Probably my first genuine all-out BG East crush was Bass Wallace, 5'9", 158#. He was (back then) an unlikely choice. He was shorter than I liked my men to be. My taste, back when he first caught my eye, was strictly for men my height and taller. His was not the lean tight body I was into then either, though he was certainly muscular, strong, with interesting curves. His hair looked dyed black, which I found just a little creepy; however, in that creepiness I felt a hard-to-shake-off frisson too. His face was almost too classically cut. He could be nelly, a bit. Just for flashing instances, I could detect louche movements in his eyes and lips and a slackness in his hips that killed the illusion of perfect macho boy-next-door-ness. But it must have been an illusion I wanted dead, because I ate Bass up.
I was strongly drawn to him in spite (or because?) of the points apparently against him, much more to him than to some of the other wrestlers who seemed better matches to my "type." I liked the overt sensuality of the way he pressed himself up against his opponents. I liked the way he tied his challengers up in knots. I liked the contrast of his straight-edge looks (in my fantasies, he was often a cop or some other sort of enforcer of order) against his sadistic joy in the pain of others. His soft-spoken taunts and cooed provocations. The square jaw and beetle-black eyes. The eyes, in particular, seemed to bore through his adversaries--still undressing them even though they were already mostly undressed. Despite what seemed to me at the time some serious reservations, he turned me on. I ached for his smooth lily-white skin to rub up on mine, even though it sometimes appeared to lack human warmth, or maybe, there too, because of that appearance.
It has been some time since Wallace has been the focus of my erotic fantasies. I still have the VHS tapes I bought back then, but I mostly watch DVDs now, rarely pulling out the old VCR to revisit the lusts of yesterday, and, sadly, only one of Wallace's matches has made the transition to digital disk. (And happily that one is Matchmen 2, in which Wallace wrestles the equally sinister Kurt Eriksen.) My favorite is the match putting Wallace up against Taz Action, whose fateful first step onto the mat strikes a cold jolt through my body, the same chill I feel when somebody drops a live flailing mouse into the boa constrictor's tank at the pet shop.