Regular Guy

I used to be all up on GQ models and fitness models-cum-trainers.  I've been lucky enough to hook up with a few of these, back in my day, which (I can't lie to you guys) was a while ago.  And (again, I can't lie to you) I was slightly disappointed every time.  It was fun, sure.  But there was just something too tidy and meticulous about them, even the gym bunnies with hard round muscle.  I was afraid I might muss them up, and I got the feeling that they were worried about the same thing.  Right now, though, I have a thing for regular guys--not the Pat Sajak boy next door--but regular guys who are tough, who like to mix it up a little, who share some or all of my kinks.

Let me go on record (again) in saying that, though I can certainly understand their appeal, I think much too much has been made of abs for the past twenty years.  A six-pack catches my eye, to be sure, but by itself it doesn't mean all that much to me.  In fact, the more the abs draw attention to themselves, the less erotic desire they generate (in me), the more morbid curiosity.  Give me a regular-looking guy, in fairly decent (but not obsessively good) shape who likes to roughhouse.  That's what I'm really into, at this moment.  That and thick, hairy thighs and broad shoulders.  (Not so much hairy shoulders, though.)

My tastes change fairly regularly.  My tastes are fickle.  Few guys who attracted me ten years would still attract me, and today I'm attracted to men who would have never caught my eye back then.  Earlier this evening, I was talking with a friend--let's call him "Anonymous" (he'd appreciate that)--who said he's attracted to the total package--face and body, cheekbones and pecs.  He wants a look at what's under the shirt or the deal is off.  I am perhaps more "generous," his word not mine, but then it's a cheap sort of generosity that comes only at an age (mine) when heads no longer turn when one enters the room.  Gay men of a certain age and limited means can develop sympathy for the others in the bar who will probably be going home alone.  (Too bad sympathy never translates to attraction.  Life is cruel that way.)  Beggars can't be choosers, so goes the cruel saying of old (of the old), but this beggar has always been picky and still is.  Anonymous says his tastes are outside the mainstream.  Well, then, so are mine.  Obviously.

I've had this conversation twice, with two different people, in the past three days.  So I take it as fate that I write about the "regular guy" tonight.  The first conversation was with wrestling photographer Blake Arledge, during which chat we spoke of our mutual admiration for a young local wrestler named "GQ" Derek Ryze, Revolution Wrestling Association's cruiserweight champ.  The guy's nice looking, in an ordinary street-tough way, and he's fit and agile in the ring.  He's got the right attitude to be a fighter, but, no, I can't see him showing up on the cover of Men's Fitness in the next 12 months.  Still, there's something to be said for pugnacity ... and being game.  Ryze is a hot number, by virtue of features that can only partly be caught on film.  That conversation led Arledge to send me some of his photos of Ryze, 25, 5'6", 160#, six of which I'm posting below.

Twenty years ago, my thing was height.  My first loves were 6'3" and 6'2", respectively.  Height imprinted on the part of my brain that registers sexual desire.  I found it hard to imagine falling for a guy shorter than I am, certainly never someone under 5'10".  Nowadays, 5'6" is not a turnoff for me.  In fact, I'm inclined to see tall guys (who still work for me, mind you) as rather too docile and languorous, like giraffes.   I now kinda like a stud who's feisty and portable, who can be stashed in the overhead bin when I travel, so to speak, and then pulled out when I'm ready for some hot, sweaty sex'n'rasslin.  I exaggerate a bit for effect--I am not into children, and, when we start talking about under five feet, well, let's just say it's got to be just the right midget to catch my eye.

As I told Anonymous tonight, my first thought as I check a guy out is "Do I wanna wrestle that?"  It's been the crucial question with me for the past few decades.  What that means usually cannot be pinned down to just particular measurable features.  Height, weight, cheekbones, nose, shoulders, dick, thighs, calves.  It's an overall impression.  Would this guy be fun to collide with?  I have always been attracted to men I could imagine as adversaries (not the perfect formula for LTRs).  It's the energy the guy radiates.  Hard to reduce that to items on a checklist.  Not all regular guys, but increasingly more regular guys with decent enough bodies fit the bill for me these days.