I like not only a wide variety of bodies and builds and characters and gear and ages and races and ethnicities and scenarios in homoerotic wrestling, but I also like the combination of contrasts. Let me be clear, I have nothing against hunks squaring off against similarly fashioned hunks. But I’ve long experienced some special kink bonus about mismatches, or, more generically, unmatched pairs. For example, there’s something that turns me on exponentially about wrestlers in entirely different types of gear. One in street clothes, the other in pro trunks, for example, or one in an earnest amateur singlet and the other in a stripper thong. I’m not entirely sure why, but fuck, yes, that contrast cranks my cock with just that much more enthusiasm. It’s also relatively rare, I find. So much more often, opponents are not only dressed similarly, but even dressed in identical gear choices, just in different colors.
A more common unmatched pairing, which often lends itself to a mismatched pair as well, is the big vs. little throwdown. There are, of course, many ways to measure size, but on my mind today is the tall/short dichotomy. Watching a pair of hotties face off, when one opponent’s nose basically comes up to his opponent’s sternum, turn me on like nobody’s business.
And I’m not just talking about squashes, where big guys manhandle and abuse guys 3 weight classes below them from start to finish. I only occassionally tuck in to a big bully squash like that, but a particularly fine vintage for me is the big vs. little pairing that turns out delightfully competitive, or perhaps even tilted toward a particularly skilled little guy cutting a big man down to size.
Perhaps it has to do with blurring the lines, this extra excitement I have for the unmatched pairs. In straight-up competitive sports, there are weight classes that control the narrative, that offer the illusion that the ultimate outcome is indicative of the better man, the skilled or more determined (or luckier) combatant. An unmatched pair of contrasting sizes may acknowledge that the tale of the tape in homoerotic pro wrestling is almost never about fair play and the raw measure of strength and skill.
There’s attitude and lust, sadistic impulse and desire to dominate. I may still expect the smaller man to get outmuscled and manhandled, but pro wrestling has always relied on a suspension of disbelief, and when, through cunning or skill or an equalizing shot to the balls, the little guy puts a convincing hurt on his goliath, I don’t just go with it, I scream full steam ahead!
Particularly when it’s competitive, I definitely don’t mind it when a hot bundle of compact muscle gets a beating from his taller opponent, either. I’ve mentioned in the past how, every so often, a squash turns sour for me if it comes across as just bullying. But if the scenario sells legitimate suspense about the ultimate outcome of the match, I’ve certainly found myself getting off to a big man putting a hurt on a pint size muscleman probably as frequently as vice versa.
I’m not sure if I’ve come to any more clarity about my delight in a mismatched tall vs. short homoerotic wrestling match. But I know what I like, and things pump harder and hotter for me when a big guy and a little guy lock up, thrown down, and, especially, when they the winner (whichever part he played) sexually lords it over his vanquished foe.
Sidelineland 