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Scrappy McNair vs Corey Turner, Catalog 33 - Wrestling for Pride (MuscleBoy)

I can't let either of these guys go. That makes it hard for me to take a side, so I root for both. My eyes cannot get past Scrappy's opulent body, topped with a dreamy face that would not look out of place on a Roman statue. Corey is small but wiry, bursting with attitude and addicted to pain, making it and taking it in equal doses. The sweatier the bodies get, the easier it is to see them throbbing like a beating heart.

I like wrestling more than S&M because wrestlers can play both roles - the punisher and the punished. Scrappy and Corey go round and round, always on the verge of a caress and then a punch ... or vice versa. Corey hungers for Scrappy's body; Scrappy hungers for Corey's pain. Their limbs lock them together and for several writhing seconds they unite as a single organism.

In several earlier posts, I have pointed out that the word "agony" derives from the ancient Greek "agon," meaning wrestling. I have also referred to a source I read years ago which stated that the Greek slang for fucking was the Greek word for wrestling. If I cling to one article of faith, it is that. Pain brings us into the world. Pain reminds us that we are alive. Pain takes us out of the world. I don't mean that to sound melodramatic, or masochistic, but wrestling - even the real, unscripted kind - is dramatic and at least flirts with pain. For me, it's a religion, albeit one I have too seldom practiced - but I write about it ... for days.

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