Tuesday, May 24, 2011


Mainly I'm drawn to Tristan Archer because he reminds me of a fuck buddy from the early '80s.  There I said it, proving what a self-absorbed and sentimental prick I am.  It should all be about the wrestling, right?  Except that it's not, as you well know.  Wrestling is, without a doubt, the grand design of my passions--but there are other imprints as well--exes, crushes, role models, sexy cousins.  My likes in wrestling--like my likes in other areas--are partly shaped by those I've known, loved, and bought drinks for in the past.  So, for me, gear, moves, holds, speed, agility, and toughness are about 72% of it.  Another 6% derives from my life story.  The remainder is je ne sais quoi.

By the way, the fuck buddy wasn't into wrestling, but he definitely knew his way around a fuck.  If he had a fetish it was for white button-down shirts and CNN.  Still, well worth the two-hour drive to Savannah, Georgia, from where I lived back then. In consideration of him, I'd like to see some hair on Tristan Archer's chest, forearms, and legs--but that's my personal tastes, and frankly I am reconciled to depilated, too.  Shaved underarms still pose a challenge, but you know what?  I came to terms with soul patches and rattails, I can come to terms with smooth and silky pits.

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