that he had a great body (believe it or not).  And I remember him swelling up with pride at that.  Then we wrestled some more.  I loved the feel of his body.  Loved the fact that I could control him and the match and make it last and last.  He was so determined to pin me or make me give, but he just wasn't strong enough to get me in a position to make me submit.

Then, suddenly, he had to go.  He struggled into his shirt and began making excuses about how he thought he heard his mom calling for him.  I almost begged him to stay, but he was gone in a few brief seconds.  At that time I didn't even know how to masturbate, and I was left with that flushed, throbbing feeling that comes from being aroused with no release. 

I'm not sure what I did to make him so uneasy.  Maybe it was just the realization that what we were doing was so private.  Or he caught on to how I was reacting.  I never attempted to undress him or anything.  It was all just wrestling and frankly that is all I knew to do.  I had no conception of anything beyond that.  But, again, I was eleven or twelve.

Now, I have no interest in children.  That is not the point of this story.  I like grown men.

No the point is that I was trying to recall the point in my life when sexual desire became attached to wrestling.  I actually recall that I had this timeline memorized as a kid as to when I started thinking this way.  I tried to hold onto that memory, but it has faded over the years and I can no longer recall it.
But I can recall those first, fitful, awkward attempts to find a wrestling soul mate.

I'm still looking.

   

5 comments:

  1. i still remember when you drove a long way to wrestle me but your spider senses made you leave. I still don't understand and wish you would have stayed

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  2. Anonymous, I sent you an email. Let me know if you did not get it.

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  3. i did not get it so please try again, no hard feelings here

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  4. Apparently I don't have your email. Please post a comment with your email. I will not publish it. But I will write back to you.

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  5. i think the reason your opponent, Ken, took off is because he climaxed and was too embarrassed - at that age, to have a wet spot on the crotch of his pants could only be interpreted as an 'accident'

    ReplyDelete