Tuesday, January 19, 2010

A Dish Best Served Cold

Imagine, if you will, a world in which male models are inexplicably, innately, supremely talented in managing and manipulating people. Then imagine a bodybuilder turned fitness model challenging a fashion model and a fashion-model-turned-actor-turned-fashion-model to a 2 on 1 grappling contest. The fitness model does better than one might expect with two vicious competitors coming at him from all angles at once. But in the end, he's tagged, bagged, and mounted (so to speak).
I posted pretty much that story line in my celebrity wrestling fiction group about three weeks ago. Hopefully it was a little more graceful and engaging than the cliff notes. To my genuine surprise, although the match received some kind compliments, there were several opinions voiced calling for a rematch. Reading between the lines, some readers expressed their confidence that given another shot, hot hardbody Luke could dismantle and humiliate Andrew and Ashton in devastating fashion.
As for me, I sincerely wasn't sure that Luke was up for it. But okay, I let him take a shot. I posted yesterday the follow up to Luke's humiliating defeat. I hate teasers that give too much away, but I realize that I'm no Agatha Christie. So here's a decisive moment to give you an idea of what I'm talking about:
In a flash, Luke went from rubbing Ashton’s hair affectionately to grabbing a handful of the hair in his fist. With his left hand, Luke grabbed the waistband of Ashton’s underwear and yanked upward. Twisting his powerful torso, Luke jerked Ashton forward, sending the top of his head crashing hard into the nearby wall. The sickening dull thud of Ashton’s skull impacting against the wall echoed around the room. Ashton bounced away from the wall and fell to his ass, his eyes rolling into the top of his head as his torso swayed from side to side. Andrew threw himself off the wall and charged over. “That’s just about enough of that, mother fucker!”
Luke turned and faced Andrew squarely. He pounded his massive pecs with his fists fiercely and snarled, “We’re just getting started!” Andrew stopped in his tracks, suddenly realizing that Luke had planned this confrontation all along. Luke’s muscles were pumped. His body was shining with a layer of sweat. And he looked like he could rip a fire hydrant out of the sidewalk.

“Oh fuck,” Andrew said, suddenly reversing course and taking two quick steps backward. It was too late, though, as Luke launched himself diving across the distance between them. Spearing Andrew’s midsection with his right shoulder, Luke lifted him off his feet and threw him hard to his back.

If text-based wrestling captures your interest, you can check out this wonderful world filled with hot, hard hunks pounding on one another for their bread and butter. Comments are always welcome, including gentle critiques. Story ideas are even better. And the best of all is the fan cocky enough to rip off his shirt and throw himself into the action (as in, submit some wrestling fiction of your own to share)!

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