The match was six years ago, and the guy has not stepped foot in a ring since then, as far as I know, but I am obsessed with Daz, the 5'10", 180-pound tattooed, pierced skinhead who, with partner Big John Andersen, kicked Joshua Goodman and Kieran Dunne's butts in BG East's super-classic Tag Team Torture 6. No, he is not as boy-pretty as Rio Garza, and he's got maybe half Jonny Firestorm's wrestling savvy. But this neoprene punk, taking in the total package, steams my eyeglasses. What's the total package? Those succulent lips, those arrogant eyes, the pugnacious black buzzcut, all on a boxlike head that is one half cunning and one half sledgehammer. The chin patch. The scar that splits his left eyebrow. The broad shoulders and the sturdy back, muscles that don't look too gym-toned and solicitously cut, fighting muscles in fact. Thighs like the steel wire rope you suspend bridges off. The gleaming squarecuts. And, maybe most of all, the wickedly naive smile that flashes on his face when he hurts a guy. Of course, anything with Goodman in it is bound to have at least one good thing going for it. But TTT6 gives us Daz, a force of nature, who came, who conquered, and who then disappeared from the gay-kink-wrestling universe like some legendary plains-state tornado, its damage done.
So would I still have this obsession had Daz gone on to BGE fame and fortune? Good point. I don't know why Daz disappeared from the kink wrestling scene. Maybe he was a big asshole and pissed everybody off, or maybe he's doing time in prison for assault and battery. (Of the two, and I kind of hate to admit it, I'd prefer the latter--assholes don't register on my fantasy meter, but felons have the allure of Byronic heroism.) Might have a couple of more matches revealed Daz to be nothing too special, as either a wrestler or a dream boy? Certainly a possibility.
My daddy once said that sex is 90% in the brain. In the years since my daddy died, science has confirmed his point--the brain is the most important sex organ any of us has. In TTT6 and in my memory, Daz is frozen in time, forever wrapping his beefy arm round Goodman's neck and grinning like a monkey on poppers. What if he let his hair grow out, lost the slick gear, covered his back with a big Sarah Palin tattoo? What if, worse, he decided that wrestling wasn't his thing? The spell might be broken.
Even more, how many small defects in his wrestling skills have I retouched in my fantasies? How much of his appeal is based on witty trash talk I made up and put into his mouth? How much of it on my daydream that Big John is a leather daddy, taking the slave out on a field trip and throwing him some spray-tanned gym-processed meat to chomp on, as some sort of test perhaps or as an aperitif to heavier fun and games at the dungeon back home?
But don't let me overstate the point. I did not make Daz up. If you have any confidence in my judgment, my tastes--and I grant you perhaps such confidence is not always warranted--you'll want to fork over the $49 for Tag Team Torture 6. Worth every penny.