Then there's wrestlers like me--always looking for someone who's got the balls to dominate him, and always being sadly disappointed.
That's not true, really. I love pro wrestling, and it doesn't matter who I am fighting, or where--it can be in a ring, on mats, in a motel room, wherever--it always gets my dick hard and I am ready to go.
It also doesn't matter what kind of gear is involved--but anything involving pants or shirts doesn't interest me. Singlets are okay--as long as the straps are going to get peeled down at some point. I also don't mind no gear at all--some of my hottest matches were nude ones.
But there is something about putting on boots and knee pads.
And there's something about a ring, too. Don't get me wrong. I love any match anywhere, but the ring? The ring is something else.
I think part of my draw to pro wrestling has always been that it was, when I was a kid, one of the things that first awakened my sexuality. Watching those men, usually in trunks and boots (sometimes tights and singlets; I never liked that quite as much), and sometimes with big bellies and almost always hairy, stirred desires inside of my young body.
Bruno Sammartino was an especial favorite of mine.
I loved watching Bruno wrestle. I loved seeing the sweat glistening in his chest hair, the way he could make his pecs bounce.
My earliest fantasies about boys I was attracted to were always about pro wrestling; I used to write wrestling stories, using guys I was attracted to as the wrestlers, and even came up with an entire pro wrestling promotion, with tag teams champions, light and heavy weight champions, tournaments, feuds, everything. Pro wrestling was entwined so intricately with my sexuality that it was sometimes difficult for me to differentiate the two.
And then I got to live out my childhood fantasies.
The last few years, I've not had the time to devote to it as I used to. This year, that is going to change.
Just thinking about it gets me hard.