There is a picture of Steve and I that his father took years ago at the first wresting meet I ever went to. It was in December, before Christmas break, and I was skipping swim practice to be able to watch Steve wrestle (supposedly I was sick, but I won't tell if you won't). In the picture I am wearing a school t-shirt and jeans, the brown hoodie by Calvin Klein Jeans which I had bought at the going out of business sale at the local Filene's (which I only just threw away for being too tattered after many years as my favorite hoodie) is tucked neatly under one arm. Steve's arm is around my shoulders, his other arm in the air making the sign for "Number One." We are both smiling wildly at the win he had just made. His singlet was rolled down to about the level of his hips, and his father must have caught us before he had a chance to put a shirt on because in the picture he is just sweaty muscles and shaved chest, tufts of hair in his pits. I look one part exhilarated and one part mortified to be getting my picture taken next to the almost naked boy who I was secretly dating and sleeping with. I always laugh when I see the picture, though now it is packed away with a lot of other things from my past, waiting for me to get a big enough apartment/house to store them in.
I remember that night pretty well. I had never seen real wrestling before, not even on the Olympics, so I did not really know what to expect. I knew it was nothing like the WWE stuff on TV, but I knew nothing about the rules or how it was done. I sat next to Steve's dad who would help give me some idea of what was going on, though I remained mostly clueless the entire time. I guess Steve's dad had done some wrestling in college and enjoyed it enough to have enrolled Steve in some junior wrestling classes. So I was around a guy who knew what he was talking about. I was just confused, and a little bored.
Even though the wrestlers are in singlets and rolling around together on the floor, I honestly had trouble back then (and still do now) seeing it as an erotic experience. When done in porn, I find it very sexy, but in porn it is done to be sexy. A true match can get a bit tedious. They hit the mat, they grapple, the ref blows the whistle, they stand up and reposition, they hit the mat, they grapple, etc. There isn't a lot of erotic activity, at least from a viewing perspective. And the grappling mostly looks painful and more like watching a man twist through a curved pipe than like sexual positions. The matches didn't turn me on very much, but I did get into cheering very quickly. It was awesome to watch these guys flip-flop their way out of some incredible holds, and I saw some very small guys take down huge, muscled dudes. It was very fun to watch and I've loved watching ever since. I even volunteered to help keep score at my college wrestling meets once I was no longer swimming.
Steve had three matches that night and he won every single one of them. His dad and I were beyond excited about the outcome. As I think I said before, Steve was by no means the top wrestler in school, and he didn't make a habit of winning every match he was entered in. But that night he did it, and his opponents weren't easy. Well, to me they weren't. I really had no idea about how to size up a wrestling opponent. They all looked like they could bend me into a knot and knock me out cold in a second. But Steve powered through and came out on top every time that night. That is the reason why, in our picture, he is smiling big and holding up his pointer finger. He was number one.
I spent the night at Steve's house after the meet, having already dropped my things off earlier. I can't remember why exactly, but his mother was gone for the weekend. His dad kept saying strange buddy-dad things to us like, "Looks like it is just us guys tonight," that made Steve cringe and made me laugh a little. But when we got back his father disappeared upstairs after ordering some pizza to be delivered. Steve and I made our way up to his room where he proceeded to tell me all about his matches as if I hadn't been there watching them. He was so excited that I just let him go on and on until the pizza came. We ate it while watching TV and he continued to talk to me about his matches and matches he has had in the past. I loved how excited he was about his sport and how much he wanted to share it with me. I felt like we were closer now.
"Do you ever get a boner in your singlet?" I asked him when we were back in his room.
"Sure, all the time. Most guys do."
"Do you feel them while wrestling?"
"Yeah," he said, as if it were no big deal, "After a while you learn to ignore them. There are some guys who will get a boner on purpose and rub it on you just to get you freaked out so you lose."
"Have you ever done that?" I asked. He just smiled and looked away.
"Let's do something fun," he said. I perked up thinking it was time for sex, but he had slightly different plans. He pulled two old singlets out of a drawer in his closet and had me put one on while he got in the other. He had me get down in one of the starting positions while he got on top of me. "Flip me," he said.
I tried. And failed. I tried again. He didn't even budge. After the third try I said, "Isn't this when you're supposed to just let me flip you?"
"Not gonna happen," he said, laughing. But the laughing became something else as his hand snuck between my legs and cupped my crotch. I caught my breath and thought, is he going to fuck me in this singlet? He grabbed me at the shoulder, grabbed my crotch, and with very little energy swung me over and pinned me to the ground. We were both laughing and all sexual thoughts fled from my mind as he kept on pinning me in different, hilarious positions, making sure never to bend me badly enough to hurt me.
We did eventually fuck that night, and I fell asleep in Steve's arms with plenty of our cum swapped between us. But what I will always remember most is the joy of sharing that passion for wrestling with Steve. He clearly loved the sport enough to want to play around with me, pretend-wrestling with his lover. When I think back on my time with Steve, I inevitably remember him pinning me down and sneaking those chaste kisses of his between our crumpled limbs and causing me to laugh loudly before quickly changing me to another pose. His strength coupled with his flexibility kept every movement unique and fluid.
I remember waking up the next morning, still in his arms, somewhat sore from the previous night. And I remember him looking at me, kissing me, and then rolling me over and fucking me before we went downstairs and I had to leave. They are some of my favorite memories of our time together.