Taking a New Tak

When I was younger I was fascinated with guys like Tak, but I usually kept my distance. For me, these guys were too ideally European, northern European with their square shoulders, honey-ivory skin, and artlessly stylish hair. They were all Yale or West Point bound, I thought. They probably played the violin or piano, too. Unlike me, they did not come from trailer parks. They looked comfortable, even smug, with their socioeconomic privileges. I wanted to be them as much as I wanted to hurt them. (One early indication that wrestling was key to my erotic disposition was a tussle on the bedroom rug with my buddy, snow-white, blond Robin, an officer's son, after the two of us got overstimulated watching The Wild Wild West. I topped him, pinning his shoulders down, making sure he felt it too. He vainly thrust up against me, and I realized I had a boner the same second I realized he had one too.)

To me Tak looks like that kid in Cabaret who sings "Tomorrow Belongs to Me." I want to jump that Hitlerjugend ass and grind it into the pavement. I can't see me immediately warming up to Tak as a friend (my prejudice, not his, I know that), but if I were his age again, things would definitely heat up if we were handcuffed together and tossed into a steel cage. Viggo, now there is a guy I can warm up to. He's got a little rodeo cowboy in him, I think. He would look terrific in military fatigues, too. I figure him for a guy who likes to fish or surf or repair small engines. And I may be his only gay fan who misses his lumberjack beard.

In Mat Rats 41 at Thunder's Arena, Tak and Viggo square off. Only in my head is this class warfare, by the way, but once an idea gets in my head, it stays. We discover Viggo standing on a yoga mat, balancing, upward dogging, and finding his center (I found his almost immediately). Tak shows up, sporting his best look yet and jeering at the yogi for not working weights. The Arena advert for this match states that Tak has added ten pounds of muscle, and it shows. He was almost always the little one in the company's big-little matches, but here he is, not much smaller than Viggo. He's determined to start something too, interrupting Viggo's stretch, calling him "old," mocking his name in a sing-songy voice, and then dismissively tossing the "lavender" mat at Viggo's chest. If Viggo doesn't take a swing at this jerk, I may need to jump through the screen and do it for him.

The two trade muscle poses, and as improved as Tak's physique is, it fails the Tarzan test* against Viggo's.  Viggo grabs Tak from behind, heaving him up in a reverse bear hug. Tak dangles and flails like Fay Wray. (Yeah, I was big on jungle adventures as a kid, too.) I have to say the positioning of these boys' bodies at this point is pretty near to perfect. Then Viggo flattens Tak to the wall for a short gut-punching session. Surviving that, Tak starts pouting about Viggo hitting him with a cheap shot. In his own defense, Viggo states that it was Tak who insisted on getting up in his face in the first place: "You expect me to just take it?" "Yeah I do," Tak says, in a whiny pampered voice that makes me want to poke him in the eye (or poke him somewhere, anyway), "I do expect you to take it," and flings himself at Viggo. The two lock up collar and elbow. Viggo slaps the blond to the mat and upward-dogs the length of his smooth body, while giving the punk's neck a stretch. Good alpha-male that he is.

Tak kicks Viggo off and reverses, one more sign of how strong Tak has become. He stretches Viggo back, filling the screen with Viggo's bronze-colored torso. He likes punishing the big guy, but his overconfidence is bound to catch up with him, or at least I hope it does. This is a fun, breezy match, entertaining from beginning to end. The eye candy is great. Tak could not be more perfect as the smarty-pants brat who's cruising for a bruising, and Viggo wouldn't be a lick more mouthwatering even covered head to toe in bacon. Tak has finally won me over as a fan with this fight, and Viggo solidifies my initial impression that he's more man than I could ever hope to tangle with, even without his beard.

*The Tarzan test is so simple it probably needs no explanation. Guys who can pull off wearing a loincloth pass. Those who can't, fail.


  1. You're not the only one; I miss Viggo's facial hair too!


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