I would probably jizz in my pants within five minutes of meeting the man in real life, easily half that time if he were in baby oil and a thong. Just as likely, I might find myself compelled to try to rough him up a little. Perhaps I'd do both at once. Not that I think the opportunity will present itself--but it's probably a good idea that he and I never do actually meet--it's mortifying enough for me just to hypothesize about the possibilities.
He's somebody I could see bringing out the Humbert Humbert in me: "Alexi, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. A-lex-ee." (You cannot possibly be cringing more than I am right now.)
His physique combines soft and hard and curvy and flat in what I consider ideal proportions. His pictures and videos trigger an almost irresistible desire to lick him all over--already I have surmised that his clear white skin would taste like vanilla and ginger and hot pepper jelly.
From his spectacular debut against Brad Rochelle till now, over twenty matches and five years later, Adamov has improved as a fighter and refined his sullen affect into an understated yet compelling hauteur. In the beginning, his wrestling skills were less than I wanted them to be--and even now I would like to see a more lively fighting spirit in the man--but he was never anything less than completely mesmerizing, even when he didn't flex a muscle.