Another true life tale from my younger days.
I mentioned in a previous post how I used to own a pair of Duke athletic underwear and I wore them when I wrestled my friend, after mom had washed them with red clothes and they turned pink. However, I had several pairs of them that I used for gym class and the others remained white. I also wore them all the time when pretending to be a jobber in my high school days, alone in the basement.
I would put the underwear on — they really did look like wrestling trunks — and then act out matches on my own. I’d grab the rear of my trunks and hoist myself up for a body slam, or pretend to anyway. I’d throw myself around by grasping the back of the trunks. I’d stand on my head and prop myself against a cement wall while grasping the side of my underwear to impersonate a vertical suplex. I would drape myself over an arm on the couch, pull up on the trunks in the rear and pretend Nikolai Volkoff ws giving me a military press and wedgie. I was a fucked up kid and a jobber whore wannabe. I’d even turn on a tape recorder and announce the match as I was a jobber getting dominated. “Look at that Heenan, this monster just toying with this youngster.” I would use my jump rope and hogtie myself and pretend some dirty heel was humiliating me post match. Who else did this? Good lord. In fact, the only times I ever ejaculated was into those white trunks/panties (since that’s what they looked like). I would put myself in a move, usually the military press, and manage to hold the trunks up my ass, while rubbing the tip of my cock in the trunks and eventually I’d spooge all over them. One time I accidentally came while perched on my head giving myself a vertical suplex. It’s when I was impersonating the Barbarian holding up Ron Cumberledge in his pink trunks for like 30 seconds. So I’m there on my head, my hand grasping the trunks, pulling them, and eventually it just started flowing out. The problem? Because I was sort of pulling the trunks away from my body — I liked to switch and pull on the front of them sometimes like Buzz Sawyer would do — there was nothing from stopping the cum from just squirting out and down my body. Aagh. Got it in the couch. That was fun cleaning up.
So this was not a normal teenage existence (this continued for years and years and years except I graduated to using Speedos instead of those white underwear).
So one day I watched the old WCCW that would air on ESPN. There was a match between the forgettable Jimmy Jack Funk and Steven Casey (Dane). Casey was wearing his very very skimpy white trunks. At one stage, Funk lifted him up for a slam, put his head into the turnbuckle, then put Casey into a tree of woe position in the corner turnbuckle, upside down, dangling. I don’t know why that particular move resonated with me so much. Part of it was the way he held Casey’s trunks on the slam — anyone who’s read me knows I’m a sucker for any trunk pull. Then the way he just deposited him in the corner, like the proverbial sack of potatoes. Then the way Casey was helpless in his skimpy white trunks, exposed, just waiting for Funk to punish him. So I decided to impersonate it in my own white trunks. I put my head into the corner of the couch, then went upside down and dangled my feet off the back so I was basically in a tree of woe. My head was near the floor (with that same couch I would impersonate Demolition’s finishing move where a jobber was perched on their knee then ravaged with a devastating elbow drop). I’m just hanging there. In my white undies. When I hear footsteps VERY CLOSE. Now our basement probably had a dozen steps. Then you had to make a slight turn to see the couch area. Usually I would hear someone coming right away and have time to make sure everything was fine. But this time it was mom BOUNDING down the steps and I only heard her as she’s near the bottom. Holy fuck!
In an instant I got down, grabbed my pants that were on the floor and SPRINTED into a nearby storage room, slamming the door. Oh my christ. She asked if I was okay and if she could come in because that’s why she came down, to get something out of the storage room. It was a miracle I made it there in the first place; I was like a combination of Carl Lewis and Houdini, the way I disengaged from the couch, grabbed the pants and ran away. I told her no. She asked why. I said I had a mother’s day present in there! What? Mother’s Day was like three weeks away and I never would really get my mom anything other than a card. She said, “Oooh, kay,” and thankfully walked away.
Did she believe me? Surely not. She probably thought I was masturbating and ran in there. Teen boys masturbate, so that’s fine she thought that. Humiliating, sure. But imagine being caught in your white athletic underwear — which she still washed for you– hanging upside down while rubbing your little jobber cock through the thin material. Would she have still loved me? Of course. Would she have thought I was a fucked-up freak? Probably. Would she have known I was a submissive jobber boy? Maybe. But as scary as that would have been, as mortifying as it would have been, at least she would have known the truth.