I've had an idea for an episode of my pro-wrestling podcast, The Work Of Wrestling, for...basically...a decade. And yet I haven't even approached bringing it to life because A) I don't really know how to and B) I don't want to creep out my listeners by talking about sex.

One's sexuality, however it manifests, is such a deeply personal topic that I find it difficult to discuss. Not out of shame nor fear. I'm comfortable in my sexuality and am happy to discuss it in-person. I've been married for eleven years and been in a committed, monogamous, heterosexual relationship for fourteen. But sexuality is so complex that I fear describing it, in almost any context, will do it a disservice. We're very quick to judge people based upon their sexual preferences, desires, or interests. That rush to judgment paves over the nuance of sexual exploration. Put another way, it’s possible to explore your sexuality in myriad ways without breaking vows or changing orientations.

See…that last sentence just got you thinking. What does he mean by that? How has he explored his sexuality without breaking vows or playing with orientations.

So it’s a thorny topic, which is partially why I’m so fascinated with it. That fascination with sexuality eventually blended with my fascination with professional wrestling. I noticed that the various movements, both literal and symbolic, of a good professional wrestling match mirror what I can only describe as “a good sex session”. If you’re a pro-wrestling fan you likely know where I’m going with this, but if you’re not, please stick around as it may help you better appreciate narrative in professional wrestling (and maybe even good sex).

To illuminate this argument let’s start with the most “standard” of professional wrestling matches (the “missionary” of wrestling matches - though I must admit that’s not entirely fair, possibly even problematic as it excludes the “default” version of sex in non-hetero couples). 

The most standard wrestling match involves two combatants (partners) “fighting” each other through a series of moves, grapples, gestures, signature moves, and finishing moves (are you already chuckling?) building to the moment when one wrestler successfully pins another’s shoulders to the mat for a count of three seconds.

Before we proceed, it’s really important that you know professional wrestling isn’t “real” in the strictest sense. The wrestlers, if they’re actually professional, aren’t trying to hurt one another (in fact, quite the opposite is true). Pro-wrestling is a performance art that relies upon cooperation or, apt in this discussion, consent. Without consent, pro-wrestling doesn’t work. It devolves into violence and lacks all nuance, intrigue, and pleasure.

You might think I’m linking pro-wrestling and sex because in this standard wrestling match there’s a lot of limbs flying, tugging, pulling, grunting, thrusting, sweating, and exclamations that sound halfway between pain and pleasure.

But no. The mechanics of a standard wrestling match are not what make it inherently sexual.

In a pro-wrestling match, we’re first introduced to both characters. We know their names, we know where they’re from, we know what their goals are. They then “lock-up”, connecting in a simple, yet powerful way. In reality, the wrestlers are in constant communication with each other, making it clear where they want to go next. Each move does not happen in isolation. Instead, as is the case in any good story, one wrestling move naturally proceeds from the one that came before. These moves build, little by little, to a series of crescendos. Some of these crescendos have names like “come back sequence” or “high spot”. 

As these spots are executed (again, with the enthusiastic consent of both parties) the audience experiences wave after wave of intensifying pleasure, leaning forward in their seats, engrossed in the story of one wrestler overcoming the other. Pattern recognition becomes increasingly important, even nurtured, so that it can later be subverted. Sometimes, to intensify the emotional connection to the events of a match, the wrestlers will perform a “false finish”. They’ll hit a “finisher” and pin the other wrestler to the mat, signaling that it’s all coming to an end, when the other wrestler miraculously kicks out. The audience screams in unison! How did he do it?! And then the match resets and the wrestlers work toward building to an even bigger climax (this is emotional edging).

When a wrestler finally scores that pinfall victory the crowd erupts as one. Stone Cold Steve Austin even described this as “making the crowd come” on his podcast. 

Wrestling fan or not, you almost certainly know where I’m going next.

Everything I just described about a good pro-wrestling match applies to good sex (and can usually be accomplished in twenty minutes).

The two parties don’t need to know each other, but it can certainly help (this is Sally from San Antonia, Texas and this is Susan from Albuquerque, New Mexico). Some people are turned on by anonymity but others are deeply turned off by it, needing trust and connection to ever allow their mind to enter the sexual realm.

After the “characters” are introduced to one another they enter a “feeling things out” phase tantamount to a lock-up. There’s a sense of play, a push and pull, as the partners navigate and explore their bodies. This is foreplay, a far more necessary element of sex than is ever given credit. Just as the bulk of a wrestling match (the holds, the clotheslines, the turnbuckle punches, the brawling on the outside) all factor into the finish, so too does foreplay prepare the partners for what is, hopefully, a mutually satisfying conclusion.

The partners having this good sex will also be in constant communication with each other, if not verbally, than wordlessly through the motion of their bodies: move a hand here to signal a change in position, touch them there to indicate you want more (or less) pressure.

Continue on this road of foreplay until the foreplay itself is easily labelled “SEX!” (all caps, exclamation point very much intended). It doesn’t really matter at this point who has what and where it’s going (who’s doing a figure four leg lock or who’s doing a sharpshooter), all that matters is that both parties are connected in each other’s warm, magical embrace, building, incrementally, to orgasm.

And let it be known in no uncertain terms that it’s absolute sin that our culture thinks that once one person orgasms “it’s over” or that if you don't "come together" it's bad sex. What a destructive understanding of sex we’ve enforced on our children. Just like in any good wrestling match, good sex can have several orgasms for both partners. You just have to know A) how the human body works and, more importantly B) how your partner’s body works.

A good sexual session is also not predicated on orgasm. Sometimes the exploration is enough. And sometimes it’s not. And so long as you’re both in agreement and eager to get the other person there however they want to, you’re golden.

The larger point I want to make is that good sex, like good wrestling, is indistinguishable from the patterns, rhythms, and goals of good storytelling.

This is probably why we like good stories so much in the first place; they echo the life force!

So there it is. I did it. I finally wrote about sex and wrestling, and I’m pretty happy with the results. Now let me hear what all you sickos have to say about it ;)