When I was a kid, I’d typically scheme all the time to start a wrestling match with a friend. Inevitably in the fumbling scramble, sooner or later, someone would get “racked,” by which we meant that they took a blow to the groin. It was always unintentional… or, at least, it was always unintentional on my part. Looking back on it, I sort of suspect that some of my wrestling buddies probably threw in a precisely placed knee every so often. I was always such a naive babyface.
The new Arena update at BG East has tickled my fancy once again with some preview pics of an upcoming release featuring the mouth-watering ass of Kid Karisma in action against Len Harder. This looks like it leans more the to homoerotic side than most of what I’ve seen Kid in, including some suck-face and ball claws. Good, good times…
The fact that this catches my eye and tweaks my kink so instantly is a relatively new thing. When I was a kid and would wrestle with my buddies, getting “racked” was an instant time out. The action stopped whenever someone took a blow to the groin. Every boy learns about the bundle of nerve endings in the groin, don’t we? At some point or another, we all experience that near-paralyzing pain of taking a shot to the balls. All the air rushes out of your lungs. Your head feels like it’s about to explode. You instinctively roll up into the fetal position with your hands cupped over your crotch to protect it from further abuse. It’s no fun, and as a kid it was typically a mood-killer for me.
Ball abuse as a mood-maker has been only a pretty recent development for me. I’ve always liked the concept of hands on genitals in my homoerotic wrestling. I just always cringe when I see some convincing bashing, twinges of some of my own greatest hits echoing through my body. I swear, it’s tissue memory more than anything cognitive. I see a blow to the balls, and I have a pre-cognitive cringe reflex. But lately, I find some hot, hard ball claws intensely erotic. I’m writing ball abuse into every fictional wrestling match I write.
I think I attribute my expanding my wrestling kink repertoire to Derek da Silva. He shows up frequently in homoerotic wrestling on the other end of the ball bashing stick. And he clearly LOVES it. I mean, seriously, he gets harder the more he gets bashed. Now, if Derek were naked and just hanging the laundry on the line, I’d be unable to stop myself from masturbating. But Derek grappling, getting ball bashed, and getting off on getting bashed has just turned a key in the back of my mind somewhere.
I still cringe. But the cringe and the pain and the primal domination of ball abuse are somehow doing it for me these days like never before. And it’s not like you can shake a stick and not smack up some ball torture everywhere you turn. Hell, in Naked Kombat you get points for it. It’s absolutely mandatory.
Can-Am has long sprinkled ball torture throughout their products. I remember one particular match that blew my mind when I saw Jimmy Dean shove his hand down the back of Mark Wolff’s trunks, reach between his legs, and claw at his testicles from behind. The boys, the gear, the ring, the bodies… everything about that makes me gasp a little.
BG East has ball claws featured prominently everywhere, in explicitly ball-torture themed products and otherwise. There’s just something stunning about the sight of a bodybeautiful, musclegod/ken doll like Jace Bradley pressed against the ropes and completely at Mr. Joshua’s mercy with his balls firmly in Mr. Joshu’s hand.
So I guess what this post is really about is the evolution of sexual appetite, the refinement of erotic tastes, and the observation that even when it comes to my wrestling kink, I’m not the same person I was even a couple of years ago. What strikes me as erotic, arousing, and captivating is growing and maturing as I march through life, scarfing down homoerotic wrestling every chance I get.
This day is kicking my ass! Holy hell, I’m in danger of losing my hard-fought momentum to post something new each day. That would suck at this point, since I’m closing in on less than three months to go of a full year of daily posts.
But as I say, this day is beating the crap out of me as I run from meeting to meeting, and I’ll I can do is stand here and take it. If I’m going to get the crap beat out of me, I can think of so many more satisfying scenarios. They pretty much all involve Mitch Colby (no surprise).
So wish me luck that I can stumble across the finish line today, and forgive me if this is a little bit of a half-assed post for your reading enjoyment.