In the mid to late 1970s, I had already become
indelibly fascinated with the flashy fantasy of
comic book shows with live action super heroes.
Likewise, the dramatic combat of wrestling was
inextricably linked to excitement in my young mind.
This was the early onset of erotica affection,
as available to pre-teen boys in a less
media savvy age.
In addition to the hot bodies and tight-fitting clothes
accentuating all the muscles and moves, there
was just 'something' about the shimmer and cling
and provocativeness of all these warrior-based
costumes and alluring accouterments.
The enticing trifecta of Lycra, spandex, and rayon
had won me over.
Certainly it's tough to distinguish where the love of the
garment and the love of the man inside stops and starts.
Hard, too, to differentiate between the visceral thrill of
watching close-up combat, and the visual stimulation of
silky textures caressing a hard body.
Hell, maybe the love of the fabrics comes directly
from the association with the domination and subjugation
fantasies seen immortalized on the weekly wrestling
and super hero shows.
Regardless, a switch was flipped.
There is a primal longing inherent in merely seeing
a Speedo, wrestling tights, silky underwear,
jogging shorts, bicycle pants, and other
affiliated tempters.
When I was about 11 years old, we went shopping
at the Army Surplus store located right off of the
interstate in downtown Tampa. I found this tube that
sported a picture of this exotic, spongy, chocolate brown
pair of bikini briefs that would fit me, and my excitement
nearly caused a public creaming of my pants.
Since they were affordable and I needed new
drawers anyway, we bought them.
All the way home, the salacious anticipation of what
only I knew was more than a pair of underpants
was almost too much to bear.
To finally be able to touch and satisfy the longing for
the solid contact with the beloved fabric was intense.
It didn't hurt that there was an added element of
excitement in imagining that I was wearing the same
underwear that those hot, beefy, Alpha-male, military dudes
who were in the store shopping were wearing!
I was already more than familiar with the Air Force men,
what with both my school and after-school care being
located just outside Mac Dill AFB.
Those longings definitely instilled a yet further intensely
heated fetish...but we'll save that for another day.
There's a connection formed when enacting the same
tools used by those we desire. A permeative bond
that adds another level to the experience.
In grade school, I had a friend in my class who was into
much of the same things that I was; comics, wrestling,
sci-fi TV shows. He was a bit of a nerd, too,
like me, and was a big, brawny, hairy kid.
We began wrestling during sleepovers as almost a
tacitly understood exploration, a rote act of passage,
complete with the costumes of Lycra bikini bathing suits,
identical to 'wrestling tights.'
The experience of those hormones
raging and that desire pumping while actually touching
another boy and reenacting those wrestling matches
was a beautiful culmination to all those secret
wishes, now finally materialized.
I can still perfectly picture those canary yellow trunks
clinging to him.
The energy and heightened sensation of feeling those
materials expand with my lust, and covering my
friend's bulging body (barely in check,)... it was ecstasy.
The erotica and long-anticipated connection I
had only known from afar was and remains one of
the most stupendous memories in my life.
The privacy of the longing adds to it, compounds it,
I'm sure. There's a secret language at work here.
When you find another who indulges or, at best,
shares such a yen, there's magic at play.
Those images and ideas and touches that brought us
our earliest, purest pay-offs are the ones that
cement themselves in our psyches.
***
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