>She was eager to share her knowledge of the business with us youngins. She ran what were called customs, a shady part of our business. A client with, say, a certain proclivity would message Lexie with a request for a specific type of match (for example, a barefoot match) or working a specific type of hold (for example, the midsection) and they would pay a hefty fee for the service. Lexie would then find wrestlers to facilitate said request, tape it, and send it on to the consumer. Odd, yes. But a quick way to make a buck for a struggling wrestler. >My naivety at the time allowed me to believe that it was an easy way to get paid to do what I loved and there was nothing perverse about it. In reality, it was a fetish site. And hey, man, whatever floats your boat and doesn’t sink mine is A-okay with me. But this was definitely not what I set out to do—and I would wager this was the kind of stuff my mother would dread when the concept of professional wrestler was brought her way. >For me, I got to wrestle; it didn’t matter the means. Sure, it was barefoot, with holds being applied to my belly, in a warehouse with no fans, but I was substantially richer leaving than when I got there, allowing me to do the thing I loved even longer. Looking back now, I shudder; however, it would be rare to find a struggling independent wrestler who hasn’t done their fair share of customs.
