July 12, 2010

SAM SHARPE

The sleeper. The suplex. The seated double chicken wing. The scoop slam. The spinning spine buster. And my personal favourite, the figure four leg lock. Yeah, I’m talking about wrestling moves, but they could just as easily be sexual positions. I mean, doesn’t the spinning spine buster sound suspiciously like a rear entry position on steroids.

I don’t watch wrestling at all now, but when I was young it was the shit. The non-stop action, ridiculous story lines and role-playing was like a powder keg to my imagination. I couldn’t get enough of it. Then puberty hit. Suddenly, watching two fat and greasy men collide into each other lost its luster. Watching them grope each other just didn’t seem appropriate to my 12-year-old brain. But wrestling had been one of the largest sources of entertainment and pleasure in my life. What could possibly replace it?

I don’t know if it’s a coincidence that my fading interest in wrestling coincided with my heightened awareness of training bras, spandex and girls in short shorts. But I do know that the first “girlfriend” I had used to initiate every make out session with a fight. She’d want to try to pin me and I would let her. Then I would put her in the camel clutch and the next thing you know we’re rubbing against each other like a cat and a scratching post.

Not to mention my experience with Karen, the first girl to show me what she could do with her tongue. See Karen bet me that I couldn’t pick her up and body slam her. I said that I could. She said that if I could do it, she’d do anything I wanted. Well, I really wanted a blowjob.

Then there was Tina, a girl I met during my university years (God I love higher education). Tina loved wrestling. She loved to grapple. And she loved a little role-play. After months of begging and pleading Tina convinced me to help her live out a complex fantasy that included a mock kidnapping scenario that evolved into a wrestling bout. It was patently ridiculous, and I did feel silly hopping around a bedroom in a wrestling singlet (provided by Tina) but I have to admit that putting her into a camel clutch and having her grind her breasts, ass and camel toe all over my face and body made me harder than the rock of Gibraltar.

Tina and I have long since parted ways, but I still run into her from time to time. And every time I see her I feel a little tingling in my loins, not because I want her back or even want to sleep with her (okay that’s a lie, I would run it in a heartbeat) but because I remember the hot, sweaty, wrestling inspired sexual scenarios that she wanted to act out. Her husband is a lucky man.

I haven’t regularly engaged in any sexual activities that flirt with concepts of role play, alternating power dynamics and even a little domination and submission since my time with Tina, but I’m still game. I think I’m now primed to get out there and learn a little more. The thought of being manhandled is very intriguing. So readers, are there any budding Lisa Fury’s or Trish Stratus’ out there looking for a man to handle, or beat into submission?

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