The past twenty years, however, have been my post-purist phase. "I used to be Snow White," Mae West once quipped, "but I drifted." I drifted.
Over the years I have come to appreciate many kinds of wrestling and many wrestling kinks. I did not--and still do not--value them all equally. I still prefer Kevin to, say, the late and too short-lived Naked Kombat. But my tastes have expanded--some of you who have read this blog for long enough have watched them expand. I doubt my tastes will ever be universal and indiscriminate. But now I think of the stuff I don't care for as stuff I don't care for yet. The thing is the Christianists are right about one thing: you give in to a kink and that kink becomes a gateway to even more kink. But that's a good thing. It's called human growth and development, and it's practically inevitable unless you bind yourself to a set of artificial strictures and standards and punish yourself for straying from them. On this point, again I have to go with Mae--and I paraphrase loosely: I may have lost my scruples, but I never missed them.
I appreciate eroticombat as something different from but comparable to my dorm-room wrestling matches in the '70s and the strenuous grunt'n'groan rassling I watched on TV in the '70s and early '80s. It's sweeter than real wrestling, but rougher than flirting. To the struggle to dominate, it adds the act of seduction. It's well known that the sport of wrestling involves both the mind and the body. Eroticombat is a bit more finely focused, involving the hypothalamus (the brain's whorehouse) and the erogenous zones. The eroto-grappler wants to mount his man--and turn him to jelly with an aggressive touch. In most males, straight or gay or bi, the erogenous zones are the scalp, the ears, the lips, the neck, the fingers, the nipples, the tailbone (coccyx), the cock, the balls, the perineum, and the toes. A master of eroticombat "attacks" all these points--or as many as he can get his hands on.
I count Kid Vicious, 6'1", 170#, at BG East as a true master of eroticombat--and, from the looks of things in last year's Sexy Showdown 5: Florida Fun, so is his opponent, Skrapper, 5'10", 145#. SS5:FF might be the Kama Sutra of eroticombat, since the men find endless vantage points from which to squeeze, tease, prod, twist, kick, kiss, lick, and punch each other, until one is completely in the thrall of the other. Never have the words "I give" been packed with so many layers of meaning or so much pulsating emotion. Even the way these guys apply traditional wrestling holds--such as the sleeper, for instance--brims with palpably sexual energy. You would not expect to see either of these guys on the covers of fitness magazines (though both are fit and nicely built), on a Milan catwalk, or in a WWE ring. But for the duration of this match, they are sex gods. At the risk of being overblown (a constant risk in this blog), the match is a ritual of primal aggression and amorous play, and I would wager that, if you let yourself go with it (i.e. stop telling yourself that the cover boys on DNA magazine are "hotter" or that the wrestling isn't "real" or that you're really into chicks), it will raise your libido a couple of notches.