I suppose we can call this a Throwback Thursday post, because it’s not like I’ve seen Andy Sutton in anything new in over 15 years. Recent conversations about bodies and types left me lingering on memories of picking lithe, lean Andy out of a crowd of big, beefy, Venice Beach type muscle boys in a couple of Canadian Muscle Hunk Wrestling collections by Can-Am. I ponied up for the likes of Bart Tyler, Skip Roberts, and Peter Ravell, but it was luscious, long-haired, Tiger Beat-looking Andy who pretty much won my heart.

After he wrestled in the ring in CMHW 11 and CMHW 13, he anchored Can-Am’s conceptual art piece called Bodystrokes Vancouver. He was a bit bigger in Bodystrokes, a little more muscled out and defined, but that same raging youth timbre made my chest vibrate and my crotch swell.

Andy makes me think of so many achingly young studs I’ve known who emerged into manhood on the momentum of easy muscle gains. Hyped up on late adolescent testosterone, they can eat tons of crap, completely not take care of their bodies, but then hit the gym and 15 minutes later they’ve got juicy pecs and abs. It’s no wonder punks like that, full of cum and convinced that they’re destined to star as the action hero in the movie of their life, run headlong into a homoerotic wrestling match with aggression and ferocity far exceeding their raw assets.

Not that I’m trying to suggest Andy didn’t have fantastic assets. True, he was cute as a button, and that long, long hair was screaming for opponents to drag him around by it (and they did). But despite often being around the range of 30% smaller than his opponents, I was infatuated by his lean, economical ass. His pecs were beautiful, but barely enough to sink your claws into, but his ripped abs were phenomenal.

In the final scene of Bodystrokes, Andy plays a subcontractor on a construction site. I don’t really remember the narrative, but average Joe (by pornboy standards, as in lean, flat chested, and every bit a fuckable meat pie) Tom Spence shows up in overalls, clearly looking for a fight. The blue collar vibe struck an authentic chord in me, as if rip ‘n’ strip Can-Am All Star Andy could easily have been a painter by day, fending off bullying by older co-workers intent on claiming this long haired pretty boy as their bitch.

If anything, I suppose in pro wrestling perspective, Andy was simply a babyface. As I remember, he won some, lost others. But much more than that was that compelling character, constantly being underestimated, coming sprinting out of the emerging manhood gate with a chip on his shoulder and near superstitious belief that sheer will power and his newly minted muscles can overcome any obstacle. That crashing wave of rage and bluster, trying on the big boy trunks for the first time and determined to fill them out overabundantly, made me crush on young Andy hard.

I hope Andy eventually opened his own contracting business. I especially hope he kept working out and didn’t fall prey to the misconception that his superhuman metabolism would perpetually make it possible for him to down a large pizza all on his own and still look like the Greek god Hermes. And though his wrestling resume was far too small, I hope he kept wrestling.