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+--- Thread: Wrestling team car wash (/showthread.php?tid=994)
Wrestling team car wash - Simon - 11-25-2025
My son Jason's high school wrestling team was holding a summer wash, so how could a mom not support them? The team was funding new uniforms—and if you've ever known anyone in wrestling or seen a wrestling match, you know these uniforms—these "singlets"—get used, abused, and stretched. There's not much to them—they're just thin spandex or nylon or Lycra, and they're form-fitting until they get stretched out. These things can be expensive. School is going to be cheap because they were cheap before, and then after they got pulled or ripped, we parents buy new ones for our kids anyway. So a fundraiser was a great idea.
The coach received permission from the city to take over the parking lot and, most importantly, the water access of a shut-off restaurant on the corner of two busy streets near the school, so that it has good visibility and hopefully attracts many impulse customers.
And, best of all, the weather was glorious – a beautiful, hot, late August day!
Jase and his friends had raided my garage this week for cardboard and then took over the living room to make signs for the event. They made pretty good signs—very amateurish, but the lettering was clear. None of those "thinking ahead" spacing errors or misspellings. Part of me almost wanted to see some awful spelling, like where the "s" is backwards, like in those Little Rascals shorts from back in the day, but the team didn't need that kind of "dumb jock" image for the public.
No, these boys had their own unique appeal...
That Saturday morning, Jason's friend Hector came to pick him up. My two Greek heroes. They went to the event to save parking space for laundry. Both left the house wearing only their swim trunks, a T-shirt, and sandals or flip-flops. Jason was wearing his yellow suit, which showed what was left of his tan. I told them I'd be right there with my Corolla.
Hector is cute, like my Jason—like a lot of the guys on his team, actually. But as an adult, that's all I'll say. I know what a handsome man looks like, what a healthy body looks like, and all these guys have very healthy bodies. Sure, I like to look at them, the guys, at the team and their opponents, but nobody admits it or talks about it.
The last thing I want is to argue about a match with another mom next to me in the stands and drool over some young stud. "My, Helen, look at that ass!" "Look, Jimmy got one on hard again!" "You can smell the testosterone tonight!" "Come on, mate. The match's over - pull the top of your suit down!" "I think Tyler's hitting the protein powder a little hard. Is he trying to move up a weight class?" "What do you think he's got?"
For a divorced mother, there are plenty of eye-catching moments, and the stands happen, but you laugh about it and pretend you don't see them. I see so many matches as I have. It all comes together, and you just get into the sport and the rules and results and support your boy.
But when I took my car to the Wrestling Team Car Wash Lot, everything changed.
There were already a number of cars there, separated into two lanes. I thought I'd arrive early enough to get my car washed and then run some errands, but it was clear I'd have to wait a while. Not that I cared. God, not that I cared in the least.
The meat.
Both the university and JV teams were here, dressed only in swim trunks or Speedos and carrying soap. And cheerleader friends in bikinis, offering "support".
I could just as easily have watched them in slow motion.
Seventeen-year-old gods spray the cars with the hoses pointing downwards, spraying each other, all wet, flinging water from their hair, the droplets running down their pecs and over their abs, getting lost in their suits and somehow finding their legs.
Fifteen- and sixteen-year-old heroic crew, buckets full of soap, with giant sponges lathering themselves and everything else, including the cars. The foam rolled over and off their bodies and was only occasionally rinsed off. The cars were rinsed.
Two titans on the curb with entrance signs -- "We need new uniforms" One "naked" Wearing only a tiny cardboard box around his waist, the other in an old singlet With holes in it - mostly holes with just enough spandex to hold it to his body.
And timeless, beautiful, young huntresses, goddesses, and sorceresses lather up the soap in the next bucket and "help" the boys, holding the hoses, bringing in fresh towels, grabbing a sponge themselves, and going in to help their boys.
Laughter. A song on the radio.
Water splashing across the sky in the fog, a rainbow appears as it refracts the sunlight.
There were no shirts; all the flip-flops had been abandoned as tripping hazards. There were only smiles, muscles, and a few centimeters of fabric covering what else might have been seen, anyway.
It was like watching a softcore film on Skin-amax through the anonymity of my windshield. I had to let someone honk their horn at me to let me know it was my turn to drive forward.
I lowered my window and gave my ten dollars to the naked Heracles with the cash box, and a walking bikini-clad woman with dark hair named Athena guided me to the right lane of the washers.
Two sets of warrior pectorals attacked my vehicle with hoses that sprayed me. Yes, they sprayed me. I got wet. Yes, I was.
An almost naked Penelope waved me forward, and I parked my vehicle.
The Argonauts sat down with sponges on my car. I didn't know which window to look out of. I turned to my left—pecs and nipples and foam. To my right, lats and a set of biceps stretching across my windshield to foam up my vision. The dripping foam only revealed more flesh than a bikini, letting the bare breast of an Atalanta slide out as she came towards me. Wash my roof. Through my mirror, I could see Perseus sliding across my trunk as he washed my rear window. I could only guess some satyrs or harpies. I cleaned my lights and rims as the soap dripped all over me. The last two I saw, the twins Castor and Pollux, made sure my hood and grille were licked clean.
Someone spoke to me at my driver's window. I shook my head and went over. She was captivating, with the most striking green eyes. Circe. I didn't need to roll down my window; I knew she wanted me to pull forward. But my hands weren't on the steering wheel. They were in my lap, I realized, my right hand actually touching it. When had I done that? I nodded, found ten-and-two, applied the brakes, shifted into gear, and moved slowly forward.
A siren in a Speedo slowed me down and led me into a spray of mist. Would I have done everything she told me? Triton and Thetis cooled my zeal with the sea.
But when I looked out my window, I finally saw Jason. He was working on the other lane and didn't know I was there.
Of course I've seen my boy before. I've seen him at home and playing. I've seen him in numerous stages of undressing. I've seen him in his singlet. I've seen him in his bathing suit by the pool and at the beach on family vacations. I've seen him in his new school uniform: a three-piece suit, shorts, and a sweatshirt. I've seen him playing sports. I've seen him as a boy, doing boy things with his male friends. I've seen him take his girlfriend on a date and bring her back to his bedroom. I thought I'd seen him in his element.
But I'd never seen him like this before. Standing almost naked, soap dripping from his brown, curly hair, he asked a young nymph to spray him. Two came to his call. He put his arms up and out, laughing with that smile of his. His muscles were bigger than I'd ever noticed, or just better defined, or simply... They glittered. The droplets plucked the sunlight up and sparkled toward my car. His waist tapered to his suit, which bunched up after work on the lower panels of a car. I knew he'd had good abs, but in this light and shadow and mist, the definition of his six-pack was etched in. He turned around. Even his back had muscles... and the lower curve of his rear end showed through the bunched-up suit. My son had a nice ass. His hairy legs were firm and stained wet from the spray. His bare feet rose from the puddles and looked as if they could hold up a church. But he wasn't bulky like a football player. His parents ate out of house and home. That was clay and... My son was the best-looking man I had ever seen.
The girl was eager to wipe him with a cloth. There was giggling, and Jason just laughed along with her, some Medea gave him the Golden Fleece. He had an erection, sideways in his yellow suit, and was proud of it. As a wrestler, he was used to it. I thought I was used to seeing it, but maybe only when he was on the mat, in the circle. Someone shot him with the hose again to cool his erection, from what I could hear through the window and the commotion. He laughed and didn't hit out. The suit clung to its shape, and the darkness of his pubic hair showed through the yellow material, but he paid for it mindlessly.
He instructed others to go somewhere to get something or to do something, and they listened to him, nodded, and moved. Someone asked him a question, and he answered, "Authority."
I saw my son in his element, a place where he was admired, respected, and desired.
I was ordered to pull myself forward again. The spray and a squad of hoplites wiped my car down with bath towels. Apparently, they either hadn't heard of chamois or there weren't enough, and I was afraid the towels might not be clean enough after a good wash, but I didn't want to hold them up.
I looked back, trying to see Jason again before my car wash was finished. He wasn't there. I fixed my side mirror, which had moved during the wash, and then I saw Jason in it. He was at my window. He was knocking.
"Hi, Mom! You did it!" He called me. He turned around as if to tell everyone that his mother and I were here. But everyone was busy. I was proud that he had done it. I was glad that I was me, even if he couldn't tell anyone.
He stuck his head in the window and kissed me. I'm not sure if he meant to, but he kissed me on the lips, and I did what I could to make it last a second longer; my hand found his damp hair by his ear.
"I have to get back to work," he said. "See you later!"
My lips tingled.
Three nymphs came to lead him back to them, their water and soap, doing everything they could to touch him as they moved him. It was obvious how they wanted him.
And I had to admit, I was one of them.
My drying was over, I drove on. There was another stop where an older gentleman, a King Theseus, sat next to a "lace glass" with a sign advertising it as a "pizza and hot dog fund." I laughed as I said hello and slipped a twenty into the coffee tin. For what I'd just experienced, even if it was free, more than that kiss, I would have dropped a fifty! He handed me a faded thank-you card and a team roster for the upcoming season.
Finally, there was a hand-drawn sign with a funny picture of Batman on it: "Did you enjoy your laundry? If your other car is the Batmobile, why not drive this next and help clean up all of Gotham!"
That was a brilliant idea. I drove straight home, leaving mine out of the way. I borrowed my neighbor's car (an older woman who rarely gets out, but is nice to chat with over the fence), and made my trip across the Aegean Sea all over again.
* * *