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Today’s Bisexual Thoughts: The Bi Athlete

04 Jan

Contact sports make being bisexual… interesting.  Basketball (which, technically isn’t a contact sport), wrestling, judo, and even football, sports where one guy’s body can get all up close and personal with another guy’s body.  As a judoka, I was used to the close contact even though I did realize that depending on how practice or an actual match was going, it wasn’t all that unusual for one guy or the other to wind up with some serious wood as we fought to defeat each other.

Or to be posting up a guy playing b-ball, your back to the defender and he’s all up on your backside, his mind on stopping you from scoring… but that erection pressing on you is saying something different.  Or wrestling, going through all that grappling and very close contact while the very air is flooded with testosterone; one’s mind is on defeating and not being defeated… but feeling that boner somewhere during the action is saying something, too.  Or playing football and just piling up on a lot of other male bodies.

There’s that slap on the ass that, for the most part, no one really pays attention to.  I can remember the first time a guy slapped me on the butt after a good b-ball play I made – it almost freaked me out and I was like, “What the fuck did he hit me for?” and, yeah, my martial arts training almost made me hit him back until I realized he wasn’t assaulting me.  But after a while, you just get used to kinda/sorta getting felt up when playing such sports and those boners that might pop up are ignored…

Sometimes.

A judo contest comes to mind.  It was a fierce match and while I was confident that I would defeat my opponent, he wasn’t making it easy to do.  In my head, the clock is running:  I have three minutes to win or lose and those are the longest three minutes anyone can ever experience because it just seems like time slows down while in the heat of battle.  We’re on the mat, jostling for position to maybe get the hold-down, an armlock, or maybe even a choke; I’ve got the other guy’s back, have him all wrapped up and working on getting that choke hold in when he says, “Your dick feels good against my butt!”

I didn’t even notice that I was hard!  His comment distracted me for a moment but I got it together and got him to tap out.  As we got to our feet to do the end-of-match ritual, yeah, I’ve got wood… and so does he… and a quick look around told me that while there were a lot of eyes on us, no one else seemed to notice that both of us were sporting some rather nice erections.  After being proclaimed the winner – and bowing out then shaking hands with my opponent, I went to the locker room to pay my water bill.  I needed a band-aid – those damned mats can give you a pretty good rug burn-like injury as can someone’s fingernails – and as I applied one to my elbow, my opponent came in, walked right up to me and undid the pants to my gi, pulled my cock out of my supporter, and gave me one hell of a blowjob!  And I just stood there like a dummy; it never occurred to me to ask him what the hell he was doing or why he was doing it – well, the questions were in my head but never reached my mouth.  He made me cum, swallowed it all and when he got to his feet, he said, “Thanks – I needed that after such a good match!  You’re really good at this!”

And walked away licking his lips.  It was like an epiphany or, really, a really hard slap in the face; the part of my mind that pays attention to everything broke through to tell me that, um, this ain’t the first time someone you’ve fought has gotten turned on and has felt you up.  Oh, yeah, now you bring this to my attention?  My apparent lack of attention – being so unaware of what was going on – really pissed me off, not really because of wanting to find some guy to have sex with but just failing to notice such behavior, not only in judo but even when playing basketball.  That part of my mind chose to point out to me the many times I’d gotten finished a sport – judo, basketball, whatever, and wound up having sex with another guy and that the two things were a lot more related than I would have ever thought.

Jump ahead a lot of years and the singular moment and event that made me feel so fucking stupid with the guy I eventually fell in love with.  He challenged me to a wrestling match and I scoffed at his challenge because, come on, I’m a black belt in judo and a good wrestler – was he serious?  Turns out that he was – and it was on and, as I had warned him, it was going to be a fruitless endeavor for him and he wasn’t going to win… and in my head, nope, it wasn’t even close as I literally wiped the floor with him until he eventually gave up.  What I learned, though, that I didn’t actually win – he did when he pointed out to me that the only reason why he challenged me was so he could feel me up and get kinda personal with me.  When I replayed that moment in my mind, damn it, that’s exactly what he did!  I recalled that at several moments, he was pawing my ass, had his hands all on my crotch – I was convinced that I had a boner because of the exertion of whipping his ass – and he even had his face in my crotch and lightly biting me there – and since he wasn’t really hurting me, I totally and completely ignore it.

I got suckered and played by him big time and, no, I wasn’t angry with him at all – he played a masterful game with me and one that I knew I had lost… but I never did like losing so I was plenty pissed with myself.  It did, however, remind me that I should really pay more attention to such things, a lesson I had actually learned years in the past but, seriously, who thinks that tussling with a friend is really a prelude to him trying to get into your underwear?  I sure as hell didn’t but I once again vowed to be more vigilant.  So when I started to hear about pro athletes and some of the shit playing their respective games would bring up, I realized that there’s nothing all that surprising about it and that people who’ve never engaged in such close-contact sports might not understand how being all mano a mano can be rather erotic and even unintentionally while the game is being played.  It’s the heat of the moment, that competitive spirit that gets testosterone flowing like the jet stream; that physical contact, strength against strength or bodily fighting for position that can stir up, ah, certain things and emotions like, oh, yeah, lust when your blood is hot and racing through your body and, yeah, maybe what’s on your mind and what your body is doing aren’t on the same page with each other.

I’ve had guys apologize to me for having a boner spring up while in contact with him; it would crack me up to see them all flustered and trying to explain to me that, um, no, they’re not like that but being unable to explain why I felt their boner against me in the first place.  I knew the answer but I’m not beyond watching  someone tripping all over themselves about it because you just expect it to happen and since you do – and you know why – you just don’t read anything into it… until one such guy makes certain remarks after the game or just comes out and puts the proposition for sex onto the table.  And even in this, I’ve not read a whole lot into the situation because I understand some of the stresses playing certain sports can put on a guy, pushing them to the point where they need that sexual release to dissipate all that stored energy.  Doesn’t mean that they’re gay or even bi but the manifestation of a truth that says “I need to get off and this way is just better than jerking off…”

Just some thoughts on the matter…

 
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Posted by on 4 January 2015 in Life, Living and Loving

 

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