Despite Joe’s certainly wise counsel that I should stop masturbating and make sure I get plenty of fluids and rest as I recuperate from the crud, I have all this time on my hands… Seriously, no masturbating? I think that cure may be worse than the disease. As I contemplate the bitter medicine that Joe prescribes, I find myself drawn by a familiar infatuation with beautiful butts.
Perhaps it was spending so much intimate time (in my imagination) with Alan Ritchson as I wrote a fictional wrestling match with him competing against model Jared Prudoff in the first round of the tournament to determine who will be hired as Brody Productions’ newest executive assistant. Alan has one beautiful, round ass that he displays so generously.
With nothing to do but wipe my nose and ponder, it’s the image of beautiful, round cheeks that keep intruding on my thoughts. A sweetly muscled ass is truly a thing of beauty.
My two favorite wrestling asses these days have to belong to Derek da Silva and Tyrell Tomsen (particularly when Tyrell is in competition shape). I’m not entirely sure how Derek’s opponents are able to restrain themselves from constantly grabbing his massive glutes. The fact that Derek is also so stunningly flexible makes his body an infinite wonder of both power and grace.
When Tyrell is in his shredded shape, his butt is hypnotic. When he works up a layer of sweat, and then snaps his brutal biceps around his opponent and lifts him in the air in an overpowering bearhug, it’s Tyrell’s striated, rock hard, flexed ass that I can’t take my eyes off of.
One of the most beautiful, classic displays of an ass put to good use has to be Jay Austin’s thonged derrière as he squeezed Max Dare in Hard Pros 1. That stunning muscle working hard and dominating Jay’s screaming opponent tells the whole story, from start to finish.
Other folks probably see other things in a fevered delirium. As Joe tells me, I should probably be conserving my bodily fluids for more important tasks as my body fights off whatever crud has invaded it. But I can’t help myself. More importantly, I don’t really want to help myself. In the ache of illness, the joys elicited by the images of gorgeous muscled asses make my misery endurable.