The Next Level

 

The Next Level:

The Defenseman vs. El Macho Gabacho

By: The Defenseman

It was 10AM on a Saturday morning, about two months ago. The Amtrak sped silently past the beautiful Pacific coastline, but my mind wasn't on the scenery. It was on the big man, El Macho Gabacho.

I ran across Gabacho's ad on one of those wrestling personals web pages on the net. Had some good photos of him pounding on some jobber. He was just my type---big, dark-haired, tanned, thick coat of fur across his impressive chest. Typical Californian. About six inches taller and thirty pounds heavier than me. I love taking on bigger guys, using my relatively small stature and low center of gravity to get inside a big man and inflict some real damage. My band was planning a West Coast tour in August, so I figured I might be able to get some time away to go toe-to-toe with Macho. So, I e-mailed him a challenge and we exchanged the obligatory "I'll-kick-your-fucking-ass" e-mails. But then plans fell through and the band decided it would be cheaper to tour the East coast again. So, I sent Macho the usual "Sorry-but-ain't-gonna-happen-this-summer--maybe-some-other-time" e-mail and figured that was that.

But, as fate would have it, a series of improbable (but otherwise boring) events found me in San Diego on a Saturday morning with 24 hours on my hands and nothing to do. In my address book, I had Gabacho's e-mail and street address, but no phone number. I tried calling information, but they wouldn't give me a phone number with only a street address, and I was correct in assuming that Gabacho wasn't the guy's real last name. So, I decided to just risk it and take the hour-long train ride to Oceanside. If he wasn't there, I figured I could just hang out on the beach all day. If he was there, I could surprise him and kick his ass good.

As always, I had prepared well for the fight. I found photos of his past bouts, read a few firsthand accounts of his wrestling matches, talked to a few of his former victims…er…opponents about possible weak points. Apparently, the man had very few. Forget about his arms---guys told me that Macho's arms were like steel cables, impervious to the most brutal twisting, bending, or boot attack. If there were soft spots, and these were only rumored, they were supposedly his left leg and lower back. I leaned back in the seat, watching the ocean go by, thinking about the rabbit punches that I would soon be hurtling at the big man's kidneys.

20 minutes later, I got off the train and headed west towards the shore. Shit, it was cold for California! Low sixties and windy (so much for the beach…). I had decided to wear just my leather vest with no shirt, and I was regretting it. My nipples were rock hard as I strolled past the small beach cottages and ice cream stands. From our previous correspondence, I knew that Gabacho lived less than a half mile from the station and in no time, I found his street. As I approached his house, I could hear the sound of hammering. I slowly walked up the short driveway; the garage door was open and the place was a handyman's dream---there were 2x4s and piles of wood covering half the floor. A power saw, surrounded by ample piles of saw dust, took up nearly the entire back corner. One whole wall was covered with hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers of every conceivable size. The right side of the garage was bare except for a thick blue wrestling mat, 10'x10' square.

In the center of the garage, with his back to me, stood Gabacho, pounding nail after nail into wood. Shit, he was a big man, a lot bigger than his pictures let on. Broad, tanned shoulders, biceps bulging with each swing of the hammer, big legs in tight Levi's, denim jacket, construction boots, work gloves, hard hat. He hadn't heard me approach, so I positioned myself behind him until I left a shadow on the board that he was nailing.

He swung around quickly. "Can I help you, stranger?" What a fucking bear! I had seen fight pictures of him on the Internet, but they didn't do him justice. And he must have gained at least 20lbs of muscle since those pics had been taken. Massive slabs of pecs covered in thick hair, trailing down into the waistband of his skin-tight jeans, black goatee, handsome, chiseled tanned face. Friendly, but on guard.

"Howdy, couldn't help but notice the mat. You wrestle much?"

A slight grin crossed his lips, then quickly faded. "I wrestle some."

"Don't suppose I could talk you into a match…looks like your kinda busy…"

Gabacho eyed me warily. I could tell he was already looking for weak points he could exploit during our fight. Sign of a pro. He also could smell a set-up. Another sign of a pro. "No, man, I could use a break from work. I've been working four hours straight, trying to get this hot tub installed in my back yard. What kinda fight you have in mind?

"I don't know. Best two out of three falls? Winner decided by either submission or knockout. You up for that kind of fight?"

He put down the hammer and cracked his knuckles. Without saying a word, he clicked a small device that was hanging off his tool belt. My head turned with the whirr of the automatic garage door closing behind me. Gabacho flashed me a toothy grin, "Yeah, I'm up for it."

Round I

He took off his hard hat and walked over to the wall to hang it up. I figured this was my best chance to put an early hurting on the guy, so I reached into my pocket and pulled out the chain that I use to attach my keys to my belt loop. I unclipped it from my pants, wrapped it around either hand, and pounced on Gabacho. He never knew what hit him as I cinched it around his neck and pulled with all my might. He let out a gargled scream, his hands instantly tearing at mine, trying to relieve the pressure. Macho attempted to flip me over his shoulder and, for a second, I could feel my boots leaving the ground. He was struggling like a madman and I was losing grip of the chain. He was using his height against me and I knew I had to get this tough son-of-a-bitch to the ground. So, I leaned back as hard as I could, then delivered four hard knees to Gabacho's lower back. The big man dropped to one knee, his eyes bugging out, spit flying from the corners of his mouth as I continued the assault on his lower back, kicking it harder and harder with the toe of my steel-toe motorcycle boot.

I could tell that he was losing some of his fight when he dropped to both knees. I took advantage of the opportunity by digging my knee into his back and leaning back as far as I could. Gabacho's head was pulled all the way back until he was looking directly into my eyes. He knew he was in big trouble and I savored the moment. In no time I had him down on all fours, crawling across the mat towards the back of the garage. I was riding him like a pony, trying to cut of his oxygen supply, letting up a little bit every now and then, just enough to let him suck in a few gasps, then pulling back even tighter. I was enjoying controlling this stud so much that I almost didn't notice that he was slowly maneuvering us towards a footlong section of 2x4 lying in a scrap pile near the edge of the mat. Just as it was inches from his outstretched hand, I cinched up the chain with one hand, leaned back hard and applied a brutal claw to his forehead. He bucked back wildly, but I had my legs wrapped around his stomach in a crushing scissors hold. "You didn't think I was gonna let you get your hands on that, now did you?" As I squeezed the remaining air from his lungs, I moved the claw from his head to his chest, savagely ripping at his left pec, digging deep below the muscle. As the air left him, Gabacho slowly fell backwards until we were both lying on the mat. I could feel the pec muscle begin to involuntarily twitch between my fingers.

I finally released the claw and, with considerable effort, hoisted the big man to his feet by the chain that was still wrapped tightly around his neck. He let out a gurgling noise and the added pressure to his windpipe made Macho's tongue protrude slightly from his lips. I again cinched up the chain with one hand, grabbed him by the hair with the other, swung him around in a huge arc and smashed his head into the cement wall. It made an echoing CLONK and Gabacho let out an agonized groan. I pulled him back by the hair and chain and held his face centimeters from mine. "Hey there, Gabacho, my name is the Defenseman, from Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love. I think you've heard of me…" With that, I slammed his head into the wall again, then pulled him back by his hair up close. His face was beet red and every muscle in his neck was clenched. "I don't know how you West Coast pussy porn star wanna-bes fight in California, but on the East coast, we don't fuck around." I pulled him back by the hair, then smashed his forehead into the wall five more times, the last time grinding his face into the rough cement.

When I pulled him in close again, his eyes were moving independently, floating around like two olives in a jar. I aimed right between the two and landed a vicious head butt. I could feel his knees start to wobble and I knew that the only thing that was keeping him up was the chain I still had wrapped around his neck. So, I figured fuck it, grabbed him by the back of the pants and catapulted his entire body into the wall. Gabacho hit hard, staggering backwards then dropping to one knee as I let the chain unwrap from around his neck.

I wrapped the chain around my fist and started pummeling Gabacho in the kidneys and lower back, driving whatever air he may have had left out of his lungs. I then focused my assault on the side and back of Macho's head. Each punch elicited a painful groan and a shudder, and drove him closer to the ground. Finally, I clutched my fists together over my head and, with a loud roar, brought them down on the top of Gabacho's head. He fell to his back, his massive body convulsing from the blow. I stood over him, enjoying the power I had over him. I grabbed his legs, spread them, and planted a boot stomp on Macho's ample basket. A high-pitched squeal escaped from his lips, but he was too hurting even to curl up into a fetal position to protect himself. So, I spread his legs again, with all my weight, dropped a head butt into his crotch. His face was a mask of pain and he clutched at his aching balls, trying to catch his breath.

Gabacho wasn't the only one getting winded. Beating on this big man was beginning to wear me out. And he didn't look like he was submitting any time soon. Plus, I wanted to make sure he had enough fight in him so I could abuse him again during the second fall. I circled around his semi-unconscious body until I was standing near his head. His eyes were swimming in a sea of pain, trying to focus, his huge pecs heaving, sucking in air. I gave him a smile, then jumped in the air and dropped my knee across his forehead. He let out one final groan, then his eyes shut and his head fell to one side. I let out a whoop, a rush of power overtook me and I started laying boot after boot into the pecs and abs of the unconscious big man. "I guess we both know who the better man is now! You think you're so fucking tough? You're no match for me! I can't believe I traveled over 2000 miles for this! I could have whipped wimps back in Philly and saved myself the airfare!" I tossed the chain down on the floor next to his unmoving body and strutted across the garage. I pulled up a stool and sat down, relishing my apparent victory. I figured that there was no way Gabacho was gonna be able to come back after a beating like that. Hell, I didn't even know if he would want, or be able to for that matter, fight for a second fall. However, I would soon find out the price of underestimating El Macho Gabacho.

Round II

I was just beginning to catch my breath again when he came to. He held his head in both hands and kinda rolled around from side to side for a minute. But he finally shook his head to clear out the cobwebs, then slowly pulled himself to his feet. I was amazed how fast he seemed to recuperate. He sat down on the saw horse and deliberately unlaced his boots, taking his time. Taking advantage of the time I was giving him. He slipped them off, then stripped out of his Levi's, showing off his muscular and tanned legs in a pair of skin tight white briefs. Gabacho then methodically put his boots back on. Silently, I did the same.

Gabacho shook his head and eyed me up and down, reassessing me as an opponent. "Hmmm…you're not too bad, punk, when you get the jump on a guy. But I'm ready for you this time. Are you ready to take it to the next level?"

We circled each other warily, but I could tell by the smirk on his face that I hadn't hurt nearly as much as I originally thought. I feigned a left jab, then threw a hard right hook towards Macho's nose. In one swift move, he dodged the punch, grabbed my right wrist, and swung my arm around in a painful hammerlock. I slapped at my shoulder and danced around the mat, trying to relieve the pressure, Macho yanking harder and harder on my wrist. With a speed that surprised me, he spun around me in a second, still keeping hold of the hammerlock, but now standing in front of me, belly-to-belly. Before I knew what was happening, he was pushing me backwards hard and I hit the concrete wall with my arm still pinned behind my back.

I let out a yelp and stumbled away from the wall, holding my stinging arm. Gabacho was on me in an instant, with a forearm smash to the back of my head that sent me face-first into the mat. Macho grabbed me by the hand and started laying boot after boot into my hurting bicep. I tried with all my might to yank my arm from harm's way, but he had a tight grip on my wrist, alternating kicks, stomps, and knee drops into the rapidly-softening muscle. Gabacho threw himself in the air and landed with an elbow drop directly in the damaged bicep. He knelt on my wrist and went to work with a double bicep claw, ripping into my flesh. I couldn't stop screaming, my whole body flopping around on the mat. "Awww…does that hurt, Defenseman?" I finally found the strength to coil up and kick my boots into his chest with enough force to send him sprawling onto his butt. Gabacho rolled off the mat, landing next to the saw horse, coughing and gasping for air.

I pulled myself to my feet, my right arm hanging uselessly at my side, and rushed across the mat, determined to do some damage on the big man before he could regain his senses. But just as reached down to grab him by the hair, he sent a fist flying into my balls. I dropped to my knees next to him, a high pitched wail exploding from my lips. "We know how to fight dirty here on the West Coast, too, asshole." Gabacho grabbed my busted arm, brought it up over my head, then slammed it down hard across the saw horse in front of me. My arm bent in a way that I had never seen in before and I was on the ground in a second, cradling my nearly-destroyed arm. Macho slowly circled me, smiling, then dropped to his knees next to me. He grabbed my arm and, twisting it violently, put it in a torturous arm bar. I screamed an agonized submission, fearing that he would break my arm in two. But Gabacho just kept increasing the pressure, looking around innocently, "Did someone say something? For a second, it sounded like a whupped wrestler, crying in pain, but it may have been some kids playing outside." I tried to yell out again, but Gabacho placed a knee on my face, crushing my mouth into the mat. Before I could get loose from under him, he broke the hold, laughing and circling around me.

I thought the round was over and I rolled onto my back, gasping and nursing my slinky arm. But Gabacho apparently had other ideas and before I knew what hit me, he had grabbed me by the vest and dragged me to my feet. "What, did you think this was over? I didn't hear any submission!" Before I could protest, Gabacho wrapped his arm around my neck, spun around, and dropped me to the mat with a brutal neck breaker. Everything went dark for a second as I lay on the mat, trying to clear my head. But Gabacho was relentless and he dragged me back to my feet, only to repeat the crippling move.

Gabacho grabbed me by the nipples and, twisting them, dragged me to my feet (which hurt like a mutherfucker). He instantly put me in a headlock, grinding my ears with his powerful biceps. Macho took three running steps, dragging my stumbling body behind him and slammed me, head first into the concrete wall. I was seeing stars and a loud echoing rang through my ears. I felt my knees buckling under me, but Gabacho held me up in the headlock grinding it tighter. The big man finally released the hold and effortlessly spun me around. Before I knew what hit me, he had me in a sadistic hangman, his hands wrapped around my throat, my feet dangling two feet from the floor as he laid me out on his arched back. I tried to choke out a submission, but Gabacho moved one of his hands over my mouth, stifling my pleading. My face was beet red and I ripped at his hands, trying to break the hold. Gabacho bounced up and down, jerking my neck back and forth, arching my back even farther. Finally, he let go and I fell face-first to the mat, desperately gasping for air.

Macho grabbed me by the legs and flipped me onto my back. He hooked my boots under his arms and leaned back, putting incredible pressure on my neck. He leaned even farther back, his ass inches from my face, and let out a huge laugh. He bounced up and down and the agony in my neck was unbelievable. I screamed another submission, but Gabacho just leaned back even farther, smothering my protests with his round ass. He held the hold for what seemed like an eternity, until my muffled screams of submission were reduced to pained whimpers.

Gabacho moved onto my lower back. He had a job to do, and he was hellbent on making me pay for the first round. He scooped me up and dropped me over his outstretched knee, arching my back like a bow. With one hand, he pushed down on my face, his hand covering my mouth and making any submission impossible. With the other, he applied a vicious claw to my vulnerable lower abdomen, working on the muscles immediately above my cock. My toes were barely touching the mat and I thrashed back and forth, trying to get off his knee. He finally let me go and I fell to the mat, holding my inflamed gut. Macho scooped me up again and dropped me, back first across the saw horse. I let out a scream that surprised even me and hit the ground, convulsing in pain.

Gabacho sat down on my lower back, hooked his hand under my chin and pulled back on my leg. I tried once again to offer my submission, but the words were garbled in Macho's chin hold. Gabacho mocked me while I pounded helplessly on the mat, "Is that barking I hear? Why it's Lassie! What's that Lassie? Timmy is getting whipped in the garage?" He pulled back hard on my neck until my eyes were almost staring at the ceiling, all the while laughing and mocking me. From there, Gabacho maneuvered me into half-camel clutch, his forearm and bicep wrenching my neck like a vice. I lamely gasped for air as Gabacho scolded me, "This is how a real man chokes his opponent! Not with some sissy chain!" He then got me into a full camel clutch, my arms hanging uselessly over his knees. Gabacho reached around and grabbed me in a double face claw. "Let's hear you say, I submit SIR!"

I was screaming, hollering, begging Macho for mercy. "OH GAH I SEHBMIHT SIR!" My words were garbled in Macho's fingers as he continued to rip and claw into my face.

He continued to mock me by purposely misunderstanding my screams of submission. "You see mister? You see mister who?" He held the hold for what seemed like an eternity, tears of agony streaming down my mangled face. Finally, it was over. Macho released my arms and dropped me hard to the mat. My entire body was racked with pain. He stood above me and took hard slaps at the back of my head, yelling, "Nobody beats El Macho Gabacho like that and gets away with it! Nobody!"

Round III

…I sat on the edge of the mat, holding my head, trying my best to recuperate. Gabacho paced back and forth on the opposite end of the mat, egging me on. "One-minute left, Defenseman, or do you just want to submit now?" The big man slowly peeled off his Demin jacket, "Shit, punk, you got your ass whupped so bad that I didn't even have to get undressed!" He untied his boots and took off his socks. Macho stood there, his dark eyes dancing, his hard jaw set, his tanned body in stark contrast with his snow-white briefs. "Are ya ready to take it to the next level?"

His words rung in my ears. Next level? How could he possibly beat me worse? I knew that if I took another mauling like I did the second round, I would have to be carried out of that garage on a stretcher. But, somewhere in my heart, a felt a burning and a voice inside of my head said, "That cocky son-of-a-bitch! Next level? Fuck him! I'll show him the next fucking level!" I jumped (as best as I could) to my feet with a renewed confidence that did not go unnoticed by Gabacho. I kicked off my motorcycle boots and tossed my vest over the saw horse. I slapped at my big furry chest and motioned him to take his best shot. With that, we ran at each other like freight trains.

We collided in the center of the mat in a double bear hug, each of us trying to get the advantage. I locked my hands behind his lower back and tried to lift up. Macho had me higher up on my chest, so I was able to use my height to leverage the big man off the ground, but only a few inches. He let out a yelp as I dug my fists into his lower back, squeezing hard. Unfortunately, with his jacket off, Gabacho's muscled body was now covered in sweat and I slowly started losing my grip on him. I could feel him sliding down my chest and, once his toes touched the floor, I lost hold of him altogether. He wasted no time in reapplying the bear hug on me, this time bending down to make sure that he got his grip between my lower back and the start of my rib cage. He lifted me high and hard, compressing me in his pumped biceps. I arched my back and wailed in pain, Macho digging his chin into my sternum and shaking me back and forth like I was a rag doll.

It was getting hard for me to breathe and my eyes were stinging with the sweat pouring down my forehead. Macho kept pouring in on, determined to make me submit on the very first hold. He let go of the pressure for a second, only to reach down and get even a better grip on me. He lifted me up again and I thought that he was going to break my ribs. My screams of pain were quickly reduced to muffled gasps for air. I knew that if he held me like this much longer, I might pass out. So, I did what any respectable wrestler would do in my position. I put my left hand on the big man's forehead, pushed back and, with my right hand, I raked my fingers across his eyes. Hard. The next thing I knew, I was out of Gabacho's clutches and flat on my ass on the mat, the big man holding his face, making noises like a wounded animal.

I took two steps back and bullrushed him, driving my shoulder into his exposed gut and driving him against the concrete wall, back first. I pinned him against the wall with a forearm across his chest and drove fist after fist into his helpless gut. When he put his hands up to protect himself, I switched approaches and starting ramming my knee into his midsection, making his defense useless, driving him hands into his weakening abs. He was gasping for air pretty hard now, so I simultaneously took away my forearm and kneed him hard in the nuts. As he doubled over, I kicked his feet out from under him. He missed the mat by inches and his near naked body hit the concrete hard floor with an audible slap. I grabbed his left leg and stomped on his inner thigh with my bare foot. His leg instinctively jerked back from the pain, but I kept a firm hold on his foot and repeated the maneuver ten more times before MY foot started to hurt. I let go of Macho's leg and he rolled to back and forth, whimpering, his leg obviously damaged.

I grabbed the busted leg and yanked it around in a spinning toe hold, then came down with a hard knee to his inner thigh. Macho's whole body convulsed in pain as I sat there on his thigh, twisting his ankle like it was the lid off a jar of peanut butter. I looked down at his tortured face, the muscles in his neck strained, and just laughed. "I'll show you the next fucking level, you tofu-eating bag of Beach Boy muscle!"

I got to my feet and, yanking hard on the big man's ankle, went to apply another spinning toe hold. This time, however, Gabacho reached up and, with one hand, slapped on a devastating combination cock and ball claw. The pain in my crotch is unbelievable, with Macho digging in deep, kneading my balls in the palm of his hand, the tip of his index finger gouging into the sensitive area underneath my cock, between the shaft and the head. I was paralyzed with pain from the waist down and I could feel my knees starting to get wobbly. Macho quickly scrambled to his feet, hobbling on his bad leg, and applied a second claw with his other hand, ripping at my cock with the ferocity of a wild beast. The agony was unbearable and I could feel myself getting dizzy.

My knees finally gave way and I expected myself to go crashing to the mat. To my surprise, the excruciating pain on my cock and balls got worse. It was then that I realized that my feet were barely touching the ground. Macho was holding me up solely by my crotch, his biceps bulging as he lifted me and tore into my mangled equipment. I screamed my submission again and again but Macho just laughed and shook me around by my cock and sack. Finally, just when I thought that Macho was literally gonna rip by dick off, he moved one of his hands to my throat, hoisted me up, and dropped me balls first across his outstretched knee in a reverse atomic drop. I fell to the mat and wave after nauseating wave of pain shook every part of my body.

Macho knelt there next to me, a broad smile across his face. "I did hear you submit just then, didn't I?" I laid there on the mat, my arms spread eagle at my sides, semi-unconscious with pain. I tried to speak, but nothing came out. So, I just nodded my head. The smile on the big man's face evaporated and he laid into me with the cock claw again, "ANSWER ME! DID I HEAR YOU SUBMIT, YES OR NO?"

I couldn't even lift my arms to defend myself. A gargled scream left my mouth, my entire body numb with pain, "STOP FUCK YES YES YES YES PLEASE STOP!"

"Good. That's what I thought you said." With that, Gabacho got to his feet, put his booted foot on my chest, dragging it across my nipples to my face, and struck a victory pose. His sweat dripped from his body; a drop landing on my lips and I could taste the saltiness. And all of a sudden, he was in the air, Gabacho's body parallel to mine. He landed on top of me with all his weight, his chest crushing my chest, his crotch crushing my crotch, his head colliding with mine. It was like being hit by an Amtrak. I have never felt so much pain in every part of my body at the exact same time. Things went black for a second and, when I finally did open my eyes, Gabacho was still laying on top of me, his face inches from mine. He positions his forearm across my throat and, ever so slowly, begins to increase the pressure.

"You put up a good fight, punk, but this is the portion of the show where Gabacho takes you out." I could feel myself getting lightheaded as I vainly gasped for more air. As things start to go dark, I felt the big man let up on my throat. Above the sound of things rushing to black, I could hear in the background the victory howl of El Macho Gabacho.