Got Your Back

Let's not talk about wrestling for a change.  Let's talk instead about wrestlers.  In particular, let's talk about what I like about wrestlers' bodies.

Something I posted yesterday started me to thinking about what makes a man attractive to me.  To be sure,  I am not attracted to wrestlers only.  Dancers, painters, firemen, swimmers, circus acrobats, male models, boxers, surfers, bodybuilders, ranch hands, interior designers, MLA symposia leaders, retailers, preachers' sons, musicians, GIs, movie stars, and even cartoon characters have been, over the years, objects of my fiery lust.

And as I have said or almost certainly have implied elsewhere, the act of wrestling all by itself is aphrodisiac for me, so match up any of the above--a Marine on the mats grunting up on top of a Baptist choir director, let's say--and bingo, you've captured my attention.

I have even caught some flak now and then when I have gone so far as to say that, within reasonable limits, it matters more to me how a wrestler wrestles than what his face and body look like.  Aha, some of you have written, thinking you have caught me in a gross error of fact, if not worse, a hypocrisy, but, Joe, why then all the pretty boys in the pictures on your blog?  Good question, two-part answer: (1) I never said I didn't like pretty boys and (2) pictorially speaking, whom do you think I find the most photographs of ... pretty boys? or wily and aggressive wrestlers?  Think about it.

In a post earlier this year, I, though still something of a connoisseur of abs that come in six, eight, and ten packs, am of the opinion that too much has been made of the washboard look over the past twenty or so years.  I think something can be said for the solid convexity of a fit young pro wrestler's gut, both pleasing to the eye and inviting of a punch, for those with the courage to try.  Personally I like tummy.  The horizontal grillwork of fat-free abdominals can strike me as a little "studied" on the one hand and too coldly abstract on the other.

Also overrated are pecs.  I speak only for myself, of course.  I prefer men to have strong but flat chests.   Raised and bowl-shaped pecs are pretty, and, within certain hard-to-prescribe and hard-to-maintain borders, they are, yes, sexy as hell.  Once they appear flotational, however, they still earn my respect and aesthetic appreciation, but they seldom ignite my lust--only slightly more than a woman's decolletage does.

Well, what then do I like, if not so much the sort of abs and pecs that fill up the pages of DNA and Tetu, to which I subscribe?  I like faces.  I have said so on other occasions.  I like dark piercing eyes, high cheekbones, long distinguished noses, full lips, and squared jawlines.  I like small, almost lobe-less ears.  I like a pronounced adam's apple.  I like the flicker of muscles on the neck.  I like chest hair that Vs down to the breast bone, beginning a thin faint trail down past the belly button to the lower abdomen, where the hair fans out in anticipation of a really lovely, well-stocked cock and balls.  I love, adore, and worship a prettily defined iliac furrow, also known as Apollo's belt (or girdle).  Biceps are heaven.  Triceps, too.  Muscular forearms covered with hair are other desiderata.  I'm an ass man ... I'll admit it.  Round and firm.  I like thick, strong (but proportionate) thighs.  I like calf-muscles that are tight as sailors' knots.  All these things can make my mouth water.

But what started me on this reverie was Dom Vermicelli's back.

Seeing it in the blurry little cap I took off a YouTube video, I realized that it was a guy's back, from his shoulders to the crack of his ass, that can totally sell me on the man, erotically speaking.  I like strong shoulder muscles, with the firm traps rising like the Galilean hills in an illustrated bible-story book.  The stormy cumulus effect of the muscles of the upper back.  I like the rows of muscle that form embankments to the spine.  I like the bony eruption of shoulder blades, like clipped wings.  I like a strong back's gentle--so unspectacular that it is spectacular--narrowing as it nears the waist.  I like the dimples that hover like apostrophes over the top of the butt crack.

Like a finicky woman, I have a distaste (though only a very mild one) for back hair.  In my mind, anyway, it is nothing to distract from an otherwise beautiful back.  It only alarms me when many other things are not to my liking or taste.

I'm really (really) very fond of freckles on top of a man's shoulders.

I love the equine movement of a man's back muscles.  It speaks of power and strength and nobility.

I wish more pictures were available to showcase the beauties of the male shoulders and back.  I am fairly certain that I'm not all by myself in this taste, but there is a dearth of artistic and photographic representations of this part of the anatomy.

It struck me yesterday that the back is perhaps the most beautiful part of a well-formed man's body.  It's the watermark of masculine pulchritude.  Shouldn't somebody have made a blog or Web page dedicated to the male back by now?

(If one exists, don't hesitate to tell me about it.  And, please, hurry.)