I know the purists disapprove of mixing sex with wrestling--for moralists it's awfully close to rape fantasy, which raises all sorts of demons (though merely to play with them for an hour or two before shipping them back to hell or the id, depending on which you believe in); for sport aficionados it's an adulteration (to revise a famous Barry Fitzgerald quip, "When I fuck I fuck, when I grapple I grapple"). Some guys say wrestling's even better than sex, and to mix the two is like chasing a Glenfiddich with a Mountain Dew. At various times, in various frames of mind, I say and have said all these things with varying degrees of seriousness. I can take my wrestling by itself and my sex by itself, but, as often as not, my fantasy is to have both pleasures together.
Still, I agree with many others' assessment of most wrestling porn. Seldom is the wrestling long enough or good enough. For a while Naked Kombat got the mix about right, I thought, so right, perhaps, that it became repetitious and predictable for some viewers. (That, however, was not a critical point for me. Sex is repetitious. Pro wrestling is 90-percent predictable. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes is always pretty much meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I love surprise and variety, too, but sometimes there's something to be said for getting exactly what you expected.)
Here are some publicity shots of Can-Am's Pro Sex Fight 6, from last fall, in which tall, luscious veteran Michael Vineland lays some pain on newcomer Jimmy Clay, before snatching off his flashy red trunks. The naked assault only charges Jimmy up, who then ties Michael up in knots for the privilege of fucking the man slow and squishy up the ass. Perhaps in a real-world fight lips and tongue and fingertips and nipples are not the weapons of choice, but they pack a wallop in my world of erotic fantasy.