Ben vs The Bear

 

Ben vs The Bear

By

The Defenseman

They met, at all places, at a local bathhouse. Gary had already gotten dressed, a sleeveless flannel shirt covering his 48” fur-covered chest, his tattooed 17” biceps bulging from his sides. As he walked past the TV room towards the exit, he noticed that they were showing one of his favorite Can-AM wrestling videos, “Football Wrestling” starring Kyle Bradford and Thor. It was a hot scene: Kyle had Thor tied spread eagle in the corner, working over his big nips. Despite having cum twice, he could feel his thick tool stirring in his jockstrap. Gary heard a low moan and looked over to see a young guy, maybe 23, watching the movie. Normally, Gary would have just kept walking, despite the guy’s 6’ well-defined physique and almost obscene sized cock. The guy barely weighed 170lbs and was smooth all over except for the hair under his pits and forest of black pubes that surrounded his thick, 8.5” meat.

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.

Wrestling Weekend Part III: Friendship Destroyed

Wrestling Weekend Part III: Friendship Destroyed

by The Defenseman

Patrick was on me before I could even get out of my corner. He drove his shoulder into my gut and sent me flying back into the corner. His fists were flying at a tremendous speed, delivering lefts and rights to my near-mush abs, and he ended the combination with a devastating uppercut to my tender balls. Before I could even slump to my knees, Patrick had me in a solid headlock. He took three running steps, with me stumbling behind him, then smashed my face into the opposite ring post. Everything went black for a second and as I stumbled out of the corner, Patrick grabbed me around the neck and bulldogged my face into the mat.

Wrestling Weekend Part II: The Rematch

Wrestling Weekend Part II: The Rematch

By: The Defenseman

Patrick and I sat backstage of the barn, waiting for the announcer to call for the final match. We sipped from a bottle of Jack Daniels that Josh had left in our tent as a good luck gift. Patrick looked incredibly calm as he took a healthy swig from the quickly diminishing pint bottle. But I knew that this weekend had changed him. His serene demeanor would soon give way to the wrath that he would unleash once we entered the ring.

Wrestling Weekend Part 1

Wrestling Weekend Part 1

by The Defenseman

It was the summer of 1996 and I was just finishing up my dissertation. While I worked on my degree, I earned money any way I could. I sold plasma, worked temp jobs, and did some wrestling for a local pro league: the GLW Great Lakes Wrestling. I wrestled under the name "The Defenseman"; my partner Kevin "The Goalie" Moran and I were known only as "Slapshot" and for nine months, we were undefeated tag team champs. Kevin was a master of high flying moves, while I was the tough little fireplug who could fistfight his way out of any trouble. But then Kevin graduated and took a job out of town and I just lost interest in the whole scene. Actually, the money wasn't bad for forty minutes of work (sometimes when we were short wrestlers, I'd put on a mask and wrestle twice or three times). And I loved the fights the smelly cigars, sweat, stale beer, the buzz of inflicting pain, the dizzying rush of being on the receiving end and then fighting back.