The Accessible Man

From a young age, boys are taught that Real Men aren’t supposed to look at or touch other men.  If you’re in a locker room or public shower, you had better avert your eyes, mister. And you must avoid and shy away from the gaze of other men as well.  Our male-dominated society does not allow even the curious or judgmental gaze, let alone the covetous gaze of ownership and desire, to fall on another male.

The male body is supposed to remain inscrutable to other men — not readily investigated, invisible and impenetrable.  Pro wrestling, however, tosses out the rulebook and blatantly, willfully violates the Law of Male Inscrutability.  Male bodies are on display everywhere, accessible, and wide open to scrutiny.

The wrestlers’ clothing is removed (except for the smallest, tightest briefs), and attention is drawn toward, rather than away from, the male body.  Not since the sculptors of ancient Greece and Rome were at work has the male body been so proudly celebrated and enjoyed for its beauty.

As a young television viewer stumbling upon pro wrestling for the first time, I think the most shocking aspect to me was the decadent abundance of nearly naked male bodies on display and accessible.

Not only are the bodies on full display, the male flesh sprawled out and held still to be analyzed and contemplated by the viewer, but also the men constantly touch one another, and hold onto their grips.  I was taught to keep my hands to myself, so this gratuitous, unapologetic body contact seems sort of naughty or dirty.

Their arms interlock, their skin presses together, their hands wander over one another’s warm, naked bodies.  Each man apparently has given the other man permission to touch him — to use his body however he wishes.

The imagery of the males groping and gripping one another, while neither of them resists this invasion of privacy, caused me to imagine them having had a conversation like this:

“OK, I will lay there and let you do whatever you want to me.”

“Thanks bro, and don’t worry.  I’ll be really gentle — I won’t hurt you.”

“No problem.  I trust you with my body (with my life, really).”

Mmmm, intimacy.

To make sure the viewers understand that the wrestlers are fully accessible to us, that we have their permission to gaze at them, our attention is repeatedly drawn to their bodies. Before the match, the ref runs his hands slowly over their legs and trunks, searching for weapons, or possibly demonstrating to us: “See, they let me touch them all over the place, so you guys can go ahead and stare at them!”

The announcers and interviewers will also comment on the wrestlers’ physiques to ensure that all eyes are focused on their bodies. “Clearly this young man has spent hours in the gym.  You don’t get arms like that by sitting on the couch.”  “And get a load of the pure power in those thighs, ladies and gentlemen.”

I also believed that no man would willingly get up-close and personal with someone who repulses him.  If he has agreed to hug another man, to put his face near the opponent’s face, to press his bare skin against the other wrestler’s skin, there had to be some pleasure lurking there — some desire for contact.

If they were truly hated enemies as they told us in the interviews — if they were engaged in an actual blood feud — they wouldn’t get in the ring half-naked and open their bodies up to attack.  The wrestler could just buy a gun and shoot the bastard if he actually wanted to hurt him.  So there was always something playful — or sado-masochistic — in their feuds that made the whole spectacle seem fun and erotic.  Watching their open accessibility to one another was like enjoying forbidden fruit.

As a young wrestling fan, seeing all this exposed flesh on display and man-on-man contact made pro wrestling seem seedy or sinful to me — there was something salacious and erotic about this spectacle and I didn’t want anybody to know I felt that way.

I quickly understood that this exciting spectacle was a secret pleasure to be enjoyed in private, not to be discussed in polite company.  The dirtiness and shame of my secret enjoyment, the feeling that I was breaking a taboo by watching and enjoying pro wrestling, made it even more intoxicating — I soon couldn’t resist my weekly fix.  Now I understand how addicts feel!