|Go on. Try it.|
Today is Eli Black's birthday. Anyone wanna be first in line to slap that ass? Let me rephrase the question: anyone wanna be first in line to try to slap that ass?!
|Eli screams his way to yet another victory in the cage.|
Eli celebrated Eli Black month by winning a first round knock out victory in yet another MMA competition last weekend. Just like the boys at BG East, Rock Hard Wrestling, and UCW, Eli's MMA opponents are learning the hard way to fuck with Eli Black at their own peril. And as an observant reader detected from my last post about Eli, it does indeed appear that he's sporting some new bright red ink on his left upper arm.
The trash talk flies fast and furious from the start, getting hotter and hotter as the minutes tick by. "Maybe you should stop pissing me off," Jake almost coos. "Maybe you should stop sucking!" Eli snaps back.
Jake mocks Primus like poking a pit bull with a stick. "Uh oh," he chuckles, controlling Eli's back. "What's about to happen to Eli Black?" Eli gets more and more pissed by the second. "Stop being a bitch, Jake!"
These boys tell a fantastically compelling story. You know the story. It's about the rush of testosterone mixed with injured pride. It's told in sweat and grunts, all the while desperately trying not to look like they're breaking a sweat or having to work. The story is about getting seriously pissed off at one another, but struggling to maintain their cool, to laugh it off, to look like the hot hunk who just out hustled or outmuscled you isn't getting in your head. Well, Jake manages the I'm too cool to look like I'm working bit. Eli isn't really one who tends to hide it when he's getting good and pissed off.
Jake just laughs when Eli snaps on a spladle, stretching Jake's legs apart. "Stretch 'em out a little more," Jake taunts him. When Eli obliges, Jake's back arches and the veins in his neck rise to the surface, but he just smiles. "Quit being a little bitch! I know this hurts," Eli snarls back.
Jake locks on a headscissors, pulling Eli's face high up against his ass. "How does that smell?" Jake asks nonchalantly. A few seconds later, the two are stalking one another around the small mat room, and Jake shrugs his big shoulders out of his singlet. "Oh, what," Eli snaps, "you're big?" Jake grins ear from ear when he replies, "I'm sexy!" Never to be outdone, never to to fail to see the element of competition in anything in life, Eli quickly sheds his singlet, yelling, "I totally, totally look better than you!" With Eli standing in nothing but his jock strap and boots, his abs ripped to shreds, Jake gives credit where credit is due. With just a twinge of a sound of surprised respect, Jake murmurs, "Not bad, not bad at all!"
Eli took a hard, humiliating loss in his first time out of the gates for BG East. At RHW, he took a hard, humiliating loss his first time there, as well... to Jake. But the infinitely ambitious, testosterone overdosed hot head Eli is done with his rookie initiations. He spends the next 25 minutes making Jake sweat, scream, and submit. It's not a walk in the park, and somehow, I can't imagine Eli would ever bother with something as ridiculously boring as taking a walk in the park. He loves this shit. He loves being challenged. He loves his low boiling rage getting poked and prodded. He loves getting pissed off, because he's convinced that, like Dr. Bruce Banner, once he completely loses control of his rage, he's unstoppable and superhuman. These two toned athletes go at it non-stop, meaner and harder and sweatier with every passing moment. They trade holds and submissions, and they dance along the edge of injuring each other's bodies along the way to their real goal, crushing each other's egos. With just a minute left, the tables are still turning back and forth until Eli successfully wipes the grin off of Jake's handsome face (by choking him out cold), once and for all.
|Happy birthday, Eli!|