Scott Williams pointed out to me recently that, despite continuing to reign as my favorite wrestler, his name hasn’t appeared in the history of this blog as much as some others. I’ve been warned about overfeeding Scott’s ego, but honestly, his cocky attitude that soaks up praise like a sponge is just one of the many qualities that turns me on so hard about him. Of course, it’s also his gorgeous muscles, his handsome face, his relentless baritone bluster… apart from his wrestling, I’d fixate on him in a crowd of hot hunks every time. But of course, I fell in lust with Scott the first time I watched him wrestle. His full throttle aggression, with the cocky delight he takes in doling out precisely measured doses of meanness, made me start to refer to him as “the man of my dreams.” Seriously, I bought Ultra Fight 2 because, at the time, I was so completely infatuated with Brad Rochelle, but after watching about three minutes of it, I just couldn’t take my eyes off of Scott.

So finding myself face to face with Scott these many years later continues to feel surreal. While I extensively documented my first wrestling match with him, I haven’t detailed how often we’ve wrestled since. We were recently wrestling again, and we were both marveling how it’s just been about two years, and yet feels like we’ve known each other much longer than that. I mean, Scott’s been inhabiting my brain for 20 years, but it hasn’t been nearly that long since we first actually met in person. For quite a while, I was treasuring the running tally of how many times we wrestled, but I’ve lost track at this point because there’s been that many. And every encounter has been sensationally hot and enjoyable, and every time, I’m thinking to myself, “Holy shit, this is actually happening. I’m literally wrestling Scott Williams!”

So, like I said, I was recently wrestling Scott. I had him locked up tight in face-to-crotch headscissors. His handsome face was flushed purple with pain as he struggled to breathe with his mouth and nose buried against my balls, when I asked him what my next post about him (to increase his hit count/ego strokes on the blog) should be about. He did that adorable thing where he pretends he’s never going to submit, flipping me the middle finger as if he’s not starting to panic. Of course, that’s just the signal for me to pump on the accelerator and increase the pressure. Soon enough, he was tapping. By this point, I’ve learned to ignore Scott’s first tap. He doesn’t really mean that one, and if I let him go then, he’ll just immediately start a fresh onslaught of blustering trash talk. After the second tap, though, I finally let his head go, leaving him a gasping and wheezing. When his dizziness and disorientation had faded and he was back in command of his breathing, we had a fascinating chat about masculinity.

I made the observation that Scott’s brand is “hypermasculinity.” Adorably, he had to think about it a few seconds, because I think it comes so naturally to him that he isn’t even conscious of it. But finally, he agreed with my assessment that he brings a hypermasculine vibe to his wrestling, with his deep baritone voice that makes everything sound like a taunt. He maintains this astonishing level of physical fitness that showcases his classic, athletic build and proportions on his 6’1 frame. Seriously, I’m frequently referring to him as “hey, muscle man,” in a match (e.g. when he’s snarling and snapping helplessly in my leg nelson that he hates so much). But calling him a muscle man isn’t sarcastic in the least. He’s got those sensationally sexy, hairy pecs. And he’s got that super square jaw and that Cary Grant slightly dimpled chin that makes it pretty effortless to slot him into the “classically handsome masculine ideal” category (at least as far as I’m concerned).

But far beyond just Scott’s physicality, his wrestling persona also comes across like his engine is perpetually fueled by unusually high octane testosterone. He’s as aggressive and mean in defeat as he is in victory. He has that SW-patented pump move that makes my cock twitch whenever I’m watching him wrestle, when he applies a hold, and then ratchets up the pressure on it in rapid succession. Every inch of a match with Scott is a battle to conquer, to possess more territory, to build momentum, to bury or be buried. It’s entirely gilded in that construct of masculinity applied to every corner of modernity that argues that whatever you can take by force belongs to you. Honestly, I sort of despise that construct… and… fuck, it makes punishing Scott so fucking sensationally pleasurable.

So, we were mulling over the concept of hypermasculinity around the time I was threatening to knock him out with a figure-4 choke. And we agreed that while it definitely features for both of us in terms of a turn on, it’s just one flavor palette, rather than the substance of homoerotic wrestling. We shared the opinion that the wrestling community is much richer for the diversity of bodies and attitudes and gender expressions that are all part of the landscape. And the play between gender expressions and typologies of wrestling roles makes the combinations that much hotter (like the fey twink heel and the hypermasculine jock jobber).

And all this talk of gender expression and homoeroticism gave us an opportunity to confirm how important we both find it to keep our gay cis-gendered attention on stepping up to the plate and standing alongside and advocating for our transgender siblings today. Honestly, so many minority identities feel like they’re in the crosshairs these days, it could be easy to back away from those at the front of the line taking the brunt of reactionary bigotry and vitriol. As for me and the man of my wrestling dreams, at least, we’re in agreement that the courage of our convictions compels us to speak out, to vote, to show up and call out the swing of the pendulum so viciously working on erasing the diversity of gender identities.

If you’d told me 20 years ago I’d be repeatedly wrestling with Scott Williams and getting to know him at this level, I’d have never believed it. Can’t wait for next time, muscle man!