Yes, You May Touch It

By Nagual

"Yes, you may touch my leather," I said.

The year was 2019. The man who had requested to touch me was named Toño. He requested to touch my leather while we shared a moment in his living room.

But before I go further, it's worth explaining how I met Toño.

He had followed me from Philadelphia, to Boston and to NYC that year to see me wrestle over the course of nine months. He was always there in the front row, at every match. Toño was always respectful as a fan. And I appreciated him.

He was hard to miss. Born to Mexican and French parents, Toño gazed at the world through eyes that were filled with soul. He had a clear high brow that gave his hairline a distinguished look. His beard sparkled with black, brown and chestnut gloss. Tattoos of his favorite video game heroes adorned his forearms, which were covered in fine brown hairs. Toño lived in New Jersey, but he traveled often to Paris, home to the central office of the tech firm he worked for, and the place where his parents still lived.

How did I know this? Because Toño would find me after every match, seeking my autograph, and sharing more about himself each time. He spoke in a shy tone of voice, but he was talkative, erudite. He would sometimes have to catch his breath between sentences as I autographed his merch.

Toño had spent all his life enjoying pro wrestling. He knew the lore of WCW, NWA, CMLL and AAA, and many more. He understood the rules of the sport, as well as the labyrinths of the artform. He had memorized all the legends, every heel, every face, every rudo.

But above all, Toño was respectful toward all people and things that were different than him.

On that evening, I had won my match. It was an easy victory; the battle only lasted ten minutes. My opponent, an unskilled muscle boy jobber named Troy of Troy, had tapped out, begging for my mercy. Before I left the ring, I made sure to rip the back of his wrestling trunks with my bare hands, reminding him that his bubble ass was of no use if he didn't grow his skills in the ring. When I had torn his gear, the crowd had caught a glimpse of Troy of Troy's pink thong. The cheers and screams in the auditorium confirmed that the fans had devoured and relished Troy of Troy’s humiliation.

And so had I.

Two hours later, I caught Toño in the hallway of the auditorium. Hardly anyone had stuck around. At this hour, only the cleaning crew and security guards were left. Toño was waiting for me, his eyes cast downward. Always shy.

"Nagual, you were awesome tonight."

"Thank you, Toño."

I could see that something big, something almost spiritual, was stirring in Toño this evening. His eyes spoke of dreams and landscapes that live in a place beyond this world.

"Wanted to ask you something," he said.

I nodded as I wiped down my chest and arms with a towel. Suddenly this hallway felt very private, very far away from the crowds, as if it had been shrouded by a dark god or goddess.

"Nagual, would you be willing to do something... unusual with me?"

"Do you know who I am?" I laughed. "I live in the world of the unusual."

"I knew you would say something like that. What I would like is for you to spend an evening with me in my house. I want you to read to me. Read me a book."

"What book?"

"Aura."

"Oh yes, by the master, Fuentes. Most men who seek me ask me for wrestling and dark arts. They ask for supernatural...experiences. You're the first one to ask for such a thing."

"All I want is to hear your voice, sir. And a chance to touch your leather cuffs and your leather vest that you wear every time you walk into the ring."

"Show me the way to your home, Toño."

One hour later I found myself in a vintage Victorian house which looked as haunted as a cemetery. Toño shared it with a roommate who was never around. I wore a black mask that night, and I paired it with my full gear. A yellow leotard, black patent leather wrestling boots, and my cuffs and leather vest. And to add an extra touch of essential nagual nature, I donned my metal nails, which always honor the spiritual power of the jaguar and the smoking mirror.

I read out loud to Toño. I read to him in Spanish. He shuddered during many moments, and the short novel cast a deep spell inside the room, giving every shadow a soft, velvety texture. And when I finished, I started reading the book all over again, this time reading the text in its English translation. Toño sat next to me the whole time, aroused, his eyes wide as saucers, his chest heaving with excitement. Outside the night howled and spat short bursts of rain. Before us, a fireplace.

When I reached the end of Aura the second time, Toño bowed his head and spoke from his chest.

"Nagual, may I touch your leathers?"

I took his right hand and moved it under the black leather vest. I let him feel my skin, my chest hair, and the crescent shaped scar beneath the fur. His hands slid over the oiled black leather of the vest, nuzzling the diamond patterns on its front. I let my heart speak to Toño with its music as he counted my heartbeats with the palm of his hand.

I kissed him fully on the lips.

"Go ahead. Feel my leathers."

He worshipped my leather vest. The front, the back, he kissed every inch. He also kissed every part of my leather cuffs. His big beard and mustache made scratching noises on the leather, interrupted only by the crackling of the logs in the fireplace. I let him touch my leotard and my mask too. He ran his hands up and down my legs, feeling the quad muscles form teardrop shapes beneath the skin. When he was done, he sighed and smiled up at me with those endless eyes.

"That's what I wanted."

But I could sense he wanted more. I took my arms and wrapped them around Toño, embracing him with warmth, affection, and perhaps the beginnings of something else. He held a good spirit inside his flesh. A spirit that had not been corrupted by greed or anger yet. I hugged him this way for almost thirty minutes. And when I was done, we kissed once more on the mouth, and I left.

We still keep in touch, after all these years. And at the end of every chat and WhatsApp exchange, Toño always reminds me:

"Nagual, you made my dream come true. I wanted to bond with your leather and I wanted the chance to feel your arms around me. I always remember the night we shared at my house."

Perhaps it's also my ghost that haunts that Victorian house in which the stud named Toño creates his own cosmos. From time to time, I transform into a moth and I fly through the dusty hallways, soaring past the banister of the staircase, my wings grazing the picture frames on the walls. But Toño does not know that I visit him in this way. He will never know.

I like to see him thrive. I make sure to disappear before he can swat me away. I live inside his dreams and memories, like a ghost.

Toño is a very special man whom I will never forget.

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