One recent morning I stood in a field with a small group of male friends, some younger and some older, and a pretty young woman I had only just met. (The reason we were there is neither important nor interesting.) Somehow the conversation got 'round to a recent mass arrest of men meeting in local public parks for homosexual activities. These men were apparently coupling in the men's restroom or in places in the woods like one called "The Man Cave."
Aside: Although I saw nothing of this on television or in the newspaper, my friends in the field expressed concern that of the 40 men, two were particularly focused on--a pastor from a nearby town and a teacher in the local city school system. Certainly these two--and those married among the 40--play best in the media, fair or not. Too bad for them. They shouldn't have been doing what they were doing; at least they shouldn't have been doing what they were doing where they were doing it. But I feel sorry for them and their families. One man, sadly, has already committed suicide.
My friends in the field seemed relatively unconcerned about these acts themselves. If these men want to do "whatever they do," the suggestion was that they confine themselves to private space. In other words, "get a room."
I stood there listening, knowing that in a couple of hours I would be meeting a man in a motel room. We weren't planning to have properly private sex but to wrestle. I wondered how my friends in the field would receive and interpret this news if they know what I knew.
Anyway, the hours passed, and that afternoon in a little motel room off the interstate, wrestle we did. M had wanted to wrestle all his life--47 years--but never had. I've wrestled several times in the last 11 years, but I'm not really that good at it. M was strong and aggressive and enthusiastic, as might be expected from a 260-pound man who works out at least five times a week and is excited about wrestling. I don't know how many falls we wrestled over the three hours we were together, but I know for certain that I won only three of them--one with a reverse chinlock, one with a body scissors and one with a head scissors. I'm guessing M won 10 or more falls, and I was happy for him.
We did a lot of talking. We're interested in lots of the same things, and our conversation--strange only because we were both sitting there mostly naked in our black briefs, sweating (then drying)--was rich and deep. We have the potential to become great friends, I think.
I left there and drove home--tired and a little achy and sure that I would be crazy sore the next morning. But when I got out of bed, I thought, 'Hey, this ain't so bad!' I had a little pain in my neck and pecs and shoulders, but other than that I seemed fine. Then I got in the shower! As I began to lather up and scrub down with a wash cloth, I realized that I hurt all over. Everywhere I pressed to scrub turned out to be another painful place, especially my areas around my neck and across my chest. My temples hurt. Even my left ear hurt. Much of this was probably pain brought on by M's crushing headlocks, a hold with which he won almost all of his falls. I just couldn't stay out of it. I started to laugh there in the shower, thinking, 'Oh yeah, yesterday didn't hurt me at all!'
That's life! The wrestling life!
2 comments:
No, I'm pretty sure you won at least four; I think two of them were body scissors, one across the chest early on (I have a deep rib bruise to prove this one) and the one across my gut that almost made me lose my lunch! (Note to self: more ab work required.) That's life, indeed! I truly feel alive, like a part of me that's been trying for years has finally roared awake. Thanks again for a great time!
I remember both body scissors, but I wasn't sure that I remembered a submission in that first one. If you've got that kind of bruising, then maybe you did submit.
And thank you too! It was much fun!
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