Anyone who’s read anything on this blog knows about my love — call it a fetish — of military presses. Now, the obsession is with a specific type of press: When the heel lifts the jobber by using his trunks. I’m not as big a fan of when the heel just puts his hand in the jobber’s crotch and hoists him up. Impressive bit of strength, but doesn’t hit my trigger points. But to see a helpless jobber in trunks, being held by his chin or his fucking throat, while the heel yanks the trunks above the helpless sissy’s ass, putting him on display for the entire crowd to see? Oh my. I’ve spilled a lot of jobber juice over the decades to that image.
Note for wrestling folks: I’m using the military press term here, although I know there’s debate about what that actually means. He has to extend his arms! I don’t care about specifics, this is what I’ll call it for this blog. Obviously the phrase overhead press also works fine.
New story time. Little quickie one. This idea came to me in the morning and I wrote it the same day. Which never happens! But it seemed to write itself. Hope you enjoy!
Hey all. Apologies for no stories for awhile. Real life again intruding. I’ve got lots in the hopper and hopefully actually finish some eventually.
In the meantime, I thought some of you might like to take a look at your humble jobber blog operator.
I’ve had the chance over the years to meet up with some heels and have had some amazing times. Yet so much of my jobber life — such as it is — remains in my head. And I realize it will probably always be that way. I have a real life and real responsibilities and family and significant others and on and on and on and the idea of being able to explore ALL of my jobber fantasies…well, I realize it’s probably not realistic. So be it. I still have these desires and at some point I would love to experience some of these things (or, of course, all of them). If there’s anyone who thinks they can make any of these happen, as always, feel free to email at email@example.com. Especially if you’re east of the Mississippi.
Hey all. Working on a couple of things that hopefully I get up in the next decade. Won’t tease with titles or subjects because in the past I’ve done that and then not finished them and I feel bad and some readers get a bit feisty, understandably, and act like they want to suplex me…which wouldn’t be all bad.
So this is just a post about what I call WHEN A SQUASH MATCH DISAPPOINTS YOU.
Hey everyone. A new story! This one’s a bit quirky. But all of the same elements as before. Hope you enjoy!
JOBBER FETISHISM CASE STUDIES
Hello. My name is Doctor Paul Richards. I am a psychiatrist at Georgia Tech in Atlanta and am chair of the Human Sexuality Center. Over the course of my career, I have specialized in a little-studied area: Jobber fetishism. In fact, I’m the leading expert in the world on this disorder. Actually, I might be the only doctor studying it, I’m not sure. But anyone can study masochism or sadism or foot fetishists. I study a much more exciting perversion.
I first became aware of jobber fetishism in the mid 1980s, when a young man came to me with a disturbing problem: He could only get off while watching a wrestler get beat up on the Saturday morning wrestling programs. I didn’t even know what he was talking about — all I knew about pro wrestling was Hulk Hogan was involved. So to better understand my patient, I started watching some wrestling on Saturday mornings and late afternoons, specifically matches of guys like Tommy Angel, Trent Knight, and Red Tyler. Interesting viewing.
Since my early work with that first unfortunate gentlemen — he eventually could only orgasm while watching Nikolai Volkoff military press someone in skimpy trunks — I’ve helped many people understand their situation while also helping them learn the origins of their fetish. People came from across the country to spend time with me as they tried to understand their addiction. Here, then, a few case studies about jobber fetishism, specifically the trigger that launched a thousand jobber fantasies.
These things really used to happen in pro wrestling. Jobbers like Tim Horner would be paraded out in their cute little trunks, and then beaten and humiliated by disgusting heels, all while horny announcers described the action to horrified — and horny — fans, both in the arena and at home. What a world.
This comes from Smoky Mountain Wrestling, a federation I really know nothing about and only recently discovered on YouTube.