bill's intro:

This is a post from Warrior robbynhb that first appeared in his yahoo club Men Fighting or Wrestling Like Boys

It's not an "erotic" post - but when I asked him whether he had been turned on during the fight, his response was:

"I was probably hard as I always was wrestling and fighting, but wouldn't have equated it with eroticism at the time. There was definitely a 'power trip' factor though... "no way was I going to let any kid beat me", although some certainly did. I was just a little boy in a fight (fair fight with an equal) and I wanted to win. Still jo looking back though."

So I think that Warrior Robby's post belongs here along with posts like Warrior Nybox43's Boyhood Brawling or Warrior cumbat1's Wrestlin Warriors Speak as yet another example of the deep childhood roots of our devotion to wrestling, fighting, and frot, which, as is clear in Robby's story, he experiences as something completely natural and free.

See what you think.

PS Robby says he's an "overgrown kid - love oil wrestling, oiled cock-fighting, mud, wet, frottage, LOVE group scenes, hate anal, no age or race barriers."

My kind of guy.

Wanna get in a fight with me?


Warrior RobbyNHB

With so many thousands, and perhaps millions of us still into it (even at our ages), getting into a wrestling match or fight is never impossible. However we still have to seek out each other through contact groups such as this one, then make arrangements, and hope the guy actually shows up. Way-back-when it was so much easier, in fact I recall it was probably harder to stay out of scraps than to get into them. When we were boys, energetic boys were everywhere, and most of us were always looking for some trouble.

My introductory story is about the day I met Kevin, a tough little guy who after a brief period of mutual animosity became one of the best friends of my boyhood.

The day had two memorable events, meeting Kevin, and the improbable event that inadvertently caused me to enter his territory.

It was a summer afternoon, I was about nine, and alone riding a city bus home from somewhere (forget where), when the bus became involved in a minor collision. No one hurt, but the bus was disabled. When I'd had a sufficient eyeful of the wreckage I decided to walk the rest of the distance as I was too impatient to wait for the next bus. A convenient shortcut took me along a path on the bank of a river, to the left, the river and to the right a long swath of reasonably well-cut grass that stretched behind a row of houses. I was about halfway down the path when I heard the voice behind me. The exact words are lost in time but it was essentially "Hey Buddy' or "Hey Kid". With that I turned around and first saw Kevin, a boy about my age and size. He finished his sentence with essentially "You wanna get in a fight with me"? That was it, and if the quote is not exact, he was every bit as direct.

It was just the two of us there, and his motivation was plain old boredom. I was his size, and getting into a fight was just something to do -- no big deal. Anyway, my response was to accept and with some attempt at a warning threat, which somehow failed to frighten him. Before squaring off, as I was the one to be challenged, I would have asked to the effect of "Play fight or a 'real' fight? The answer was 'real' fight, so it was settled. Two willing boys were going to have a fight just for something to do. There was no removing of shirts or other formalities that go with friends having a fun wrestling match, it was just fists up, in our tees, jeans rolled up at the cuffs and sneaks.

Two little boys started off fighting like 'men', swinging, dancing around, and connecting some hits -- and of course, talking too much at first (kids today would call it 'flipping attitude'). I can't tell you exactly when Kevin got mad, but the lucky 'right' into my left cheek got me going, and either my instigation or retaliation lit his fuse. The stand-up 'fighting like men' then deteriorated into 'brawling like boys' -- and the headlocks came on. A quick trip and we were on the grass rolling over and over wrestling and hammering in all the body-punches we could. We were just kids but it was a tough fight. Kevin was a scrapper alright and he later paid me the enormous compliment of conceding that though he thought he could take me when he started it, once we got into it, he wasn't so sure. It turned out that we were both quite formidable in our respective schoolyards -- but there on that grass, meeting for the first time, we were strangers, AND unknowns to each other.

The punching and wrestling slowed when the on-ground headlocks came on, and boy we were cranking them (neck still aches when I think of that even now). He was 'killing' me, although my life was never in peril, and I assure you he was getting it back from me. I remember mutual demands of "GIVE" during those headlocks, but we were both too stubborn. No such thing as 'mercy' as why should we? We were having a fight and the opponent had the option of surrendering any time he'd had enough. I knew he couldn't 'beat' me because of something my father had told me; no one can 'beat' you if you don't give up. Simplistic, but I was much younger than nine when he imparted that wisdom, and he was right. All I had to do to win that fight was not give up, and of course, beat HIM, so I kept on trying to pry his head from his body (and taking his worst in the process). When the pain got to be too much we started trying to fight our way out of the headlocks. That involved lurching as much as we could, and punching as hard as we could. Eventually it worked but the fight was still on and we were madder than ever, and still alone on that grass (no one at all saw it happen). Out of the headlocks and punching and wrestling like before we were giving each other a great fight, and a great time in draining each other of the day's accumulated energy. It was 'total-commitment', and our big event of the day, and we both wanted to win.

There was one brief suspension of the brawl. It was caused by the unmistakable sound of ripping cloth. It was his tee shirt, and I swore then (and do now) that it was unintentional. I wanted to beat HIM, and not his clothing. The quick pause to examine the damage, and he became quite apocalyptic, slugging me a good one and scrambling to his feet. The verbal invitation was to the effect of "C'mon, GET UP"! I did of course, and participated in some stand-up fist-fighting until new headlocks took us back down for some more brawling. I know we were up and then down again at least one more time before the battle finally wound down on the grass. We were still trying to wrestle, and indeed had each other in some pretty good holds, but we were both pretty well done. I was certainly exhausted (and I readily admit, I was aching!). The threats and boasts may have continued, but by then we didn't have enough to back up any of it, so the physical fight sort of faded away. Kevin lived in one of the houses that backed onto the grass (shielded by a fence of course), so he didn't have far to go, but I remember limping some distance until the worst of the damage subsided. We parted as enemies, but as fate would have it we met up again later in the summer at some sort of carnival, and for a time were out to get each other in the 'bump and go' cars. That was so much fun we started talking a bit when the ride was over -- and became friends.

Kevin and I wrestled like tigers every chance we had, and especially during 'sleepovers' for the two ensuing years, until his family moved away. The wrestling matches were as tough and as rough as two youngsters were capable of, but for all the intensity, it was always in fun. We never fought in anger again. I'll never forget Kevin, and I'll especially never forget the day I met him, when for no reason other than adventure, he challenged me to a fight.

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