Gay Wrestling Weekend Story

It was the summer of 1996 and I was just finishing up my dissertation. I had been kicking
around for almost ten years after I earned my bachelor's degree: two trips to Europe, some
graduate school, some part time jobs, more school. I moved to Cleveland in 1993 and managed
to get into a PhD program. 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 at Cornell
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.

So I read the ad again, and checked the bank statement in my wallet-$87.85. In four months, I
would start a new job in Denver. I really needed money to get me through the summer and even
a few hundred bucks would keep me in food and beer until August. So I sent a post card to the
address and one week later got a personal letter from some guy named Josh. He was staging a
tag team tournament (third year in a row) on his 10 acre farm in southern Ohio. He said there
would be 10-15 teams and over 100 fans, and everyone would just camp on the farm. The
entrance fee was $50 a team, with free food and beer all weekend. Fans pay $100 for the
weekend, with half of all the money going for prizes. He included a picture of two muscular
young studs, one a shaved headed fifties greaser, the other a long haired blond beach volleyball
type. On the back was written "The Titans of Torture last year's champs!". I looked at the
picture and my cock shifted in my shorts at the thought of tangling with these two. It sounded
like fun, except for the entrance fee and the fact that I had no partner. So I wrote Josh back,
saying I'd like to wrestle, but I couldn't afford the entrance fee and I had no partner. I thought I'd
never hear back from him again.

It was June 1st when I got a letter from Josh. He said he was having problems finding teams, so
he would "waive" my fee. He also included a map to the farm and a phone number. No name,
just a number. I figured, what the hell, and picked up the phone. It didn't even ring once before
a voice answered, "Are you the one who wrestles as The Defenseman'?"

I hesitated, "Um, yeah. How did..."

"Josh said you might call." His name was Patrick and he lived in a basement room in his parents'
house in Canton, a town 30 minutes south of Cleveland. He was two years younger than me and
had wrestled in high school and in the army. In our three minute conversation, I think I said four
words. He kept going on about how psyched he was to wrestle, so I agreed to do it. I really
needed the money, but I was also curious to see a former army guy surrounded by a barnful of
gay wrestling fans. He gave me his address (he sheepishly admitted to losing his license over a
DUI) and we made arrangements to drive to the farm together.

Two weeks later, I pulled into his driveway and laid on the horn. The door opened and out
walked a very imposing man, wearing only a pair of black jeans and spit-shined black boots.
Patrick was solid, but not muscle-bound, with 225 lbs spread taut across his 6' 2" frame. 30
years old and still living with his parents, Patrick had been a Ranger in the army before he had
been tossed out for smoking dope. When I first saw him, I was surprised at how similar we were
in appearance, despite him towering over me by at least six inches. Like me, he had a shaved
head, dark goatee, and a matful of dark chest hair that tapered into a V before disappearing into
his jeans.

We got along right from the start as we drove down the rural roads, trying to decipher the crudely
drawn map provided by Josh. We drank beers and passed a joint and talked about our wrestling
experience. As a joke, we decided to wrestle under the name The Skinheads', even as we sang
along to old James Brown tunes on the radio.

After two hours, I spotted the small sign "NHB Retreat" with an arrow pointing down a dirt road.
We followed that road for ten minutes as it wound through the overgrown farm land. Finally the
road ended in a large clearing. In the distance was a huge old wooden barn. I was surprised at
the number of people; there was maybe one hundred cars and trucks parked in rows in the
clearing. Guys were unloading tents and coolers, drinking beer, smoking jays. To our left, a
group of men were standing in a circle, watching two big leather-clad bears roughhouse.
As we unloaded the tent, a tall, wiry guy appeared out of nowhere. "Tell me you guys are
wrestlers. Tell me you guys are wrestlers..." When I first met Josh, I thought that he must have
at least $2000 up his nose the way he was jumping around, his hands flying expressively,
repeating everything he said two or three times. But in the two years that I have now known
Josh, I have never seen him do a line or smoke a rock. No speed, no crystal meth, no ephedrine.
Not even a caffeinated Pepsi. Go figure someone would just be born with that much energy.
Josh introduced himself to us and, I must admit, I found him good looking, in an odd way. 35
years old, short black hair and goatee, and a hawkish nose. He wore a dog collar around his neck
with a polo shirt, jams shorts, and docmartin boots. The weirdest combination of SM and prep
I've ever seen. He told us that our first fight was at 5PM, one hour away. We set up our tent.
Thirty minutes later, we entered the barn. It was huge, with hay lofts on either side of the high
roof letting in light from the setting sun. Four sets of wooden bleachers surrounded an old
boxing ring. The turnbuckle posts were rusty metal and unpadded, the ropes rough. In the ring,
a toned Hispanic wrestler had a big mountain-man bear in a sitting headlock. Outside the ring, a
muscular black man was getting his forehead slammed into the metal fencing that separated the
crowd from the ring. About 80 fans sat in the bleachers, looking more or less bored, drinking
beer. We walked to large burlap curtains that served as a makeshift locker room. Josh was there,
getting a sloppy blow job from an older leather stud. As we walked in he grabbed the older man
by the hair and lifted his head up. He jacked his thumb. "Screw." Obediently, the man got up
and left. Patrick blushed and looked down at his boots.

"All right boys, the rules. Each match is 30 minutes long, no exceptions. Except for the final
match, which has no time limit. There's a ref in the ring, but only to rule on submission.
Otherwise, he keeps his mouth shut. A team can win either by submission or by handcuffing
both members of the tag team onto the turnbuckle. Cuffs are located on all four turnbuckles."
Josh stuck his head out the curtain. The Hispanic wrestler was dragging the mountain man
towards the far turnbuckle. "OK, guys, your opponents are the Titans of Torture, last year's
champs. Just try to give them a good fight." A muffled groan came from the ring. "This is just
about over. Just about over. Come out when I announce you."

We stood there, looking into the dusty, cracked full length mirror against the wall.

Patrick had a huge grin on his face. He reached over, grabbed my nipples roughly, and slapped his hands on
my chest. I returned the smile and did the same. We were ready.

From the ring, we heard Josh scream, "Gentlemen, for today's second match, first from
Cleveland, Ohio, at a combined weight of 450 lbs, the Skinheads!" We walked out to little
fanfare. No music, no fireworks, only polite applause. Josh definitely was low budget.
"And from New York City, at a combined weight of 430 lbs., Ben and Magic, The Titans of
Torture!" With that announcement, the crowd suddenly came to life, cheering and chanting their
names. From the burlap curtain on the other side of the barn, the Titans of Torture strutted out.
Ben came out first. At 5'10", 170 lbs, Ben looked like a tough little fucker who could do some
damage. He had a broad, hairless chest with back muscles so big as almost to look humpbacked.
His armed were covered in 1950's style tattoos and his head was shaved almost as close as mine.
Ben had a wrestler's nose, a wispy moustache that curled into a menacing sneer, and dark, cold,
cruel eyes that darted from person to person in the large barn. He flicked his cigarette butt onto the canvas and stomped it out with his big black boot.

Magic was the odd man out long, dirty blond hair, tanned, with the physique of a cut,
muscle-bound surfer. As he peeled off his tie-dye shirt, I saw that his thick beard matched the
mat of blond hair on his chest. He wore tattered acid washed jeans and a pair of black Converse
high tops. With skulls tattooed to each bicep, he looked like a Deadhead on steroids.
The ref stood in the corner and the bell rang. Patrick and I just looked at each other. Now what?
Ben and Magic were huddled together, apparently discussing strategy. I looked back at Josh,
who was sitting at the timekeepers table. "So who's the legal man in the ring?"
Josh looked like he was about to explode, he was so wired. "Legal man? Who are you? Hulk
Hogan? This is NHB no rules, no legal man in the ring'. Just kick some ass!" I turned back to
pick an opponent, but Patrick and Ben had already locked eyes. Ben pursed his lips and kissed
the air. Patrick just scowled. They met in the center of the ring and immediately locked up.
Magic and I circled for a few moments before locking up. Magic was at least five inches taller
than me and he used his height to hook his right arm under my left, turn into me, and hurl me
over his hip onto my ass. He lunged to grab hold of me, but I rolled out of his reach, turned,

and rose to my feet to meet him again. We tied up immediately and Magic tried to hip toss

me again, but I grabbed a handful of his hair with my left hand and jerked his head back,

breaking his momentum. At the same time, I slung my knee up and slammed it into the pit of his gut,
doubling him over and knocking a lot of the wind out of him. I grabbed him by the hair and
drove a real haymaker into his right jaw just under his ear. Magic spun around from the force of
the blow and dropped to one knee. I head-butted him, sending his chiseled, tanned body
sprawling to the canvas.

Patrick and Ben were going toe-to-toe, exchanging vicious lefts and rights to the face. Ben
reached up and gouged his fingers into Patrick's eyes. Patrick howled and blindly swung his fists
in the air. Ben raked his fingernails across Patrick's chest, leaving long trails of red scrapes. He
threw Patrick into the ropes and bent over to set him up for a back drop, but Patrick saw the
move coming and countered with a kick to Ben's jaw that sent him crashing to the mat.
Meanwhile, I delivered a series of sharp kicks to Magic's right knee and then dragged him to the
ropes. I hooked his leg under the lower rope and threw my entire weight down on it. He howled
in pain as he held his throbbing knee. Grabbing him by two handfuls of chest hair, I dragged him
to his feet and catapulted him into the ropes. As he sprung back, I hammered a hard fist into his
kidneys. The shot stopped Magic in his tracks and he arched his back in pain. I scooped him up
and dropped him stomach first across my knee. The fans at first seemed stunned by the way the
match was going, but Patrick and I were slowly winning over the crowd. I grabbed Magic's left
arm and twisted it back in a hammerlock. With his hand immobilized, I continued throwing hard
rights into his kidney, four or five of them, each one knocking a loud, low grunt out of Magic.
"25 minutes!" the timekeeper yelled in that nasal voice.

Locking Magic's left wrist in my left hand and keeping the hammerlock in place, I slipped under
his arm and came up in front of him. I threw my right arm around his waist and added a bearhug
to the hammerlock, jerking him hard against my chest and digging my arms under his rib cage.
Magic howled in pain as I clamped the bearhug on tighter and tighter, putting pressure on the
area I'd just softened with the kidney punches. With the hammerlock still secure, I held Magic
clamped tight against me and threw hard right uppercuts into the pit of his gut.

With his left arm immobilized behind him and his right arm hanging useless over my shoulder, Magic was
defenseless against the barrage of fists to his tight belly. Every time I sank my fist into his
stomach, Magic's face contorted in pain and spit flew out of the corners of his mouth as he

hissed and grunted. After the ninth or tenth punch to his gut, Magic's knees started to buckle,

and after a few more well-placed shots, I was literally holding him up to hit him again.

I jerked him towards me and buried a knee into his crotch. As he doubled over,

I raised both fists high above my head and hammered them down on the back of Magic's neck. He crashed face-first into the

Patrick was kicking the holy shit out of Ben, pinning him against the turnbuckle and delivering
kicks and punches to his face, gut, and crotch. He whipped Ben into the ropes and met him with
a clothesline that nearly decapitated him, sending him flipping in the air before hitting the mat

As I bent over to pick up Magic, he elbowed me right in the chin. As I backed up, he grabbed
me in a headlock and jabbed him thumb into my throat. I stumbled backwards, coughing up spit
and phlegm, and Magic lowered his shoulder and drove me into the turnbuckle. He turned me
around and slammed my head into the buckle, tears welling in my eyes as I realized it wasn't
padded. Magic climbed up onto the second rope, grabbed me by the back of the neck, and pulled
my head back and up. Towering over me with his basket just inches from my nose, Magic spit in
my face and said, "Before this weekend is over, I'm gonna ride you like a fuckin' surf board.
With that, Magic pulled back his arm and plowed his knuckles into my forehead just above my
eyebrow. He punched me again and again, each shot causing me to see stars. Just as suddenly,
Magic was gone, tumbling backwards over Patrick's shoulder and slamming neck-first hard into
the mat.

"20 minutes!"

Ben was on all fours when Patrick grabbed him by the neck and raked his face across his boot
laces. Ben wailed in pain, but Patrick just dropped a knee to Ben's back, grabbed his head and
grinded his face into the mat. Sensing a possible victory, I shot across the ring and dropped my
leg across Magic's throat. He was gasping for air, so I tried to wind him more by stomping on
his stomach a few times. Patrick had thrown Ben back into the turnbuckle and was delivering a
series of vicious chops across his chest. Each one echoed throughout the barn, leaving irregular
red marks on Ben's heaving chest. I had backed Magic up in the opposite corner, feeling the
muscles in his abs soften as I pummeled him with punches to the gut. Patrick and I made eye
contact, grabbed our opponents by the arm, and hurled them towards the center of the ring. I
could feel that Magic was going to try to reverse it, but I was ready. My only hope was that
Patrick was ready too. As I felt him reversing it, I planted my feet and spun off the throw, as did Patrick. In the end, we were in the center of the ring, facing each other. For a brief second, we smiled, until we realized that our opponents were nowhere in sight. I felt an arm around my neck and then, POW, double-DDT.

It felt like hours passed, my body one big blob of confusion and pain. When I finally focused my
eyes, Magic was kicking Patrick out of the ring. Magic slid out after him and tossed a metal
chair back into the ring. I instinctually crawled towards the corner and curled up to protect
myself. Ben deliberately set up the chair in the far corner of the ring, came back and, grabbing
my nipples, hoisted me to my feet. Without letting go of my nipples, he delivered a quick
headbutt which dropped me back to my knees. As I looked up at him, trying to focus, he was
shaking his head. "My, my, my, you have no idea how much pain you're going to be in, do
you?" Again, he hoisted me to my feet and, grabbing my neck, drew me in close and kissed me
hard on the mouth. "That's for luck." Suddenly, I was flying into the ropes. As I sprung back,
Ben grabbed me around the neck, took two huge steps and rammed my face, bulldog style, into
the metal chair.

Everything went hot white and I felt the intense, blinding pain shoot up from my nose into the
center of my brain as I laid sprawled across the mat. Ben grabbed me by the back of my jeans and hoisted me into a sitting position on the chair. It seemed like everything was moving in slow motion--I could see Ben catapulting himself against the ropes, but I couldn't even raise my hands to protect myself. Ben's size 12 black jump boot hit my jaw like an anvil, followed by the crash of the mat against the back of my head as the metal chair tumbled backwards. Instinctually, I rolled out of the ring and landed with a resounding thud on the concrete floor below.
I blinked my eyes a few times, clearing my head just in time to see Ben's awesome physique silhouetted in the dim barn lights baring down on me from the top turnbuckle, his knee catching me squarely across the forehead. The force of the blow snapped me into a sitting position for a second before I fell back, my head pounding the concrete, half-unconscious.
The next thing I remember is the splash of cold beer in my face. "Hey, man, wake up. Your
partner's getting the shit kicked out of him." I opened my eyes and looked up. It was one of the
fans in the first row, prodding me in the ribs with his boot. I turned towards the ring (even
moving my head made me almost puke from dizziness) to see Patrick getting double teamed in
the ring. Patrick was flung into the ropes and caught a double clothesline that sent him to the mat
hard. Ben threw Patrick into the corner and followed him in, catching him with a double forearm
to the face. Magic was right behind him, grabbing Patrick by the waist and tossing him with a
snap suplex. As Patrick sat dazed on the mat, Ben flew over Patrick's shoulders, grabbing and
snapping his neck. Patrick's body seemed to fold in half before snapping back, Patrick writhing
on the mat, holding the back of his head, Ben and Magic laughing and joking with the crowd.
Slowly and painfully, Patrick dragged his broken body to the edge of the ring, his head and arms
hanging over the bottom rope. He looked down at me, blood trickling from his mouth. He spat.
"Shit..." was all he could groan before Magic leapt over the top rope and grabbed Patrick by the
back of the neck as he landed on the floor. Patrick snapped backwards and let out a gargled
scream, clutching his throat. He was instantly met with a boot in the lower back from Ben.
Patrick rolled off the mat and onto the concrete floor, desperately gasping for air. Ben followed
him out of the ring and delivered a boot to Patrick's exposed abs. Locking arms, Ben and Magic
each grabbed one of Patrick's ankles and lifted up, suspending him with his legs spread apart.
Letting out a loud whoop, they took four running steps and ran Patrick crotch-first into the metal ring post.. Patrick let out a high pitched wail that could probably be heard in the next county and curled up into a ball. Ben and Magic stood over Patrick, spitting on him, posing, rubbing the soles of their boots into his face.

"15 minutes!" the timekeeper yelled.

Struggling to my feet, I grabbed the first heavy object I could lay my hands on, the old fashioned microphone stand that Josh used to announce the wrestlers. It was about five feet long, with a heavy round base. Ben was holding his boot against Patrick's mouth, while Magic was trying to get him to open wide with random stomps to his balls. As I stumbled over and drew back the
stand, the crowd let out a roar. Ben turned around just in time for me to drive the heavy round
base smack in his forehead. Ben didn't even have time to yell as he hit the cement floor with an
unceremonious thud. Magic tried to block my next swing, but I buried the butt end of the microphone stand right into his abs. As he doubled over, I swung up, catching him in the chin and knocking him onto his back.

I knelt down to try to help Patrick, but he just kept rolling back and forth, groaning, trying to find relief for his throbbing nuts. I turned back Ben was barely moving and Magic was still sitting on his ass, shaking his head, swearing a blue streak. I grabbed Magic by the back of the neck, pulled him to his feet, and dropped him with a roundhouse kick to the jaw. I grabbed him by the back of the jeans, pulled his head between my knees, let out a whoop for the crowd, and delivered a devast ating pile driver into the concrete floor. Magic's head was pounded three inches down his neck, and, as he hit the floor, the only movement was his barely twitching leg.
I looked back at Ben, who eyes were just coming into focus as he shook his head. I turned back to Patrick, whose eyes were finally beginning to focus. I figured that, with his help, we could get these two back into the ring and cuffed to the turnbuckle. I knelt down next to him and firmly slapped his face. "Patrick, man, clear your head, we've got to..."

The next thing I saw was Patrick's face rushing towards mine and then incredible pain. I was
aware that Ben was standing above, delivering kick after kick to my back and head, while Patrick
rolled around next to me, holding his forehead. Ben pulled me to my feet, hoisted me into the
air, and delivered an atomic drop. I wailed as the force of the drop traveled painfully up my
spine and catapulted me back into the ring. Ben was right behind me, dragging me to my feet
and locking me in a painful full nelson. Walking me to the edge of the ring, grinding his package
into my ass, he forced my pecs into the top rope at tit level. He playfully bit my ear and said,
"Who loves ya, baby?" I let out a prolonged scream as he dragged me along the ring rope,
ravaging my nipples. He repeated this maneuver four times before releasing me. I clutched at
my chest, trying to ease the pain, as Ben threw me into the ropes. In a last ditch effort, I instinctively grabbed the top rope and hung on with all my might. Ben was already four feet into the air before he realized that no one was home. He hit the mat with a loud crash.
I hung onto the ropes for a minute, trying to catch my breath. Finally, I staggered over to him,
pulled him to his feet, and delivered a neck breaker. Ben lay on his back, groaning loudly as I
stood over him, cussing, enjoying the surprised reaction of the crowd. I dragged him to his feet
and whipped him into the turnbuckle. I followed him in for a smash, only to run face first into
his size 12 jump boot. WHAM! The canvas below me was spinning and I could taste the blood
running down my nose into my mouth. It was almost comforting as my mind wandered through
a haze of pain.

I cleared my head in time to see Magic lift Patrick high off the mat and delivered a back breaker. Ben joined him and together they delivered three double back breakers. They whipped his body around like a rag doll, driving knee after knee into his damaged back. I tried to scramble to my feet to help him, only to find that I had been handcuffed to the turnbuckle. Patrick was on his own.

"Ten minutes!" the timekeeper yelled.

Patrick was hoisted over the top rope and landed chest-first on the metal fencing that separated
the ring from the crowd. His whole body seemed to bend impossibly as he hit the floor
convulsing in pain. Magic was there in an instant, scooping Patrick up and, holding him parallel
to the floor, rammed his lower back into the ring post. Again. And again. And again. Again.
The crowd, smelling victory, counted out loud as Magic battered Patrick's back. After the ninth
or tenth time, Patrick seemed totally out of it. His arms hung limply at his sides and spit flew
from the corners of his mouth with each impact with the post. But Magic just kept plowing him,
again and again, into the rusty post.

"Eight minutes!"

Ben joined Magic outside of the ring. Each took an arm and carefully walked Patrick to a
position near the metal stairs leading to the ring. I gasped in shock as they hoisted him into a
double suplex and dropped him, back-first, across the stairs. Patrick let out a colossal roar of
pain and nearly passed out.

Magic rolled Patrick back into the ring and Ben put him in an over-the-shoulder backbreaker. He
put his left hand under Patrick's chin and, with his right hand, he grabbed Patrick's crotch with a painful claw. He pulled down with both hands, nearly bending him in two, Patrick's long arms
flailing wildly. Patrick screamed his submission and the ref signaled for the bell, but Ben
continued the painful hold. Finally, he hurled Patrick to the mat and standing over him, spit into his face.

I was just relieved that they didn't hurt Patrick any worse my body was a knot of pain, but I was
okay. I figured Patrick might need a stretcher. I looked around for someone to undo the cuffs,
but the crowd was going crazy, hollering louder than they did during the match. I looked over at
Josh, who was damn near jumping out of his seat, a shit eating grin from ear to ear. From the
timekeeper's table, I heard that same nasal voice "Six minutes!"

"Josh, man, what the fuck's going on here? Come unlock me!"

"Can't babe. Six minutes left in the match!"

"What do you mean six minutes left? Patrick submitted for chrissakes!"

But Josh just kept grinning and repeated, "Six minutes left, six minutes left..."

Meanwhile, Ben had dragged Patrick into the corner and handcuffed him to the ring post just
under the bottom rope. He slowly sauntered around the ring, finally picking up Patrick's left leg
and untying the boot lace. Patrick, regaining some sense, began to struggle, only to catch a
mouthful of Magic's sneaker. Meanwhile, Ben threw Patrick's boots into the center of the ring
and stripped him out of his jeans. The crowd let out a resounding cheer and paper cups of beer
were hurled into the ring. Patrick's 7" flaccid cock hung limply in a thick bush of jet black pubic hair. While Ben held down Patrick's legs, Magic hurled himself off the ropes and planted an
elbow drop right into the Patrick's exposed crotch. Patrick's face contorted in silent pain. The partners each grabbed one of Patrick's legs and, with an evil wink, threw their bodies back, splitting Patrick's groin like a wishbone. The screams were incredible. I slumped against the turnbuckle, my arms uselessly cuffed behind my back. It was painful to watch.
Ben and Magic each grabbed a leg again, and I thought they were going to
repeat the crippling move. Instead, as if on cue, they pulled Patrick's legs over his shoulders and hooked them over the middle rope, on either side of the turnbuckle. They pulled up the lower
ropes and hooked them under Patrick's feet, essentially tying his legs over his shoulders.
Patrick's pink puckered asshole gleamed with sweat in the barn lights.

Before I could even scream a warning, Ben pulled his rock-hard dick out of his jeans. 8" cut, it
bent with a wicked arch that seemed to match Ben's supermuscular back. His spit into his hand,
stroked his prick twice, positioned the head against Patrick's defenseless asshole, and just shoved with all his might. 5 inches disappeared immediately and Patrick arched his back in agony. This gave Ben the extra leverage he needed to cram the rest of his cock past Patrick's protesting
prostate and deep into his bowels. Meanwhile, Magic was kneeling with Patrick's head between
his legs. He, too, pulled out his prick and began slapping it across Patrick's bald forehead and
face. Ben reached into his jeans pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. "I always smoke during sex," he beamed for the crowd, "that way, there's more time for later!" The crowd went nuts.

"Patrick, man, get up! Flop around! Do something!" I yelled from across the ring. Magic
looked up, annoyed. He stood up, deliberately scraping the sole of his sneaker across Patrick's
face, and walked towards me. "Did you say something, pussy faggot?"

"Fuck you!"

Magic bent over and picked up Patrick's boots. "Do these belong to you?"

I just spat at him.

"Are you sure? Maybe you need to see them a little closer..." With that, he clubbed me across
the face with Patrick's boot. My ear was ringing and my cheek felt white hot. That was followed
by a series of stinging blows to the face, chest, and crotch with Patrick's boots. I tried to deflect the shots the best I could, but one caught me square in the nuts. I doubled over and Magic delivered a double tomahawk chop across the back of my neck with both of the boots. I slumped over, my arms pulled painfully backwards. As I lost consciousness, I could see Patrick's face, contorted in pain, as Ben, cigarette hanging between his lips, laughed and mercilessly reamed his ass...

The next thing I remember is the sound of the bell. I could barely hear it over the pounding in
my ears and the screaming crowd. I opened my eyes to see Magic kneeling over Patrick, shooting
a huge load in his face. Patrick's eyes were rolling around in his head, his cock erect and oozing precum from the ass reaming. Ben used the sole of his boot to smear his cum into Patrick's hest and crotch, randomly kicking at Patrick hard dick. Ben tossed his butt onto Patrick's chest and stomped it out with his boot. He nd Magic gave each other a double high five and hopped over the top ropes. Outside the ring, a frenzied crowd was slapping their backs and giving them beers.
I felt Josh undoing the handcuffs behind me. "You were a lot of help. What the fuck was that?"

"I told you guys that the matches last 30 minutes. No exceptions."

Josh and I each took one of Patrick's arms and dragged him to his feet. He let out a muffled
groan and grabbed for his throbbing lower back. We slowly led him out of the ring and right out
the door to the clearing outside the barn. Josh kept jabbering, "That was great, guys, fuckin'
great. You guys are awesome, gonna be a big fan favorite this weekend...". Josh put down the
tailgate of one of the nearby pickup trucks and we carefully hoisted Patrick up.
Josh disappeared around the side of the barn and returned a few seconds later with a hose. He
turned the nozzle and proceeded to hose Patrick down. Cum, spit, and blood mixed with water to
form a river down his chest and into his crotch. Patrick shook his head and splashed water on his
face. I handed Patrick the hose and he held it over his head. He gingerly lowered himself off the
truck bed and washed his crotch and ass. He handed me the hose and I held it up to the side of
my head, which was caked in dried blood. Josh disappeared again and came back with Patrick's
pants and boots. He threw the pants to Patrick and handed me the boots.

Josh was talking a mile a minute. "You guys were the best! Really! What a show! That was
better than any match we had last year. The Titans didn't have a match longer than 7 minutes!
24 minutes! Wow! That was so hot! Your next match is at 4AM. Don't worry about falling
asleep. We'll give you a wake up call over the PA system. Grab some beers and burgers. All
you want. Did you set up your tent yet?"

I nodded.

He just smiled and shook his head. "Fucking awesome..." and Josh bounced back into the barn
to announce the next match.

"I'll grab us some food and beer," I said to Patrick, but he was already stumbling towards the
tent. I grabbed two big plastic mugs from the car and filled them up. Guys kept coming up to
me, congratulating me, slapping my back (which hurt like hell I tried not to wince). I put six
cheeseburgers on a plate and, accepting one last compliment, headed towards our tent. My head
felt light and I almost fell once or twice as I staggered the last 200 feet. I unzipped the large,
walk-in tent. Patrick was already laying down on his stomach, letting out low groans with each
breath. I put the plate of food down next to him and sat in the lone folding chair.

Without looking up, Patrick said, "That was fuckin' embarrassing."

"Quite the ass reaming."

Patrick shot me a deadly look and for a second I thought he was going to attack. But his aching
body had the final word, and he just looked back at the ground and sighed. I retreated a bit.

"Hey, man, how do you think I feel? Magic kicked my ass with your boots." I looked down at
his feet. "I don't think I can spend the night in the same tent with those traitors." Patrick laughed
and then instantly regretted it.

I handed him his beer and, chomping down on a burger, said, "Have you ever seen anything like
this? Those guys were sadistic fucks. And the crowd! I thought they were going to rush the ring
when Ben ripped off your jeans."

"I've been in a lot of fights in my life, but nothing like this. You should of heard the sick shit
Ben was saying to me when he was fucking me. "I'm going easy on ya this time...Next time we
meet, I'm gonna make you my fuckin' bitch. Oh, by the way, Ben says next time, you get the ass

"Great. Is there going to be a next time?" Until that moment, I was sure that Patrick would want
to just pack up and head back north. But Patrick just stared at me.

"Why? Do you want to leave?"

"No. Do you?"

"No way." I looked at my watch. Only 6:30. "We've got 9 � hours to recuperate."

Patrick pulled out a bag of dope from his backpack and started to roll a joint. I got out my first
aid kit, put a small butterfly bandage under my right eye, and scooped out a handful of icee hot.

I slowly rubbed it on Patrick's lower back. "Oooh...that feels great." I continued to massage his
back as we smoked and ate and talked strategy. We finished the beers

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