Chad White – Sidelineland

I like to pretend that I’m unaffected by the social control mechanisms of advertising. I “never” click on click-through ads. I don’t even look at direct mailers before I toss them. But it’s such a superficial self-deception. Put a gorgeous male model in a wrestling singlet, and I’m captured by capitalism and unthinkingly signing over my self-determination and credit card number.

Fashion models in wrestling gear are like a car accident on the highway. I can’t tear my eyes away, and I hate myself a little for it. Dress up Jonathan Jesensky in gear, give him a nice coat of fashion-shoot sweat, and my jaw drops open a little as I stare helplessly, occasionally wiping the drool that escapes the corner of my mouth.

Strip Chad White to his underwear and tell him to lift another hardbody upside down as if he’s about to slam him mercilessly to the ground, and I’m stopped in my tracks.

Taunt me with the suggestion that a male model in gear is, in fact, an actual wrestler, and I become a mindless puppet on a string. Shoot aforementioned Chad White grappling with former high school wrestler-turned-model, Kerry Degman, and I get entirely lost in marveling at the provocative spiral of art imitating life.

Craft your advertisement around another wrestler-turned-model, Brock Harris, and I’m mindlessly clicking-through, a helpless captive of the evil geniuses of advertising. Put young Brock in a singlet underneath a dress shirt and tie, and a new star is born in the continuous wrestling scenarios running through my imagination. The overlapping boundaries of the tamed corporate male, the primal gladiator armed only with his stunning body, and the sexual warrior in the act of stripping off the clothes that disguise his underlying beast… I have no self-control. I am bought and sold at the will of ruthless ad men. I am both consumer and product in a world in which life and art and life imitating art and art imitating life dig the channels of consumption that I sail so obediently.

I’m captured and aroused by the model as wrestler, and I hate myself a little for it.

In the grip of my recent obsession, I’ve lately spent some time researching what it is, empirically, that turns my crank about a beautiful, male muscle-butt. I’ve discovered that butts tend to fall into three categories for me these days.

1) Grabability: A lot of thick round cheeks on athletic bodies rate high for grabability. These are the butts that I’d love to see suspended in a vicious bearhug, the victim’s legs squeezing into his tormentor’s sides to try to relieve the pressure of the crushing hold. There, just in that moment of torturous capture, a solidly muscled ass on a jobber just cries out for someone to walk up from behind and grab a couple handfuls of fantastic flesh. A scene from a recent private match in my wrestling fiction features Nick Adams undone by his distraction with grabbing Justin Bruening’s trapped ass. The late Kerry Von Erich (above), had just such an incredibly grab-able ass. Clearly model Jameson Arasi’s ass rates high on grabability, considering he can’t seem to help himself from grabbing his own fantastically round cheeks. Frankly, if I had that ass, I’d want to have my hands down the back of my shorts all day, too.

2) Lickability: I won’t go into graphic detail here, but let’s be honest, some muscled mounds on the rear end rate high for lickability. Chad White has a major league backside that scores a near perfect 9.9 on my lickability scale.

This shot of model/reality TV dreamboat Joel Rush squeezed into (just barely) some black leather pants is just begging for someone to start with the beautiful tat high up in the center of his back and lick the length of his backbone down to the fantastic entrance to the valley between those magic mountains. Okay, I said I wouldn’t go into graphic detail, so I’ll leave it at that. It’s a particular work of art when a submission match between two hardbodies concludes with the loser so dominated and destroyed that the winner can indulge in a little taste of sweet victory.

3) Fuckability: Finally, I feel the need to state the obvious, in that some guys sport butts that are simply cock-magnets (that’s the technical term, I think). Skater/model Josh Wald’s fantastic tats framing that incredible backside tell the whole story.

Model/actor Kairon John also sports a stunningly bang-able butt. I’m NOT always hot for the loser–gets–fucked wrestling stories. Too often, the scenario looks too much like obligatory wrestling as window-dressing for pornboys to screw. Too often, they look like they just punched in their time clocks before getting down to business without much passion. But on those occasions when a scrappy, sweaty scramble leaves both men convincingly stimulated by the play of domination and submission, victor and vanquished, owner and owned… when they really sell me in both the fight and the fuck, then a shiny, sweaty, muscled butt is a fantastic prize to witness being claimed.

I think it has to be said, a beautiful ass is a wonderful thing to behold, and to hold, and to lick, and to screw… especially in the wrestling ring. What do you think is the best use of a grappling muscle-butt?