Forced to Sweat

Taylor Reign vs Justin Powers, Catalog 7 - The Muscle Boys Get Dirty (MuscleBoy Wrestling)

It's not the heat. It's the humidity.

When I was a little sissy boy, I absorbed other adults' disdain for the wrestling shows my uncle watched on TV.  The queasiness I felt at the sight of two perspiring, hairy-backed giants entangled in each other's limbs I later realized was attraction - though, before puberty, I had no understanding of my body's cues and signals for what they were. I was raised on M-G-M heroes who sometimes got wet (to my delight) but never sweated. Sweat, I somehow learned, was dirty.

A grown sissy man now, I often obsess over the body's ability to brew its own lubricant. I write about it a lot on this blog, maybe too much. I'm sure MuscleBoy has plenty of good reasons for pairing Taylor Reign and Justin Powers for a 34-minute high-intensity scrap, but my take-away is the glistening apotheosis of the human body - especially, for me, Justin's sun-tinged human body. It makes my mouth water, and it has never been displayed quite this gorgeously.

Taylor and Justin manage to keep their trunks on for the duration of this contest. I confess that under similar circumstances I probably could not. Yet everything a cum shot represents is all but matched, for me, by the contraction of myoepithelial cells pressuring coils full of sweat to release their mineral-rich bounty to the surface. The final screen shot above is as orgasmic as anything else I have posted on this blog. The upward tilt of Justin's glimmering body and Taylor's open thighs are the picture of erotic consummation - the money shot being the preceding piledriver. (I don't need to add that the word piledriver  itself hums with subtext, with its associations with force, shafts, and vertical loads.)

Reign vs Powers, in brief, is heaven on earth for me. I feel a sort of vertigo effect in watching Taylor's masterly command of Powers.

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