Like everybody else twenty years ago, my breath was taken away by Brad Pitt's six pack in Thelma and Louise, but I think the whole six- (and eight-) pack thing has been pushed too far now. Seriously. For some skinny guys, sure, their washboard abs--as pronounced as the knuckles on a fist--are the one special thing they have going for them (well, that and their tendency to have enormous cocks), and I wouldn't want to take that away from them--no way--but I have to say a washboard that holds matchstick legs and arms together does absolutely nothing for me. Diversify, boys, diversify. And the severe definition of some fitness models' abs reminds me of the chrome grillwork of a 1939 Chevy Sedan--impressive to look at, but much too self-consciously ornamental.
I prefer a flicker of muscle under the skin, just enough to hold everything beautifully in place, sort of like the tummy of Michelangelo's David. I have always had a special fondness for a man's belly. I like a belly to be firm, flat, and tight--taut enough that its contours change when the man takes a breath. So I want just a glimmer of the six pack when the man inhales, and then watch it recede like a wave at twilight on a sandy beach. I am (and always have been) especially enamored of a shapely belly button, the kind that looks as tight and snug as the corner of a porpoise's smile. And a sharply defined iliac furrow (the belt of Apollo) is an ideal pedestal upon which the well-shaped stomach should rest, especially when a yawning athlete stretches up his arms in the front row of English class, tugging his T-shirt up a good three inches or so off his waistband.
For me, gut-punching can be a highlight of a wrestling match, the victim pinched between ropes at the turnbuckle, suffering nobly, though out of that context--say, in a monotonous exchange of blows--it does nothing for me erotically. In my youth I impressed friends with how well I could take a slug to the stomach, but apart from the attention I got in showing off--and the possibility that the exhibition might serve as a prelude to all-out wrestling horseplay--there wasn't much to it for me. So the gut-punching videos on YouTube are not a turn-on for me. I get as much out of them as watching dough being punched at a pizzeria. If this sort of thing is for you, then good--I am happy we all don't like the same things--it makes us all special, then.
So, okay, I've now gone on and on about bellies, but mainly I wanted to let you guys know that two of my favorite wrestlers at UCW-Wrestling (the Mecca of gut-punching porn, in my estimation) have a new video, in which, apparently, no rectus abdominis is safe. Check it out ... and discuss.