For me, thinking of nude wrestling brings back some powerful memories. It never started out as nude wrestling, but it often turned out to become that. A college buddy - who was supposedly str8t and I would always get into a wrestling match after every time we got drunk -- it might be after a Saturday night's college party (we tended to give one or go to one every weekend), or it might be on Sunday afternoon when he and his girlfriend, my dorm mate (we had tiny private rooms) and I played cards and drank wine throughout the afternoon. Eventually, as we got sotted, he and I would challenge each other to a wrestling match that always started in our underwear (I didn't freeball then like I do now). The object of the wrestling match often was to tear off the other guy's briefs. Our spectators just cheered us on and it is truly a wonder that I didn't get caught with my a big hardon because I really had a crush on him -- but it was more like I wanted to 'be' him than just be with him sexually. So that's what nude wrestling means to me .. it's kind of homoerotic, but it's about asserting your masculinity or manhood in a strange kind of way and bonding physically with another guy - -whether he's gay or str8t doesn't really matter. Actually, I can't really say I've ever had the same feelings toward a gay man and haven't actually wrestled a gay man in the nude -- I mean --- sex comes into the picture long before we get around to wrestling.
These events happened during my junior-year-abroad in France. Patrice was studying judo at the time so he would usually get the upperhand in our sweaty wrestling matches - so I didn't actually get to pull off his briefs or expose his cock very often -- maybe that's why I kept trying [grin.]
When we had a party, I was typically the one who got the drunkest and acted rather strange (I came from a rather puritanical, family)- like taking off some or most of my clothes, or climbing trees and telephone poles. Patrice and his girlfriend were the ones who helped me get back home and I would find myself in my own bed without any clothes on later the night or the next morning. I always really wondered which one of them enjoyed 'taking care' of Le Petit (as they used to call me). One of the hottest (and nostalgically regretful) memories for me about those wrestling days in university (in France) was the time after one of our more intense wrestling bouts that Patrice told me privately in the dorm kitchen (where his girlfriend and my roomie could not heard) that he wanted to fuck my ass: 'You know what? - I'd fuck you in the ass.' I just joked about it, and replied that there was no way he was going to get my ass, and then passed it off as if it were nothing but I dreamed for years about what would have happened if I had taken him more seriously. It scared me because I knew how strongly I was attached to him emotionally and how much physically attractive he was. I had just come out to myself (and to other guy - my dorm mate). Shortly after that incident, our wrestling matches ended - perhaps from our having reached some kind of irrevocable turning point, and also it was about time for me to return home. Another memory was the time that we all went out in early May to the beach (I was studying in Montpellier), I ended up getting one of the worst sunbuns I've ever had despite it being a partly cloudy spring day -- Patrice and his girlfriend brought me home, took off all my clothes (I was conscious but in great pain), and rubbed me with burn cream and kept me warm and with plenty of liquids -- if I had not been in so much pain I would have been excited beyond belief to have Patrice rubbing my body-- as it was I was scorched and grimacing in pain - nothing pleasurable about it.
I visited him in France many years later - he is married, has two children and teaches English in high school. At this point, we've sort of lost contact, but this posting brought back memories of those idyllic days.
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