canwrestle's blog

Bonded Like Brothers Part 3

I closed Danny’s beat-up copy of Marley and Me and threw it on the couch beside me. I was three chapters in and already engaged in the story, if I kept reading, I’d end up at the pound picking out a puppy we could not afford, nor would our lease allow.

I looked around for something else to do. We had a big old-fashioned TV that I’d picked up at a pawnshop for twenty bucks. It worked, but we didn’t have cable. Danny had rigged up a coat hanger to act like an antenna, and you could sometimes get a local station, but it was shitty quality and there wouldn’t be anything decent playing on a Friday night anyway. I dismissed that as an option. We did have a DVD player, also from the pawn shop, and a pile of movies, mostly from the two-dollar bin at the CVS. They were pretty terrible though and I’d seen them all at least a dozen times.

The apartment was deathly silent. Robbie was at work and Danny was handing out sandwiches to homeless people with a group from a shelter he volunteered at.

I was bored, or maybe antsy was a better word – I’d been that way since the trip to the frozen yogurt place. Recognizing how much I’d been avoiding any place I might run into Hunter had me feeling like a scalded cat. I wanted to head to "The Paradise" to find out what I’d feel if I saw him again. There was fear though, what if I found myself falling back into the same self-destructive behavior, ignoring all the red flags and the abuse, and running back to him like some sad battered housewife… like my mom. How long before I picked up the bottle, or something else to dull my senses like she did?

“FUCK !” I grunted. I felt like I was coming out of my skin.

I went into the shower, hoping it would settle me down. But as I stood under the water it occurred to me that I’d never been to see Robbie at work. The club he danced at, "Ruby Tuesdays", catered to a much younger crowd. As far as I knew Hunter didn’t go there. I reasoned it would be like taking a baby step, low risk of a confrontation but still a move in the right direction. I got out of the shower, dressed quickly, and left the apartment before I could have second thoughts.

It was still early, and the bar was not quite full when I walked in. The dance floor was mostly empty and the four go-go boys on raised platforms were moving listlessly along to the thumping disco music – obviously saving their energy for when the place would be packed, and the tips would be flowing. Robbie was on the far end, in a pair of gold square-cut briefs, black socks, and black hi-tops. I made my way across the floor toward him, and a huge smile broke across his face when he spotted me.

He immediately picked up the pace, wiggling his ass, dropping it like it was hot, holding the pole that ran up the center of his platform, and thrusting his hips in my direction. I pulled a five out of my pocket and stuffed it in the waistband of his briefs. He bent low and tea bagged my forehead with his amply stuffed pouch as a thank you. I swatted at him, he giggled, stopped dancing, and jumped off the platform.

“You guys came!” he yelled.

“Just me, Danny is out doing good.”

“So you came to do some bad !! It's about dam time. Matt is out of the house... this calls for shots!” He yelled to no one in particular.

We walked together across the dance floor, and I couldn’t stop myself from doing a quick scan of the place. There was no sign of a bleached blond head.

“JJ, two tequilas, and a Bud for my compadre,” Robbie ordered.

The bartender, a burly guy with a full furry chest and a wiry tangled beard, gave us an eye roll but started making the order.

“You are going to dance, get drunk, pick up, and get your rocks off… And then you won't be such a grumpy ass at home,” Robbie enthused.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I responded just as JJ poured the shots and plunked down the bottle of Bud in front of me.

“C’mon Matt, you are too young to be so old.”

“You paying for those?” the bartender grunted at Robbie.

“Start a tab.”

“I got this,” I said reaching for my wallet.

Robbie put his hand on my arm. “Fuck off JJ, go water down the vodka before it gets busy.”

“It’s coming out of your cheque this time,” JJ growled then moved down the bar to serve someone else.

“Pinche redneck bolillo,” Robbie grumbled watching him go, but then turned to me and picked up his shot. “Pa’riba,” he said, lifting the glass and waiting for me to follow. I matched his movements. “Pa’bajo,” the glass came back down, “Pal’centro,” he gestured toward me, “Pa’dentro,” he knocked it back.

I followed and felt the liquid burn as it moved past my tongue, but then warm my throat and belly when I swallowed. There was no lemon or lime slice, that was for gringos.

“So seriously, why’d you finally come?” Robbie asked, watching me grimace with a wry expression.

“I was bored.” I took a sip of the beer to clear the taste of the tequila.

“Yeah, yeah, but you’ve been hold up in the apartment bored, every weekend since we met. Why now?” he pushed.

I hadn’t talked about Hunter to the boys before. While I was trying to come up with a decent deflection I heard a voice behind me.

“Hose? Is that you?”

I froze. True to his word Hunter had continued to call me Firehouse after the incident in the bathroom. Eventually, it got shortened to Hose, and when he started taking me to parties it was how he introduced me. The voice I’d heard did not sound like Hunter, but it had to be somebody who knew him cause only people in his circle called me that.

I took another gulp of beer and slowly turned, unsure what to expect.

The person smiling at me turned out to be a guy named Kevin. He wrestled for AW a few times and hung around the same crowd as Hunter. He was my age, or close to it, a bit cocky but generally decent. He had short, very neatly parted and styled, honey-brown hair, a square jaw, and a naturally slim muscular build. He looked like a straight jock you’d meet at any college campus. His one distinguishing feature was an extremely wide mouth. It stretched across his face giving him a slightly Jokeresque look. When he smiled he had equally large white teeth. He was the only guy I knew, besides Robbie, who could take my entire dick, tip to base, without gagging, only with him I would guess he could probably fit a few more in at the same time.

“Kev,” I nodded.

“Shit ! Hose! Where the hell have you been? I haven’t seen you in months.”

“Around, you know… working, nothing special.” I was painfully aware of Robbie standing just behind me listening eagerly.

“Is Hunter back?” Kevin asked.

I registered the back and all my embarrassment about being exposed disappeared. “Back?” I asked.

“Oh weren’t you with him? Kevin chattered, “Hunter left the city six or seven months ago. Rumor is, he had to. He owed some money to the wrong people, you know. I heard he’s laying low in Florida. When you stopped wrestling for AW I just assumed you were with him.”

I had a strange dual reaction to hearing this. Relief that he was no longer in LA, but perversely mixed with worry about his welfare.

“Hi, I’m Robbie.”

Kevin looked slightly taken aback by Robbie popping up over my shoulder and introducing himself. But he recovered quickly when Robbie moved around to stand beside me, and Kevin got a look at his tightly muscled body in just the gold briefs. His huge mouth broke into a smile and there was a definite lustful spark in his eye.

“Hey, I’m Kevin.”

“Yep, I’ve seen you around,” Robbie answered, with a smile of his own.

“Is this what’s been keeping you busy Matt? You’ve been hanging out south of the border?”

“Robbie is my roommate,” I answered. The smile had dropped from Robbie’s face at the border crack, and I sensed some danger.

“Sorry, I gotta ask… Have you ever tried to find out how many marshmallows you could stuff in your mouth at once? It's gotta be a lot… I bet you could get into that… what do you call that book thing… the Genius Book of Records.”

Kevin’s lips clamped shut and the lustful twinkle disappeared. He ignored the comment and turned to face me.

“AW was asking about you, he wants you to film again. You should call him.” He gave Robbie a final glare then turned and walked away.

“Pinche mamón,” Robbie muttered, “You ever see one of those nature videos with snakes that can unhinge their jaws?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, his description was accurate.

“So who’s Hunter?”

“Just a guy I was living with before I met you.”

“What like a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, sort of…”

“Matt?” Robbie pushed, but I was saved by JJ returning.

“Roger says break times over, get back on your box.”

“Roger can suck my cock,” Robbie shot back.

“Isn’t that how you got you this job? he sneered.

“HAHA, yeah... but at least I didn’t have to suck his.”

The part of JJ’s face that wasn’t covered in beard flared red, he turned and stomped away.

“Go dance… you’re going to get fired,” I told him.

“Filming for AW huh?” he gave me a hard stare.

I looked down. I hadn’t told the boys about the wrestling videos either.

“I know who AW is… he’s the skinny dude who’s always dressed like he’s going on a safari, he makes porn. Is that where you learned all those wrestling moves?”

“I only made a few,” I answered.

“I should be pissed at you,” he said after a pause. “All that shit about no turning tricks and no more porn. You’re a total hypocrite you know that right?”

“I just wanted you to be safe, there are some crazies out there.”

“I can handle myself… Been doing it since I was eight. I don’t need a mother.”

“I’m not trying to be your mother… big brother maybe, and I'm sorry. I should have told you.”

“Yeah you should have,” he paused for a moment then continued, “You know the brakes on your car are shot.”

I nodded.

“And Danny’s talking about college, he wants to be a social worker.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“So give AW a call… I like having a big brother. I don’t want to lose him 'cause he tried to brake and ended up squashed under a semi.”

His words generated more heat in my belly than the tequila.

“And mention my name. I wanna wrestle big mouth and see if I can get my whole fist in there.”

With a wink, he trotted across the now crowded dance floor then turned back and yelled, “Oh and I like the nickname, Hose, I’m gonna start using it.”

“You better not,” I threatened.

He laughed then climbed up onto his box and began to gyrate his hips vigorously.

…

I paused at the glass door that led up to the second-floor offices above a row of shops on Ventura Blvd in Studio City. I knew this building. At the top of the stairs was a long corridor with a tax attorney’s office at one end, and a martial arts school at the other. Arnold Wexler was friendly with the owner of the studio and he used it to film some of his videos. The last time I’d been here was with Hunter.

“You good?” Robbie asked, coming up behind me.

“Yeah, just making sure we have the right place. Some of the stores are different… That bookstore was a bridal shop last time I was here.”

I went in and headed up the stairs with Robbie following.

I called AW the day after my night at Ruby Tuesdays and my encounter with Kevin. It hadn’t been a hard decision. I might not have been aware of it before but after my time with Hunter, I’d developed a strong kink for wrestling. Roughhousing with the boys was cool, but I missed the full-on erotic battles I’d had making the videos and I looked forward to the chance to do it again. And there was the money. I did need to get my car looked at, it wasn’t safe. Also having some extra cash for food and other expenses was not a bad thing, especially if I earned it doing something I liked.

Plus I couldn’t deny that knowing Hunter was on the other side of the country made the decision easier.

Including Robbie when I called was also a no-brainer, I didn’t have much choice, if I’d refused, he’d have found a way to contact Arnold anyway.

Telling Danny and convincing him that he couldn’t join us was much harder. I was all for not saying anything, but Robbie convinced me that was a mistake. Danny was enthusiastic and wanted to be included, but I argued he was still too young and needed to wait till he’d passed his GED at the very least. Robbie backed me up. After some arguments we got him to agree, but he was punishing us by sulking. When we left the apartment, he was still speaking only in grunts and growls. I’d half expected him to stow away in the car and then pop out of the trunk when we arrived.

At the top of the stairs, I hesitated again before turning left. The memories of being here with Hunter were a bit overwhelming.

“You sure you’re good?” Robbie asked bumping into me, “You seem nervous? Are you worried about getting your ass kicked on camera? Cause I can hold back, take it easy on you, and not make you look bad big bro.” He winked and wiggled his eyebrows. He'd taken to calling me Big Bro since I referred to myself that way at the bar, it was better than Hose.

“You wish,” I shot back. “The day hasn’t come when I’d tap to you, little brother.”

“We’ll see compadre, we’ll see,” he smiled, then moved past me and headed down the hall to the office marked Shaolin Martial Arts.

Nothing had changed on the other side of the door, it was still a tiny little reception room. There was a desk, a few plastic chairs, a rack for shoes that was currently empty, and a small single-person toilet. I wondered if the school was even still running as it all looked very unused. There was an inside door that led to the actual mat room and coming from the other side we heard grunting and moaning. It didn’t sound like the noises you’d make wrestling, more like what you’d hear when someone is jerking off. The videos that Arnold made at this location usually ended with masturbation, so I figured he was just wrapping a shoot. I indicated for Robbie to be quiet, and we both sat on the chairs to wait.

A few minutes passed, the noise picked up tempo and volume. They were going to be done soon.

Robbie was tapping the heel of his runner rapidly. His jaw was also clenched tightly, and I figured, for all his bravado and smack talk, he was nervous.
When I mentioned Robbie to Arnold I asked if we could film together. I figured it was a good place for him to start, and for me to pick it up again. I’d wrestled with Robbie at home a few times and although I was able to beat him, it was a close call. He was tough and strong, and although he was anxious, I knew he’d forget the nerves and give me a hard fight once we got going. He was a brawler, and it would be rough, he wouldn’t hesitate to cheat to get the win… my dick twitched inside my jeans thinking about it.

We heard a loud grunt from the other side of the door, Robbie turned to me and giggled… at least one of the dudes in there was finished. I smiled and then he turned away and resumed his manic foot-tapping.

The inner door opened, and a guy walked out, naked and sweaty, with cum drying on his stomach. He was startled, not expecting to see people, but recovered when he recognized me. It was another guy I’d wrestled, Kyle. He was older, in his forties I guessed, handsome with a ripped lean physique. He wasn’t much of a competitive wrestler from what I recalled, but an excellent jobber, and a master at the erotic stuff. He suffered beautifully in whatever limb-bending hold you put him in and stayed hard the entire time. Once I’d witnessed him ejaculate while being held in a bear hug without even touching his dick, it was a rare talent.

“Hey Matt, good to see you. How have you been?” he smiled. He had never used my nickname. He hated Hunter, and the feeling was mutual.

I stood to meet him, completely ignoring the fact he was naked and still semi-hard with his hand out ready to shake mine like we were work colleagues at a sales conference. I suppose in some way we were.

“Hey Kyle, doing good thanks,” I answered.

“You’re up next I take it?” He looked over my shoulder at Robbie whose eyes were glued to Kyle’s cock.

I nodded. Kyle looked back at me and grinned, “have fun,” he said, then grabbed a sports bag from under a chair and went into the washroom.

“Órale! Do you know every fucking one?” Robbie grunted.

Another guy came out, this one I didn’t know. He was just as sweaty as Kyle but had his underwear on already. He blushed seeing us and quickly grabbed his shirt from a pile of clothes on another chair and threw it on. From his reaction, I figured he was one of the many straight dudes who wrestled for Arnold to make a quick buck. Probably fresh out of the army – or prison.

“C’mon,” I told Robbie and headed into the studio leaving 'straighty' to his shame.

The studio was one room, covered entirely in a blue vinyl mat. The wall that faced the street was covered in a heavy black curtain; another was mirrored floor to ceiling. The other two were plain white plaster. It wasn’t an enormous space, but it was plenty for wrestling. I knew that Arnold, who did the camera work himself, would stay positioned by the door with his handheld camcorder and shoot the action, sometimes using the mirrors to get a better angle. He was quite talented, never accidentally getting himself in the shot or getting in the way. Hunter had told me that he learned his craft as a cameraman for one of the major TV studios before he started his own business. It was how he and Hunter, whose day job was as some kind of grip or stagehand at the same studio, had met.

He was currently on his knees wiping the mats down with a cloth.

“Arnold?”

He turned and his face broke into a warm smile. “There he is! The elusive Firehose,” he teased.

“Just Matt, if it's okay with you,” I answered.

“Of course,” he got to his feet, threw the rag into a corner, and walked toward us. He was dressed as always in loose cargo shorts with multiple pockets, a long-sleeved plaid shirt, and a tie. He had taken his shoes off though and was just in beige socks. I blushed, realizing I’d forgotten one of the golden rules of being on the mat, no outdoor shoes. Hunter would have ripped me a new one. I quickly bent down and pulled my sneakers off, then grunted at Robbie to do the same.

“Good to see you Matt, glad you called. I heard about you and Hunter. I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him?”

“Ah no sir, I didn’t know he was gone till a few days ago,” I answered with my shoes now in hand.

“Trouble follows that guy, gonna get himself killed one day. If he wasn’t such a damn good wrestler I wouldn’t hire him.”

I didn’t have an answer, I wasn’t sure Arnold knew why I’d left Hunter, and I didn’t feel like getting into it, so I just nodded my agreement.

“And this must be Rob right?”

“Robbie,” he corrected.

“I’ve seen you before haven’t I?” Arnold asked. “You film other stuff?”

“No sir. I dance at 'Ruby Tuesdays' though.”

“Ah yeah that’s it, you’re an excellent dancer son, can you wrestle too.”

“I do alright, Matt has shown me some stuff.”

“Good to hear, good to hear,” Arnold smiled, “Matt has been one of my best sellers so I’m expecting good things.”

“I’ll do my best,” Robbie answered. I’d never heard him speak so politely.

“Okay, give me five minutes to finish setting up. Go get undressed and we’ll get started.”

Back out in the little lobby, the straight guy was already gone, Robbie and I chose a chair each and started to strip. This video was part of Arnold’s 'Naked Fight' series so there was no gear to put on. I’d just dropped my jeans when Kyle came out of the washroom.

“Me next,” he whistled, eyeing my cock hungrily, then turned to Robbie and told him “Good Luck,” before leaving.

Robbie looked at my cock and his brow furrowed. His was a decent size, but looked on the smallish side next to mine. He gave his dick a few tugs and muttered something in Spanish I couldn’t make out.

“This is just for fun right,” I said.

“Hell yeah, gonna be fun kicking your ass big brother,” he winked and made his way back into the mat room.

Arnold was ready to go, the mats were wiped, and he was holding his camcorder fiddling with some buttons.

“So, Robbie, I assume Matt has given you some instructions on how this works?” he said.

We nodded.

“Good, twenty minutes of wrestling, I don’t care how it goes, just keep it up till I give you the signal. Then we switch to jerking off. Is that okay with you both?”

We nodded again.

“You need anything before we start? I got a few of the little blue pills here?”

We both shook our heads. I knew I’d be hard wrestling, I didn’t need help, and Robbie was a horny little bastard, he always seemed to be sporting an erection.

“Okay then, let's get it on boys.” He lifted the camera to his eye and waved for us to begin.

I turned to Robbie. He looked at me, gave one last smile, then his mouth turned down and he put on his tough guy face. I’d seen it before. His chest puffed out, his shoulders went back, and I saw all the muscles in his upper body tighten. There was a spark in his big brown eyes, he was ready to fight. I matched him and used the inches of height I had to try and intimidate him.

We circled, not breaking eye contact. I waited, tense and ready, knowing he would not be able to control his exuberance and any second he’d launch himself at me with everything he had. Already the camera and Arnold were forgotten. It was just me and him, the little brother out to prove he was tough enough to take down the big brother. I was going to do my best to make sure that didn’t happen.

Bonded Like Brothers Part 2

The boys were in the shower long enough for the hamburger and the rice to finish cooking. I imagined they were taking care of the boners they were both sporting when they left me on the floor after the wrestling match.

Robbie made his way into the kitchen first. He was dressed in just loose basketball shorts, no shirt, with his dark curls still wet. He came up behind me and peered over my shoulder dripping water down my neck and chest as I poured a can of black beans into the meat concoction.

“Did you put some chilis in that?” he whined.

“Onions, we don’t have any chilis,” I answered.

“Mierda Sin Sabor,” he grunted, then pulled himself up onto the counter to watch me drain and add the rice to the pot.

“You don’t have to eat it,” I told him.

Danny came in before Robbie could hit me with a comeback, he was similarly attired in saggy shorts but wearing a white tank.

“Smells good,” he chirped and, without prompting, took the three mismatched plates we owned and brought them to the table, then returned for forks and mugs. Robbie muttered something in Spanish about gringos, then jumped down from his perch, opened the fridge, and joined in setting the table.

I grabbed a spoon and brought the pot with the rice, beans, and hamburger meat to the table. However, I did not set it down and let them serve themselves, that would have been chaos. It may have been “shit with no flavor” as Robbie had called it, but if I didn’t distribute equal portions there was a good chance a fistfight would erupt. As it was voices were raised when Danny squirted most of what was left inside a squeezy ketchup bottle onto his plate leaving none for Robbie. His defense being, that he was the one who’d moped it from the hot dog stand in the first place. I contemplated how I might stretch the food budget so one of us didn’t end up losing a hand.

“Did you finish the book?” I asked Danny.

“Yep,” he answered with his mouth full.

“He cried, the pussy,” Robbie smirked.

Danny’s fist smacked into Robbie’s shoulder.

“Shut up!” he moaned with his hand up, ready to land another blow or defend against retaliation.

Robbie rubbed the spot where he’d been punched and laughed.

“What? You did, I saw you. Sitting on the couch with big fat tears pouring down your cheek.”

“Yeah, well it’s a sad story okay, the dog dies in the end.”

Robbie did an over-the-top impersonation of someone crying and Danny’s fist reared back to deliver another strike.

“Quit it!” I ordered in my best big brother voice. They listened, but it probably had more to do with being hungry than my authority.

“When is the book report due?” I asked once Danny had stopped glaring and Robbie had stopped laughing.

“Next week.”

One of the conditions I’d laid out when I let them stay was they had to either go back to school and get their High School equivalency, or they had to get legitimate jobs… no stealing and no turning tricks.

Danny chose school and we got him registered for classes at the adult education center. Once he was done, he was going to try for his GED.
Robbie could not be convinced to take that option. He got a job as a go-go boy dancing at a gay bar. Sometimes his tips for one night were more than I made working a full week. Together we split expenses and supported Danny while he concentrated on school. We were doing alright and even had enough to move from my studio to a two-bedroom apartment a couple of months ago, but things were still tight.

While we finished eating Danny recapped the plot of Marley and Me for us. He did a good job and by the time he’d finished, I was feeling emotional myself. I could tell even Robbie was moved when he tried to convince me we should get a dog. It was impossible of course, we were barely feeding ourselves, let alone a dog.

“Wanna walk up to Santa Monica and get some ice cream… my treat,” Danny asked after I shut down the dog idea hopefully for the last time.

Both Robbie and I looked at Danny. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Robbie’s jaw clench. Mine was doing the same.

“You have money?” Robbie asked an edge to his voice. I knew what he was thinking and why he was instantly on guard. Did Danny have money because he’d been turning tricks again?

His impulse to protect Danny ran deep. They may have bickered and fought but Robbie would take the head off anyone who hurt his little brother. Danny didn’t need it, he could take care of himself, the fact he’d just gone toe to toe with Robbie and made him submit demonstrated he was no pushover, however, there was something about him that elicited that kind of big brother response. Without realizing it I had clenched my fists and I realized I felt the same.

“What?” Danny asked looking at us both like we were crazy, “I got fifty bucks from the old lady down the street for cleaning out her garage.”

Robbie and I visibly deflated - attack mode deactivated.

“Fifty?, shit I’m getting two scoops!” Robbie joked.

I took a quick shower and when I came out changed and ready to go, Danny had cleared the super dishes and reset the furniture in the living room. Robbie had put on a white tank that was similar to Danny’s. The effect was to make them look like twins.

We walked up to Santa Monica and turned west. I thought we’d only go a few blocks but Danny was leading the way and had a destination in mind. I began to regret not taking my car the further down down the street we walked.

My mood was rapidly deteriorating. The LA summer sun was beating down on my neck, I was tired from working all day, but more so I was getting antsy about where we were headed – the ‘gay’ district, centered along Santa Monica near the West Hollywood Park. I hadn’t actively been avoiding this area, at least that’s what I told myself, but since my break up with Hunter, I hadn’t been down here either. It was his domain and I wasn’t sure I was ready to run into him just yet.

Robbie was a few paces ahead of me, arguing with Danny about the best name for the dog we were never going to get and I was just about to holler at them to turn around when they finally stopped and went inside a store. I followed and it turned out to be one of those frozen yogurt places with a bank of serve-yourself machines and rows and rows of toppings. Robbie whooped and Danny reminded him they charged by weight and his offer to pay came with a limit of six bucks.

My appetite had disappeared, so I sat at a pink metal bistro table while the boys helped themselves under the watchful eye of a girl in a pastel-stripped golf shirt and matching visor standing at the cash. The place was air-conditioned and I let the cool air bring down my overheated body temperature and my over-anxious emotions. I was glad we’d stopped, only one block further was The Paradise, the bar where I first saw Hunter.

I’d left rural Nebraska, my mom, and my douchebag of a stepdad, only a month after my high school graduation. I had two hundred bucks in cash and a second-hand Dodge Dart that I’d purchased with money I’d saved working part-time jobs all through school. The car was my home for the first couple of months after I arrived. I slept in the back seat, finding places I could pull up for the night, showering in public washrooms, and surviving on convenience store burritos and hot dogs.

I took whatever work I could find, washing dishes in a restaurant in Koreatown and parking cars at a nightclub on Wiltshire. I even spent time dressed up in a ratty old Spiderman costume that smelled like sour cheese and bad breath, handing out flyers to tourists in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. Eventually, I managed to save enough to put a deposit down on a place to live. It was just a room in a kind of boarding house, but it gave me an address and I was able to secure a permanent job with a landscaping and pool cleaning firm, the same place I was still working.

It was my twenty-first birthday. I’d been in LA for almost a year but hadn’t yet ventured into this part of West Hollywood. I wasn’t closeted, I was fine with being gay, but since arriving I’d been focused on surviving, there hadn’t been time for partying. But that night I was feeling lonely. I wasn’t missing my actual family, with a substance-abusing mom, and a violent stepdad, my family had been a nightmare. But I was longing for company. I was also horny and so I threw on the cleanest pair of ripped jeans I owned, a fairly decent t-shirt, and headed out to West Hollywood to celebrate my newly legal status.

I didn’t know anything about The Paradise, it was pure dumb luck that I found a parking spot on a side street only a block away. It was the first bar I came to when I hit Santa Monica on foot. When I entered I didn’t find pounding music and muscle twinks gyrating on the dance floor, instead, I found that The Paradise catered to an older clientele. Bears in flannels and leather were all gathered around a mat watching a couple of guys in speedos wrestling each other. I got a beer and then joined the crowd to watch.

The two guys wrestling were locked together in some kind of submission hold, their muscles glistening with sweat and bugling as one strained against the other. I liked wrestling, I’d watched it on TV and had enjoyed participating a little during gym classes. However, I hadn’t connected it to anything erotic up till that moment. This was undeniably sexy though, and I felt my cock swelling inside the fabric of my jeans.

The match finished and I joined in applauding the winner enthusiastically, thinking how hot it would be to wrestle another guy like that and have it turn into sex. I was imagining some guy submitting to me and then force-feeding him my hard cock, when a guy in shorts and a long-sleeved shirt with a tie, began to introduce the next bout. It was then that I noticed a banner hung up on the wall behind the mats that read AW Enterprises. I learned later that AW stood for Arnold Wexler, he was the man on the mic, and his ‘Enterprise’ was making wrestling/porn videos that he sold via catalogs and on the internet. The event at the bar that night was being recorded and would become one of his best sellers.

The man who strolled through the crowd was wearing trunks, tall leather pro boots, and knee pads all in white, like some kind of angelic jobber. I soon found out he was anything but a jobber. He had short platinum blond hair, which I later discovered was bleached, and a tightly muscled body that looked deadly powerful - that was completely authentic. The man on the mic introduced him as Hunter Law.

He had one small tattoo on his left bicep, which he later told me he’d gotten while in the Navy, and one in the top corner of his right pec that he’d gotten after serving a nine-month sentence in county jail for assault. Both his nipples were pierced with silver hoops. He walked around the mat, not smiling and not acknowledging the sedate claps of the crowd.

His opponent was announced but I missed the name, I was too focused on Hunter. The pure masculine energy that emanated from him was like an electric charge pulsing through my body. He smiled for the first time when a young guy with big gym-pumped muscles and thick curly black hair, reached the mat and stood on the opposite side. It was not a friendly smile however, it was more like the smile of a predator when his prey comes into view. My body was buzzing with anticipation.

When the wrestling started I got the impression it wasn’t entirely real. Not that it was over the top or choreographed like the stuff on TV, but rather that Hunter was allowing the muscle boy to gain the upper hand. It seemed that at any moment Hunter could turn the tables on the kid and completely own him.

My suspicions were confirmed about five minutes in. The dark-haired guy had Hunter on his back in a headlock and the crowd was getting louder, cheering on the younger bodybuilder, wanting him to beat the older – I guessed Hunter to be mid-thirties - heel.

With a fistful of dark curls, Hunter pulled the kid's head back. This looked completely real. Eventually, the headlock was broken. Once free, he never let go of the hair and used it to drag the boy up with him. Then a knee to the groin brought the young man to his knees, it was clear play time was over.

Hunter climbed the back of his opponent, threaded his legs around the shoulders, held the wrists, and crossed his ankles behind the kid’s neck. The muscular chest of the bodybuilder was stretched to the limit. Once more the expression was pure, he was in real trouble and my scalp was tingling with the extra blood rushing to my face.

Hunter held this leg nelson long enough for the previous exuberant cheering to die down, but when it looked like the kid was about to submit, Hunter dropped the hold. The muscle-boy collapsed but he got no rest. His face was jammed between the thighs of the heel and once more his wrists were pulled back to meet just above his shoulder blades. Hunter then dropped to his knees and the curly head of hair smacked into the mat with force.

Hunter kept the face of his opponent locked in his legs and dropped to the side, he crossed his ankles and you could see the muscles of his quads tighten and bulge as he cranked on the scissors. It was spectacular, I was overwhelmed with thoughts of what it must feel like to be trapped in those incredible thighs, only I would want to be facing the other way, with my lips and nose pressing into the pouch of the white trunks.

The scissor was also held for a while, the kid struggling to break free gallantly, having no luck, but then getting released from the punishing hold just before he could submit.

Hunter swiveled around and put him in a headlock, trapping the kid's arm between his knees as well. The striations of his muscled shoulders popped and strained as it was stretched to the limit and his elbow was hyper-extended.

This had to be it, I thought, he was going to let the boy submit now, but I was wrong. The kid suffered in this position only to be let up again. Most of the crowd was actively booing now, but undeterred Hunter brought him up to standing with another handful of hair. Showing off his impressive strength, he lifted the heavier guy onto his shoulders. I was sweating profusely, my beer completely gone, and was breathless at the display of complete domination, brute force, and control.

Hunter walked the perimeter of the mat, smiling sadistically with his helpless muscle jobber slung around his neck. A few people cheered but others shouted at him to just let his opponent submit. In answer, he body-slammed the kid to the mats forcefully.

He planted a knee on his back to keep him down, he didn’t need to, the guy wasn’t moving by this point, but pinning him like this added to the aura of his supremacy. To add further humiliation he yanked the trunks into the crack of bodybuilder's hard round ass and spanked his cheeks. I felt each blow in my groin.

Hunter took hold of the guy's legs and cranked them back, at the same time he slid his knee up till it was now pressing down on the neck. The helpless dude’s spine was bent into a u shape. I learned later that the proper name for this move was a Boston crab, but at the time I only knew it was the most spectacular and sexy position I’d seen. Hunter, who had been fairly quiet, was now growling and demanding that the guy submit, the kid was moaning his face contorted in real pain but trapped and unable to get himself free.

My dick swelled, the dark-haired guy's hand reached out ready to slap the mat. Hunter sneered and leaned further, I almost came.

Finally, it happened, the muscle boy was allowed to submit, his hand slapped the mat a bunch of times and I could hear him screaming “I give I give,” frantically.

Hunter held the Boston for a second or two longer then unceremoniously dropped his hold and moved off. He planted a foot where his knee had been, then flexed his biceps. It was mesmerizing.

To my disappointment, he didn’t stick around and keep posing as I would have liked. He gave his opponent one last disdainful glare then moved off the mat into the crowd who parted for him without hesitation. The bodybuilder was helped off the mat and I came out of my trance. New introductions were being made - but I wasn’t interested in watching the next bout. I was in a Hunter-induced daze.

I made my way back to the bar and ordered another beer. While I sat chugging it down a guy next to me started making small talk, but I grunted one-word answers till he got the message and moved away. All I could think about was the way Hunter had finished the match. The jobber's face, and Hunter’s sneer. I wanted to experience that badly and a random bar pick-up paled in comparison.

After downing another beer I could no longer ignore my full bladder so I went in search of the bathroom.

I found one in the back - tiny and not too clean. There were two urinals hung closely together and I took a spot at the open one. Even though I was shoulder to shoulder with the guy next to me I didn’t look at him, instead adhering to the unwritten rules of public washroom use, and staring straight ahead. However, he made a grunting noise and I couldn’t help but turn in his direction. It was then I caught the platinum blond hair and the arm tattoo, and I realized who I was standing beside. My heart picked up speed and I felt my face flush. He was dressed in jeans and a tight, sky-blue tank top, but it was him, the wrestler, and up close my attraction to him was overwhelming.

I heard the sound of his zipper being pulled up. I was desperate to make some kind of contact before he left. Without thinking I turned to face him, cock still in hand. He turned at the same time, and the last stream of my pee splashed across his shoes.

There was absolute silence as he looked down at his feet. Even the noise of the audience and the wrestlers on the other side of the wall seemed to disappear. I was too mortified to speak.

“Did you just piss on my shoes?” His voice was low, deep, and raspy.

I began to stammered an apology but without warning his arm shot up, he gripped my neck and forced my back against the tile wall.

“You pissed on my shoes,” he growled.

His face was inches from mine and I noticed his eyes matched the blue of his shirt. He wasn’t pushing in on my windpipe so I could still breathe, but I could feel the force of his fingers on the side of my neck and knew there would probably be bruises after.

“I’m so sorry,” I finally managed to get out.

He watched me for a second. My body tensed, I expected his other fist to smack into my nose at any second. But I could not defend myself and escape was impossible. He was too strong, and his hold on me too firm.

I kept my arms at my sides and waited. I had plenty of experience dealing with violence from my stepdad, he would punch first and ask questions later. I knew to struggle meant I’d only get hit harder. I was also still thinking about the wrestling match and how sexy he was.

The hard line of Hunter’s lips relaxed slightly and the corners of his mouth turned up.

“You’re sorry… what?” he demanded.

I wasn’t sure what he wanted, “I’m sorry I pee’d on your shoes,” I tried.

It was the wrong answer. He pushed and my back moved up the slick surface of the wall till I was standing on my tip toes.

“I’m sorry I pee’d on your shoes… WHAT?”

It clicked, “I’m sorry I pee’d on your shoes SIR,” I answered.

The slight smile got a little wider. He relaxed his arm so my feet were fully on the floor again and he eased up on my windpipe. He glanced down at my exposed cock. I knew from the gym class locker room that I was exceptionally gifted down there, plus I was sporting some wood by this point so my dick filled the space between us.

“That’s quite the piece you got there son,” he purred, “like a fucking fire hose.”

With his free hand, he took hold of my meat. He gripped it as tight as he did my neck and his rough palm made my knees weak.

“You shoot more than just piss out of this fire hose?” he teased, then began to stoke me. He ran his thumb over the slit and my whole body shivered.

“You shoot for me boy and maybe I won’t kick your ass for pissing on my shoes.”

“Here?” I gasped.

“What are you some kind of pussy? Do it, cum right now.”

His rough tugging and his rough voice had me fully hard now. He leaned in and his lips met mine. His tongue shot aggressively into my mouth and he sucked back what little air I was able to take in. It wasn't so much a kiss as it was a wrestling move and if I hadn't already been completely under his control I would have tapped with the force of it. I felt a tingling in the base of my spine, my load was building.

He pulled back, nipping at my bottom lip with his teeth. I felt his chest press against mine, and the hard circles of his nipple rings dug into my pecs.

His fingers tightened around my neck. I was really struggling to breathe now. I was seeing little pinpricks of light bursting across my vision. I choked and gasped.

“What’s that boy? You say something?” he grunted in my ear.

“Please,” I managed to wheeze.

“Please what?”

“Please, Sir.”

“Yeah that’s good, come on boy, you either cum or you pass out. Are you a man or a pussy… what will it be?”

I was leaking like a punctured milk carton, my balls were tight, full, and ready to burst.

“DO IT NOW BOY!” he yelled.

The light in the bathroom, not bright to begin with, got even darker, my lungs were burning. With a final push and a wave of body convulsions, my dick exploded. Cum hit his hand, forearm and then shot past him to splatter the opposite wall.

“Hell yeah!” he murmured, “You do have a fucking firehose don’t’cha boy, maybe that’s what I’ll call you – Firehose.”

He pumped a few more times draining my cock fully, then he let go and ran his cum covered hand across my face depositing gobs of my jizz on my cheeks and mouth. Finally, he dropped the hold on my throat and stepped back. Without his support I crumpled to the floor, sucking air into my depleted lungs hungrily.

“Clean up and meet me outside Firehose,” he ordered. “It's my turn.”

I went back to his apartment in Manhattan Beach that night. Within a week I was spending most of my time there. After a month I stopped paying rent on my bedsit and moved my bags of crap into his place permanently. Shortly after he took me to my first video wrestling shoot at a garage out in Long Beach with a wrestling ring. I only watched but I met Arnold Wexler and he invited me to film for him as well. It took me a couple of months to work up the courage, but I wrestled with Hunter often at home, and sometimes he’d stop and teach me things, but most of the time I learned stuff from him the hard way – getting my ass kicked. Eventually, I felt confident enough to try it.

The first video I made was with Hunter. It was a one-on-one punishment thing, with him acting as the wrestling coach and me the eager student. I was terrible at first, I kept breaking down into giggles when Hunter was ‘acting’ and we had to stop and start three times before I managed to hold it together. After that, I got better. I made a few more videos, this time wrestling with other guys and I experienced the equal thrill of being the dominant one, especially when Hunter watched me.

We’d been together about seven months when he hit me in anger for the first time. It was just a slap, but it was hard enough to leave a red handprint on my cheek that lasted a few days. The reason, I hadn’t done the laundry and the shirt he wanted to wear was dirty. It was about a month later that he knocked me out. We’d been at a party and I had made a joke about him dying his hair in front of his friends. He’d laughed when I said it, but when we got home he punched me without warning. He must have kicked me as well but I don’t remember. I woke up on the floor of our bedroom, my nose bleeding, one eye swelled shut, and a bruised rib that made breathing excruciating for a few weeks after. It was maybe a month later that he went after me again, but this time I punched him back. A neighbor called the cops but by the time they arrived, it was over. I was pretty busted up, and the cops wanted to call an ambulance and press charges, but I refused. I had too many bad memories of social services getting involved when my stepdad beat me up to trust anyone in authority when it came to domestic violence. Instead, I took solace from the black eye I’d managed to give Hunter, waited till he fell asleep, then put my bags of crap in my car and left. I hadn’t seen him since.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” Danny asked. He took a seat at the table holding a paper bowl with a sensible amount of frozen yogurt and toppings. Robbie was still at the cash trying to negotiate a discount on his dish that was certainly well over Danny’s six-dollar limit.

“Thanks, I’m good. I’ll just take a bite of yours,” I smiled.

He smiled back and handed over his cup.

It was funny to think how things had changed since he and Robbie had moved in. After I’d left Hunter I’d gone back to living in my car. Even though he was a psychopath there were lots of times I thought about going back to him. I’d be blinded by my cock, deluded into thinking that the man I saw in the bar that night, and the one in the bathroom was just a character. A sexy game of dom and sub that didn’t extend past the bedroom or the mats, and that really he was a good guy. But he wasn't, that heel was him and the masculinity that had overwhelmed me with desire was as toxic as a nuclear waste dump. I didn’t like to think what that said about me, like mother like son I supposed.

I had to acknowledge it, I had been avoiding this area, fearful of seeing him again, but somehow with Robbie and Danny in my life, I realized I was less afraid. I had a family now, maybe not by blood, but emotionally at least, these guys were my brothers, and knowing they had my back made me stronger.

“Mira qué cabrón, fifteen fucking bucks that gringa bitch charged me," Robbie grunted, stuffing a heaping spoonful of ice cream and toppings into his mouth as he took a seat, “you owe me six bucks.” He told Danny.

Bonded Like Brothers Part One

Robbie was caught in a full nelson. He was struggling to break free, grunting, flexing his chest, arms, and shoulders trying to force Danny’s hands apart. His lean, hard muscles rippled as he pulled downward. The elastic waistband of his loose boxer shorts sat low on his hips exposing a substantial bush of dark pubic hair. Apart from his densely coated legs, and the thick mop of black curls on his head, it was the only part of him that was hairy. His semi hard uncut cock poked out through the slit in the boxers as he fought. My cock swelled inside my shorts.

I’d walked in on them mid-fight. My first reaction was to pull them apart. It wouldn't have been the first time I'd had to do that since we'd been together, but then I noticed the sparse furniture in our living room had been pushed to the side, and a blanket had been placed on the carpet. This wasn't them fighting - it was a playful and planned wrestling match, something I imagined was common among brothers so close in age and size. Confirmation came when Robbie, who had Danny in a headlock, laughed, called his opponent a pussy, and slapped his ass, which elicited giggles from Danny.

So instead of interfering I threw my bag down and sat on the floor with my back against the wall to watch. I'd been working a landscaping job with a bunch of shirtless muscle studs all day and, although tired, was horny as hell.

With a final growl, Robbie accomplished his goal and broke the nelson. He twisted and threw his weight on top of Danny. They fought with hands and legs trying to gain a top position, then rolled across the blanket tangled up together.

I thought of them as brothers but technically they weren't. No relation at all in fact. However, it would be easy to assume that. They looked a bit alike. Both were about the same height, somewhere around 5'8, and both were lean and muscled, with impressive washboard stomachs and fully rounded asses. Both were boyishly handsome, with wide mouths, full lips, and small straight noses, however, Robbie’s heavily lidded eyes were a deep brown, with thick lashes, set beneath bushy eyebrows that arched upward giving him the look of someone always about to cause trouble. Danny’s eyes were larger, a golden green color, his eyebrows thin, and turned down at the end - giving him the look of someone who was always deep in thought. Robbie's complexion was also a shade darker, Danny was pinker, plus his hair was chestnut and bone straight.

However, it was less their looks and more how they acted that would make you think of them as brothers. They were protective but the deep affection was hidden behind constant bickering and teasing. They were also competitive and fought ferociously, sometimes in play, like now, but every so often, in anger.

To illustrate my thought, with a handful of hair, Robbie smashed Danny's head into the floor. I tensed, again ready to separate them, but then relaxed again when Danny retaliated by driving his elbow into Robbie's chin. They could play rough if they wanted, as long as it was also fair.

Danny forced Robbie onto his back and then tried to move to the side, but Robbie blocked him with his legs, trapping Danny's head in the space just behind one knee. Then he locked his ankles together. The lighter boy howled as his neck was constricted by the scissors. Robbie celebrated by reaching up, yanking down on Danny's white briefs, and slapping the perfectly unblemished ass cheeks of his opponent. He laughed and then demanded a submission.

I was very hard now… and sweating. It was hot outside and there was no AC in our tiny apartment. I pulled my dirty t-shirt over my head, balled it up, and used it to wipe away some of the moisture on my chest, then reached into my shorts and began to stroke my cock.

Although they knew I’d come home, neither had acknowledged me yet, both too intent on wrestling. However, with his opponent secured, Robbie was able to glance at me. He winked and smiled. He was a showman, he loved to perform, and I could see his leg muscles bulge as he tightened his scissors and amped up his aggressive commands to tap out… all for my benefit.

Performing was how we'd met. It was not quite a year ago that I'd been hired to film a scene for a low-budget porn company. I'd lost most of the contacts I had in the industry after I left Hunter, but this director had gotten my name and number from somewhere and offered me the job. I would have said no right away, but it was just regular, very basic sucking and fucking porn, which my ex never did, and I could certainly use the extra cash, so I felt safe taking the job.

When I arrived at the location, a tract house in the valley, I was introduced to Robbie, my scene partner.

I panicked. He looked like a kid. He claimed to be nineteen, but I was pretty sure that he was one of the many underage runaways who worked Santa Monica Boulevard as rent boys. Something felt wrong about fucking this kid on camera. I wasn't completely comfortable doing any kind of porn, if it hadn’t been for Hunter, I wouldn’t have gotten involved at all, and something about this situation brought out the Puritan in me.

I talked to the director about my concern, but he was high on something, and couldn’t have cared less. I told him I wouldn’t film the scene unless they showed me some proof of age. Robbie lost it, demanded to know why I was being such a pussy, then called me a bunch of rude names in Spanish. The desperation on his face, and in his voice, confirmed that I was right, I wanted the money, but he needed it. It escalated and he threw a punch. I defended myself and we ended up wrestling on the ground. While I was trying to restrain him and he continued to try and take my head off, we broke a table, a lamp, and knocked the director's camera off its tripod. That sobered him up and he screamed at us to get out, we were both fired. Robbie left, but I stayed and demanded that the guy pay me at least a portion of what he'd promised. When I threatened to call the cops, he coughed up fifty bucks which at least covered the gas I'd used to drive out there.

Outside I found Robbie sitting on the sidewalk, his head buried in his arms. I apologized and when he lifted his face to tell me to shove my apology up my ass, his cheeks were damp with tears. I knew the desperation. It was only a few years since I’d been in a similar place. Not quite a runaway, but only nineteen, alone, penniless, and doing whatever I could to get by.

“You owe me a hundred bucks,” he’d demanded.

“You were only getting a hundred?” I responded, “I was getting two fifty.”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth opened to let loose with another string of Spanish insults, but I cut him off.

“Look, I don’t have a hundred bucks, but how about fifty, and I’ll throw in dinner. When was the last time you ate?" I asked.

I got called a few more names and told to mind my own business but it was just bravado, he took the fifty and got in the passenger seat of my shitty little dodge.

We stopped at a taco place on the way back to Weho, and after demolishing two El Grande Burrito Supremes, I heard his story for the first time.
I’ve heard it several times now and with each telling the details have changed but the general gist has always remained the same. He’d come across the border illegally with his mom when he was a child, but only a few years after, he was abandoned. Once he told us his mom was the daughter of a drug kingpin and they’d escaped Mexico while being chased by thugs with machine guns. Another time she was the mistress of a famous luchador and was running from the wrestler's jealous wife. One time he was smuggled past border security in the trunk of a car, another he’d held his mother's neck while she swam the shark-infested waters from Baja to San Deigo. She’d either been caught and deported in an ICE raid, or gone into hiding to protect him from the gang members who were still searching for her, but whatever the case, he’d been alone since he was seven.

What happened after didn't come with imagined flourishes. He’d been taken in by another family, also illegals, but they were abusive and used him as unpaid labor. The cycle of running away, getting picked up by social services, and then running away again, started after that. At sixteen, when he ran away from a group home, nobody came looking for him, and he’d been living on the streets, stealing and turning tricks ever since. I also got the proof of age I’d demanded. With a smug look, he’d flashed me a social security card that stated his name was Roberto Delacruz and his birthday was August 15, 1986, making him legally nineteen. It may have been fake, but it was impossible to tell so I had to accept it as truth.

After dinner, I asked him where he was staying. There was a flop house he and a few others were crashing at off Sunset he said, but there was no running water and asked if he could come back to my place to shower.

Against my better judgment, I brought him to my ratty apartment, but kept a close eye on him, sure that the moment my back was turned he’d rob me blind. What happened instead though was he’d called my name and when I went in the bathroom to see what he wanted he was standing in the tub, the curtain open, with his thick cock hard as a rock. He smiled and asked if I wanted to join him. I did.

Just the two of us, with no cameraman or coked-out director present, it no longer felt wrong, so I took off my clothes and we had pretty decent sex. It had been six months since Hunter, and I was very horny. I sucked his cock in the shower, then we moved to my mattress, and I fucked him, both of us cumming in a great gush.
'
I offered to let him stay but he refused. He had to get back. "To what," I asked, but he wouldn’t say. After another shower, this one solo, he was gone.

Two days later he was back, but this time with Danny in tow. In what was probably the stupidest and rashest decision I’ve ever made, I let them inside. They never left.

With a cry of triumph from Danny and a howl of pain from Robbie, the head scissors ended. Danny had a handful of his opponent's cock and was squeezing for all his worth. Robbie lashed out with his forearm, shoving his tormentor off, and then scrambled back nursing his throbbing nuts. Without giving him any time to recover Danny launched himself and wrapped his lean arms around Robbie’s waist pulling him into a tight bearhug.

I was solid now, my balls tight and full, ready to explode. Danny's briefs were halfway down his ass, exposing the perky round mounds of his cheeks still rosy from Robbie’s slaps. As they twisted and thrashed around, I saw his remarkably large cock was out of the underwear pouch and was pressed tight to the darker boy's stomach.

“Fuck you!” Robbie grunted, his face contorted in pain from the tight squeeze on his ribs.

“Not this time bitch,” Danny grinned.

I pushed my shorts and briefs down setting my cock free and began stroking it vigorously.

Slowly, Robbie began to move from his knees to his feet. Danny went with him, still clinging tightly to the bearhug. Once up Robbie swept his foot and both boys toppled over. They fell hard, Danny on the bottom, and his hold broke apart.

A mad scramble followed Robbie had come close to tapping in the bearhug, and in retaliation, he got rougher, with slaps, elbows, and hair pulling. He hated losing, even when it was just for fun. He was a brawler, with no qualms about sportsmanship or fair play. Danny didn't back off though - his angelic face masked a tough-as-nails interior.

He was a runaway as well, but his story was less dramatic, and unfortunately all too common for gay kids from religious families. His were Mormon, some kind of very strict branch, and he'd left rural Utah at seventeen when things at home became unbearable. He and Robbie had found each other a couple of years ago and had been inseparable ever since, bonded like brothers, watching out for each other, navigating the mean streets together.

In the melee, the underwear of both was pulled off. They came up to their knees, semi-hard cocks jutting out from thick patches of hair and faced off. Robbie slapped Danny's cheek, leaving a red handprint that matched the one on his butt cheek. I saw Danny's eyes spark, he was smiling but the slap was a humiliation he was not going to take, even from the brother he loved.

He dove at Robbie, knocking him to the side, then he twisted and took his back. One arm closed around his brother's neck, the bicep cutting deep. He pressed his head tight to Robbie’s ear, preventing him from turning, then grabbed his other arm, bringing that hand to the back of the neck. It was a beautifully executed choke.

Hunter had taught me that, and I had taught it to Danny.

Robbie squealed at being caught, he knew the submission as well and shouldn’t have gotten caught so easily - but it was too late. Danny rolled onto his back, bringing his victim with him, then wrapped his legs around the darker boy's waist. Robbie was coughing and wheezing as the choke took its toll. Danny was grinning, squeezing his elbows tighter and roughly shaking Robbie’s trapped head.

“Give!” he commended.

There was no answer apart from more labored breaths.

I pumped my cock harder, the palm of my hand gliding up and down easily, lubricated by sweat and precum.

“I got you! GIVE!” Danny yelled.

I closed my eyes and threw my head back. I groaned as I felt the load moving closer.

“Okay, I give,” I heard Robbie wheeze.

My leg muscles tensed, and my arm picked up speed.

Suddenly my hand was pulled from my cock, and I felt two tongues run along the length of my shaft. I opened my eyes to see two heads of sweat-soaked hair buried in my crotch, one brown, one black. I gasped and shuddered as the bucket load of cum I’d been seconds away from shooting retreated slightly. It was almost painful.

Danny lifted his head and smiled, as Robbie's mouth closed around my dick and then sank down on it till his lips were buried in my bush. Danny moved up my torso with his mouth, kissing and licking my abs, stopping briefly to nibble each nipple, then my neck before ending at my lips. His tongue pushed past my teeth to wrestle with my tongue.

We kissed as Robbie continued to suck on my cock, pausing briefly to lick and kiss my over-full ball sack.

Danny pulled away, his eyes twinkled, the gold flecks igniting momentarily. He smiled again and flexed one of his arms. The bicep rose into a perfectly peaked mound, and then he brought it forward for me to appreciate it with my mouth.

"I won," he whispered as I kissed his arm, and that was it for me.

My cock exploded into Robbie's mouth, the hot stream of cum hitting the back of his throat with the force of a garden hose. He kept his lips firmly in place, sucking back and swallowing every drop. I moaned; my hips thrust forcing my dick further into Robbie’s throat and almost knocking a still-flexing Danny over. My whole body spasmed as I drained the last of my spunk. I tilted to the side and dropped down to my back while the aftershocks of my climax continued to rock my core.

With a final slurp, Robbie lifted his head off my dick. His grin was as wide as Danny’s.

As the last tremor rolled through me the two boys moved to lay on either side of me, settling into the crook of my arms, with heads resting on my chest, gently kissing and licking my nipples.

We lay like this for a while, I stoked their heads, feeling the soft bristles at the base of their scalps. I had recently given them both haircuts with clippers I'd gotten from a thrift store.

I could have stayed there for a while, but the spell was broken when my stomach gurgled and both boys giggled at the sound.

“Go shower,” I told them. I’ll start dinner.”

If you want more be sure to check out my full length wrestling novels. Message me for details.

As I edit a video I filmed for my Watchfighters page, (shameless plug: https://www.watchfighters.com/channels/canwrestle) I am contemplating what made this particular meet "ALMOST" perfect.

This is subjective of course, there are lots of opinions on what perfect is, and by no means do I think my preferred style is the only valid one. Nor do I want to give the impression that I haven’t experienced really awesome meet ups apart from this one. However, having read OsakaRob’s interesting post about your “wrestling quotient”, where he suggests one metric for our own desirability as a wrestler is the ability to fully explain what we are looking for in a match, what that means to me, and whether I can do that, has been on my mind. When I think about it, this one comes pretty damn close as an example of what was perfect for me... almost.

This match took place in my hotel with the incredible Bobby Ben Carter the first night of Wrestlefest Canada this past July. Although it was the first time Bobby and I were meeting in person, we had been chatting for months leading up to the event, and had built a pretty good friendship. This meant that when he came to my room we were already comfortable with each other. There wasn’t any awkwardness, our personalities meshed and the relationship we’d created on line was well established before we put the gear on.

We’d also talked about our likes and what we enjoyed extensively and so were comfortable with what was going to happen. Of course there is that fear that we will be disappointing in person. That we won’t live up to the persona created by sharing pics and messages, however, this didn't last long and we were quickly relaxed and easy with each other. Bobby exceeded my expectations and I got the feeling I met his.

The wrestling started and the only thing we planned was that we would wear matching singlets – for the shits and giggles. Right from the lock up we were in synch. We are very similar in height and weight and pretty close in strength (although he might have me there, but I think I got him in experience). I can enjoy the mismatch of wrestling with a larger or smaller opponent, but for me there is something special when the two combatants are equals. This was the case and the chemistry we shared in personality transferred to the physical.

Style is a tricky thing, especially when you add the video component. I pride myself on being flexible in this area, moving easily from pro to real submission and even freestyle depending on my opponent. Bobby and I had talked about a real wrestling match, but we also discussed that if you are making a video, that to keep things interesting, you need to qualify that realness with some flow. One guy in mount moving at a snail’s pace to secure a submission, while the guy on bottom moves equally slowly to reverse, does not make for an interesting video. You have to be able to give a little, allow a sequence to play out, and control your intensity so you’re not making your opponent tap within seconds. This is a hard skill to master. It helps if you have training, or experience at least. You have to walk a fine line and not everyone can or is willing to do this. Within the first few minutes of wrestling I knew Bobby had a good mastery of this skill. The fight would be real, but safe and controlled. I’d be sore and sweaty after we were done, but not injured, and we’d have a good video to share as a bonus. I also didn’t know if I would win or lose. It was going to be close and that gets my juices flowing.

Wrestling is inherently erotic for me. I get off on it, that’s why I’m here. If I want sport I can go to my BJJ club and wrestle all the straight boys I want. What I hope when meeting someone from here is that there will be an attraction and the wrestling will include an erotic component. It doesn’t always happen, and that’s okay too, also what constitutes erotic can change depending on the person and the situation. Maybe the match will end in a mutual jerk, maybe there will be nudity, oral or sometimes even more. All can be satisfying and I can usually find pleasure in whatever happens. However, what it really means is, I like when the aggression is mixed with moments of passion, when there is kissing, body worship or more.

In this match the first kiss happened after about ten minutes of straight wrestling. I can’t remember which of us initiated it, but I know it happened spontaneously, coming out of the wrestling, pausing it for a moment, but by no means stopping it. I believe Bobby followed up the making out by trying to choke me out with a guillotine. As the match progressed, the frequency of these moments and the intensity of them built. For me this is exactly how I want the eroticism to happen - a natural extension of the fight. I’m not talking about dominance either, although that can be fun if it’s your thing. I’m talking about the struggle, the bond, the challenge and ultimately what it leads to. It’s not something that happens often, but when it does, it’s absolutely perfect in my opinion.

The title of the blog is "ALMOST" perfect, and there was unfortunately one thing that I would have changed if I could. Both Bobby and I had somewhere to be so unfortunately we had to end the match after the third submission. I could have gone many more rounds with this incredible guy and I believe so could he. Also, because of our prior commitments, the singlets did not come all the way off, something that, if we’d had the time, would definitely have happened next. The bright spot however is that we are both ready for a rematch and are now fully aware that we should plan to go all night the next time.

Not every meet is going to be perfect, and it doesn’t mean that the ones that aren’t suck. I can honestly say that most of my matches have been good ones in one aspect or another, but every so often we get lucky, all the stars align and all the elements are present to create the "ALMOST" perfect match.

For the rack or backbreaker fans I just uploaded a free compilation video to my watchfighters.
A great finisher and an awesome way to humble an opponent. What could be more dominant then having a guy drapped across your shoulders, helpless and begging to submit ? Especially if he's been stripped of his gear.
10 racks from 10 different matches, Dad vs Dad, Dad vs Son, 2 vs 1, AND clips from 2 as yet unreleased videos.
Check it out, drop a like and follow !
Cheers