Thursday, July 16, 2015

AWL: The Adventures of Danny Chase 5

"I really don't get the problem, Danny. UH! UH! UH! UH! UH! UH! UHHH! ARGH! UH! YES! Oh fuck. Woo, for a second there, I didn’t think I could pound that last one out. Your turn."

With Rex finished, we switch positions. He straddles my head as I wrap my hands around the thick steel rod that hangs over my face. Before I start pumping, I respond, "It’s not as easy as all that, Rex. Yeah, it’s tempting. Shit, it’s $5,000. Of course it’s tempting. But it’s also a little weird, you know? UNH! UNH! UNH! UNH! UNH! UNH! UNH! UNH! UNH! UNNNNNNH! Fuck, that felt good. New personal best!”

While I rest, let me catch you up. My name is Danny Chase. Or Daring Danny Chase to my fans. I'm talking with my best friend, Rex Taylor. We're both pro wrestlers, working mostly for the American Wrestling League and Men's Wrestling Alliance. We're at the AWL gym pumping iron, trying to keep in shape. It's early Sunday morning, so we've got the place to ourselves as we discuss what happened to me at the MWA show yesterday.

Rex is the only person I can talk to, because he’s the only person close to me who knows that I've spent the past few months as a star in the very underground and very private MWA. It caters to a wealthy clientele that appreciates watching men like me wrestle in the ring. Unlike the AWL, in the MWA, the more I lose and the more humiliation I suffer, the more attention, money and prominence I gain. Thanks to Rex hooking me up with the MWA, 1983 is ending with me in a decent place, both emotionally and financially.

By the time we’re back in the locker room, I’m still confused on what to do. I’m sitting on the bench, peeling off my socks, the last bit of sweaty clothing to be removed before we hit the showers. I reach back and pull a slip of paper from my bag, staring at it intently.

Realizing we're not headed to the shower, Rex takes a seat on the bench beside me. He leans in and looks over my shoulder at the note. “Wow, it is real. Danny, that says $5,000 for one match. Talk about a Christmas fucking miracle.”

I nod. “It sure would make Christmas 1983 one to remember. You know, I planned to buy my family real gifts for the first time, like, ever. One of those Commodore 64’s for my brother, one of those Betamax machines for the folks. I finally could pull my weight, but then the whole thing with Dino and Anthony …”

Rex hangs his head. He says, “Sure, make me feel like crap for ruining the Chase family Christmas.”

I instantly regret my comment. It hasn't even been a month since I was forced to give my life savings over to a couple of loan sharks to save Rex, who gambled and spent himself into debt. I'd do it again, but I know he's still hurting over the whole thing. I reach around and grab Rex' shoulder, letting him know we’re okay.

I reassure him, “Rex, you know I don’t mean it like that. I seriously don't regret anything. But if this is real, it would put me almost right back where I was.” In silence, Rex and I again look over the impeccable handwriting on the small slip of paper that was discreetly stuffed into my trunks at some point during the mingling in the lounge:

I ask Rex for the thousandth time, "So you'd really do it?"

Rex doesn’t hesitate, giving me the same answer he’s been giving me for an hour. "Hell yeah! I just wish he'd made me this offer, because then I could pay you back. It's $5,000 for one match. I would check it out in a heartbeat."

I fold the note and we grab our towels to head to the showers. I decide to at least call and talk to this Hubert guy. If it's really just wrestling, I'd be stupid not to follow up.

It’s a Deal

So, it’s Tuesday night and I’m heading up the impossibly long driveway, having agreed to a match with an anonymous rich guy. I’ve never even seen or met him – his butler slipped the note in my trunks. Maybe it’s not as crazy as it sounds. Rich guys are different from you and me. When I called, I did get a really good feeling about Hubert. He loves, knows and is actually trained in wrestling, with a real ring in his house that he never gets to use with anyone. When he talked about just practicing on his own, I felt bad for the dude, picturing this lonely old guy rolling around a big old ring all by himself.

We talked a lot about our match. Naturally, Hubert wants to be the heel to my role as face. He says he wants to test his skills, so he doesn’t want me to job (i.e., let him win). That might be true, but he's a big fan of mine because of how well I lose in AWL. I'll make it look good, but I'll definitely let him win a fall or something. He prefers my pink trunks and white boots, which doesn’t surprise me. It’s my most popular look in the MWA, too.

When I finally reach the massive mansion, I get out of the car, suddenly feeling completely out of place in my jeans, t-shirt, jean jacket, and worn out Chucks. Heck, I’m probably under dressed to be a gardener here. When I step on the front porch, the front door swings opens and a guy emerges. I immediately recognize him from the MWA. He's Kevin. I've talked to him many times. So he's the one who stuffed the note in my trunks. Interesting.

Kevin welcomes me. We make small talk until he says, "Mr. Howard will be waiting in the ring area for you."

I freeze until it clicks. "Wait, did you call Hubert, 'Mr. Howard'? As in Hubert Howard? Not THE Hubert Howard?”

“Yes, Mr. Chase. THE Hubert Howard.”

"Whoa. Radical." That’s all I can say as I realize that I'll be wrestling THE Hubert Howard, the famous boy gazillionaire. Well, he was a teen millionaire in the late 60's, so he's not really a boy any more. He's probably, like, 35-years old by now? I guess we'll see, but he's definitely not an old man. The guy supposedly went nuts and has been a total recluse for, like five years. Suddenly, I'm a little overwhelmed.

Kevin escorts me into a small locker room. He asks me to thoroughly shower and clean myself. I heard Mr. Howard is crazy afraid of germs, so I get it. I strip down then wash my hands. Kevin gives me special shampoo, soap and toothpaste, along with a toothbrush and towels wrapped in plastic.

When I'm done, I go out the other side of the shower area into a small changing room. I find my gear laid out for me. Well, not my gear exactly. Wrapped in plastic are perfect replicas of my normal gear - pink trunks with a white star on the front and 'Chase' written on the back, pink pads and white boots. I unwrap them and slip them on. I do some stretches and bends. Wow, perfect fit. Like literally perfect, the boots are even broken in. Crazy. How’d he do this in two days?

There's a sleeveless white ring jacket and a championship belt there that I've been asked to wear to the ring. I pull on the jacket and snap the belt around my waist snugly. Okay, dude is obviously a little crazy, but it's all actually kind of fun to wear a belt, even a fake one.

I'll show a scrawny little millionaire some real pro moves, get paid and be on my way. Easy money.

The Famous Mr. Howard

I walk into the ring area and wait at the curtain, taking it all in. It's slick with a professional-sized ring and black walls with spotlights over the squared circle. It looks really good. Over the loud speaker, Kevin comes on and gives me an introduction, like in a real match.

"Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, this is a best two-out-of-three contest for the Heavyweight Championship of the World!" Fake cheers are pumped into the room. Wow, I guess when you're this rich, you really can do anything.

"Introducing first, standing 6'1" tall, weighing in at 225-lbs, please welcome your reigning World Champion, Daring! Danny! Chaaaaaaaaase!"

I play along, running to the ring, sliding under the bottom rope, raising my hands and spinning, as though there was a real audience. I bounce on the canvas a few times then run into the ropes, getting a feel for the ring. I unzip my white satin jacket down to the title belt, but I don't take it off. I save that for Mr. Howard to see. I've been in MWA long enough to know the kinds of things these guys like.

Kevin starts Hubert's intro. "And his challenger, from parts unknown, weighing in at 250-lbs ..."

I think, "Oh, Hubert’s not a scrawny rich guy, he's a fat rich guy."

"... Here is Hubert 'THE BEAST' Howard!" Boos are piped in now, befitting a hated heel. I can't help but smile. At least until the curtain parts and The Beast appears. My smile is replaced by a stunned look.

"Oh shit." It's all I can think. Hubert Howard really is a beast. He slowly walks to the ring, looking like a caveman. A very fit caveman. He's wearing black gear and a heel-ish scowl. I can't see much more of his face, as it's covered by a beard and long hair that's clumped in dreadlocks. Obviously it hasn't been cut in god knows how many years. And his 6'2", 250-lbs body isn't fat. I'm not sure if there's an ounce of fat on him. No, this guy is all muscle. Shit, he's bigger and more muscular than a lot of guys in the AWL. The Beast climbs into the ring, not saying a word. I can't take my eyes off him. My mind is racing, as all my assumptions about this match fly out the window.

As Hubert walks up the stairs and climbs into the ring, Kevin emerges in referee's attire. He comes between us, patting both of us down. He does an especially thorough job with me and for just a second, I think I see Howard's scowl turn into a smile as he watches. I gather myself and remember this guy is paying for a match. I step towards The Beast, looking as confident as I can.

I spread my arms and flex them. I make a production of reaching back to unsnap my belt. I peel it off slowly then bring it to my chest and pat it, while mouthing, "Mine". I hand it to Kevin, who holds it up high, showing the imaginary crowd. I strip off the white jacket, tossing it out of the ring. I flex my biceps again, bounce my pecs and move back towards my corner. The Beast hasn't taken his eyes off me, but it’s obvious that he’s enjoying the show I'm putting on for him.

Kevin does the usual referee talk then sounds the bell that rests on the far ringpost. Hubert and I circle. I roll my shoulders, getting ready. He continues to play the heel role well, staring me down. At least I hope he's playing the heel and he's not just a crazy muscle man.

The Match Begins

We move in for a collar-and-elbow lock up. I actually try to resist, but The Beast forces me into the corner hard. He is fucking strong, stronger than me. Shit. When his knee comes up into my abs, I know this is for real. Fuck.

The ref, Kevin, tells him to break, which he does, but in typical heel fashion, he slams his forearm across my chest. I don't have to act like it hurts, because it actually does. I sag on the ropes. He drives the back of his forearm into the side of my head this time. The ref steps in and pushes him back as I gather myself.

I'm surprised by all this, but I know I need to get my head in the game. Dude paid for a real match and that's what he's doing. Those blows sure didn't feel pulled. I shake them off as best I can and move out for another lockup. When we move together, I duck under his arms, moving beside him.

When I turn to slam my fist into his back, I'm met by a donkey kick right into my abs. The Beast's big black boot flies up into my unfleshed abs, driving the wind from me. I bend over as the muscular millionaire spins and clocks me again. I drop to one knee, staggered by the force of his fist to my temple. When his boot comes up into my chest, I fly backwards, landing in a seated position in the corner.

The heel takes advantage. He stomps the sole of his boot square on my chest, pummeling my pecs with his power. The big man forces me to my feet, continuing to ignore Kevin's command to break. SLAP! SLAP! Two hard chops cut across my pecs before I'm whipped across the ring. CLANG! I slam in hard, back first, into the opposite corner.

When I bounce off, another boot comes up into my abs, bending me over again. The big man reaches over my back, wrapping his strong arms around my waist. With a quick and powerful jerk, he lifts and flips me over, slamming me down hard onto my back. BAM! I arch my back, lifting my hips right into a hard fist. My butt crashes back to the mat.

I roll to my left as the heel stands up beside me. The Beast reaches into my waistband and pulls me back and up to my feet. No sooner am I up when he clotheslines me from behind, toppling me down face first onto the mat. I struggle to rise as boots slam down between my shoulder blades. Fuck! The Beast leaps up and crashes down, splashing his 250-lbs across my back.

The shockingly dominant heel doesn't let up. He grabs under my left arm and locks on an arm bar. We lie there as he wrenches my arm. I moan in pain, trying to spin to counter and being blocked. Hubert wasn't lying, he really does know his stuff. The heel's obviously trained. Still, I've been training since I was 14. I wrestled my first pro match at 16. That has to count for something, right? I can tell myself that, but it isn't getting me out of this fucking arm bar any faster. Damn it!

The Beast shifts to kneeling over my back. He positions his knee against my elbow, bending the joint against his knee. The muscular caveman cranks on the hold. I'm moaning louder now. It's more painful, but also easier to counter. I slap my shoulder twice then jerk my hand. My arm twists and suddenly there's no pressure. Before The Beast can react, I pull my hand free and roll away.

I get to a crouched position just in time to see the heel charging at me. I dive forward, catching him around his thick thighs. I lift up, flipping him over top. He lands on his back, momentarily disoriented. I leap up, turn then come down with an elbow across his pecs. He grunts as I pull him to his feet. I chop across his pecs then run back into the ropes.

When I bounce off, The Beast is waiting with a clothesline. I'm ready, as I duck under and wrap him up for a Russian leg sweep. We slam back, with the heel taking most of the impact. The big man bounces up quickly, though, and tries to roll on top of me. I'm on my back, so when he rolls towards me, I lift my legs, stopping him from mounting me. I force my knees on either side of his head then slam my forearm across his head, dazing him.

I grab hold of the heel’s long dreadlocks and pull his face between my thighs, burying it against my pink spandex bulge. I wrap my legs around his head, squeezing him in a tight head scissors. I hear him grunt as I apply the pressure. From this angle, it looks like I have a mop between my head, as his long hair covers my trunks and lower abs. The Beast reaches around and punches my stomach. I tighten my abs and the blows bounce off, as my thighs over his shoulder keep him from getting much force behind the jabs.

The Beast lies flat on the mat, trying to claw my legs apart, but with my ankles locked and legs extended, they’re not moving. My thighs look ripped as I flex them tighter and tighter. When the muscular powerhouse tries for another round of punches, I grab his wrists and lean back, immobilizing his arms as I stretch them up towards my pecs.

Kevin asks him if he wants to submit, but all he gets is a grunt in response. Hubert’s obviously a tough guy, so I don’t hold back, giving him all I’ve got. With every moan, I feel the struggled bursts of air hit my inner thighs as his mouth and nose are buried in my pink trunks. The hairy caveman tries to rise, but I kick down on his back, driving my heels down. He falters and drops back, stomach and hips flat on the mat.

I’m feeling pretty confident, when suddenly, his strategy changes. The whole time I’ve been holding his hands, they’ve been opening and closing. This time, The Beast pushes out with his hands, moving them to the edge of my pecs. This time, after his hands open, they close down tight in a clamp around my nipples! I’m stunned, losing my grip around his wrists. He squeezes harder and twists. It’s a playground move, but with his powerful hands and tight grip, it’s effective.

My head falls back and my scissors weaken long enough for the heel to push up onto his knees. The titty twister is killing me as The Beast slides up my body until our trunks are touching, his hips pressing down on mine. I swing my legs up for a body scissors, but I can’t get anything behind the move. I’m basically just holding him around the waist, doing no damage at all. From this new angle, The Beast can press down with all his weight and he does. I grab his wrists again, but this time in a defensive move. I can’t pull his grip from my tender nipples.

My face must be wracked with pain, as Kevin actually asks me, “What do you say, champ? Want to submit?”

I shake my head no. My legs fall to the side, unable to maintain my pathetic attempt at a body scissors. Kevin asks me about submitting, but again I shake my head no. The dreadlocked muscleman releases the pinch. My relief is short-lived as he shifts to a more traditional pec claw. The Beast kneads my chest, shifting his big paws as he searches for the perfect spot. When his hands open, I quickly slide my right knee, getting it between us. I push up and manage to send The Beast backwards.

I scramble away from the modern day caveman, rolling to the ropes and rising to my knees. The heel charges at me, but I’m ready. I dive forward, sliding under his grip, driving my shoulder into his abs. He slumps over and staggers back. I grab around his ankles and pull, toppling him down onto his ass. I rise up, still holding his ankles. I drive a boot between his legs onto his rock hard abs then I do it again. With the heel distracted, I force his legs to the side, stepping over top and sitting back into a perfect Boston Crab.

I lean back, bending the mighty muscleman in half the wrong way. My butt rests above his thick shoulder blades as his black boots are held tightly under my arm pits. I feel him pressing up and forward, trying to topple me. I keep my balance, leaning into his thrusts and countering his counter. The big man moans as I keep up the pressure for a good minute. I feel his back weakening, as it gets easier and easier to lean back. After another 30 seconds, his resistance stops.

Suddenly, The Beast uses all his power in one thrust. Even though I was waiting for a quick burst, he manages to overpower me. I fall forward, losing my grip on his ankles. When I look back, The Beast is crawling away on hands and knees, looking sore. I leap to my feet and then pounce onto the heel’s back. I drive my ass into his sore back. He collapses down, unable to brace for my 225-lbs of muscle.

As he sprawls out, face first on the mat, I waste no time. I bring down my forearms between his shoulder blades in a double axe handle. He reacts as I expect, head and shoulder rising from the swift, hard blow. I swing my legs under his chin, pulling the back of his head against the star on the front of my trunks. I fold my legs around his head as I sit on his broad back. I can see his forehead quickly turning red as I grab his wrists then roll us over onto our backs.

With one quick adjustment, I have him locked up in a figure-four head scissors. With me seated and him on his back, his arms pinned down by my hands, there’s not much he can do but stomp his feet on the mat in frustration. I could put him out with this hold, but I think that might be going too far. Still, when I tighten my legs, he gets the hint.

Kevin asks, “Want to give, Beast?”

The heel lets out a roar then says, “Yeah, I give! Get him the fuck off me!”

I immediately release the hold like a good face. I unwrap my legs, let go of his arms and roll to the side. I move to the corner and wait. When The Beast rises, he pushes his long hair from his face and stares at me hard.

In response, I just smile and flex for him, showing off a little.

It wasn’t as easy as I expected, but I still won, of course. Hubert is strong, but it doesn't change the fact that he’s just a talented amateur.

Round Two

I bounce up and down in anticipation of the second fall starting. Even though I won, I still need the break. The first fall took some time, with legitimate back-and-forth I didn't anticipate. Hubert is definitely getting his money's worth, but even for me, it's actually fun, now that I realize Hubert can take a lot of punishment. He can dish it out, too, but nothing I can't handle. Kevin is playing ref pretty well, asking for submissions, watching the action, but not getting in the way, and starting five-counts.

It's also fun being champ of something. I shouldn't think this, but I'm starting to wonder if I get to keep the belt if I decide to win this fall? Hubert did say not to let him win and he's clearly a big, tough man. He might actually be insulted if I let him win. I definitely like that championship belt. I walk over to the corner where my title belt is hanging. Sorry, where Hubert's title belt that he loaned me is hanging. I lift it off the ring post and snap it around my waist.

Kevin says, "Put it back, Champ! It's best two-out-of-three!"

I ignore the ref. Instead, I flex for Hubert with the belt hanging low on my hips. It's a little loose, just resting on my bulge and ass. The big man stares me down, enjoying the show as I flex front, back and side, giving him a view of all angles. Hubert moves in closer, to the middle of the ring, his eyes fixated on me and that slight smile is back on his face. The dreadlocked muscleman actually licks his lips. Yeah, he'll probably let me keep the belt.

As I pose, Kevin's enthralled, too, but he remembers his role. He decides to ring the bell for the second fall then returns to demand I hand back the belt and wrestle. I spread my arms wide giving him the opportunity unsnap it himself.

I tell Kevin, "I think he gets the point, you can take it off me now, Ref."

While I'm talking to Kevin, I see The Beast moving out of the corner of my eye. By the time I turn my head, it's too late. The heel is leaping for a standing dropkick. POW! Two big boots come flying at my chest and chin. I stumble back, falling away from Kevin before he can remove the title belt. CLANG! I fall into the corner. Stunned by the perfectly executed dropkick, I sag against the top turnbuckle, shaking out my head.

The Beast springs to his feet, taunting, "You got it wrong, Chump. I'll be the one taking that fucking belt off you!"

The heel leaps at me, bringing up his knee, which crashes into my chest. The Beast lands then grabs my hair, using it to pull me along the ropes. When we reach the center, the hairy muscleman grabs my wrist. The big caveman whips me across the ring. When I bounce off the opposite ropes, he's waiting. The Beast stoops down and reaches between my legs. He hoists me up across his chest. Using my momentum against me, we make a quick spin and down we go in a scoop powerslam!

BOOM! We come down hard, the muscular monster on top of my chest. The whole ring actually shakes as nearly 500-lbs of beef lands. Unfortunately for me, I take all the force, sandwiched between the immovable mat and the irresistible Beast. The belt digs into my flesh as I'm slammed down with 250-lbs of caveman heel on top of me. Damn!

I'm quickly dragged up to my feet by my hair. I'm moving more on instinct than anything else, as I've got no choice but to follow. The Beast takes advantage of my disorientation to lift me up across his chest and drive me down with a bodyslam. Again the metal and leather belt adds to my pain. The drop kick and two slams have taken a big toll. He follows up with stomps all over my torso then a knee drop to my forehead, making sure I stay out of it.

The big heel grabs my wrist and drags me up again. I swing a fist into his abs, but I’m too weak to get much behind it. My fist bounces off, having no effect. The Beast pushes me into the corner, mounting the second rope. The hairy muscleman pulls my face into his black trunks, smothering me. POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! POP! Ten big fists come down on the side of my head. The dominant muscle monster pushes my head back and stares down at me. I'm still amazed at his muscular torso, as I look past his flat, ripped stomach, heaving chest and into his hair-covered face. I can't swear to it, as my vision is a little blurry, but I think he's smiling down at me.

Satisfied, the big man hops down. He immediately drives a boot into my abs then pulls me forward. The Beast locks my head under his armpit. He cinches in a front facelock tightly. I feel my head being crushed as the powerful muscleman squeezes. He cranks and tightens, the pressure growing even worse. The mighty caveman controls me, as I'm unable to do anything other than brace my hands on his trim hips.

I'm moaning as he keeps up the hold, crushing my head, preventing me from regaining focus. I look down at the mat, trying to resist, but I'm actually being overpowered. My back starts to ache as I'm held, bent at the waist for an extended period. A couple of times, The Beast pulls one hand free then slams his forearm across my back hard, driving me down to one knee.

The heel forces me back up. He roughly pulls me in closer as he adjusts, moving from a headlock to a chinlock. My face is still locked against the left side of his body, but thankfully the pressure has subsided. I breathe deeply, trying to make the most of this break. Unfortunately, (what feels like) one second later, the mighty millionaire slides his right hand down, his huge paw rubbing my side as he moves past the title belt. The big man grabs the side of my shiny pink trunks, his thumb sliding into the waistband and fingers up into the leg hole.

With a firm grip on the side of my trunks and around my neck, The Beast pushes down, forcing me to bend my knees. When he pulls up, my knees extend, pushing up, as he hoists me into the air. My legs extend and the mighty heel holds me upside down. I feel the title belt slide down over my stomach. I wobble as he circles the ring, showing off his strength as he holds me up. The blood is rushing to my head, just another reason why I can't focus.

Suddenly, we fall backwards. Down we go as I'm brought down to the mat. Gravity does the work, accelerating me until ... BOOM! I crash down hard, the combination of the force of the suplex and the leather/metal strap around my waist ravaging my back.  I moan and writhe on the canvas, shocked and confused by what's happening.

SLAP! ONE! What? SLAP! TWO! Oh shit. Kevin reaches a two-count before I even realize it. I thrust my arm up just before his hand comes down for a third time, as 11 years of training take over. I was 14 when I started wrestling, a scrawny boy amongst giant men. I kind of feel that way again as I'm dragged up to a seated position against my will. He should not be able to move me this easily. His strength continues to amaze me.

As I sit there, The Beast slaps on a rear chinlock, squeezing tightly. My back is pressed into his chest and I feel his arm tighten around my chin. Kevin slides his hand up my chest to my neck, ensuring it’s not a choke. I struggle against the pressure, but I can’t break the hold. Still, I don't submit, despite all the punishment.

After a long while of crushing me, The Beast lets go. I slump forward for a moment until the hairy heel grabs my wrists and plants a knee between my shoulder blades. The heel pulls back on my arms, stretching me out as I sit there, breaking down more of my muscles and my resistance. Again he holds this for a long time, during which I can do nothing but moan and refuse the ref’s offers to submit. When he finally does release my arms, the mighty caveman clubs me across my broad back three times for good measure. WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP!

I just sit there, taking the blows. I slump forward, pecs resting over the title belt that still rests around my stomach. I’m trying to recover, but the heel is merciless. WHOMP! A boot comes down right between my shoulder blades, sending me forward then ricocheting me back until I'm lying on the mat, staring at the ceiling. I open and close my eyes quickly as I stare up at the lights. When they're blocked out, I know I'm in trouble.

The Beast towers over me. He's been completely dominant in this fall, unrelenting in his abuse. The muscleman drops down, straddling my chest, planting his ass on the title belt. He wraps his powerful hands around my throat and starts choking me. The ref starts counting as I thrash under him. Under threat of disqualification, the muscular monster loosens the choke, but he doesn't let go. Instead, the heel pulls my head up by my neck and then drives it back down. The back of my head hits hard, stunning me again.

I barely realize it when The Beast rises off me. I roll to my right only to get stomped on my left shoulder. The heel grabs my left arm and pulls me up. I'm like a rag doll as I'm forced to my feet. I can’t keep my feet under me, but the muscleman holds me up by grabbing me around the neck in another front facelock. He reaches down and grabs a handful of my trunks again, pushing me back towards the corner.

I think I'm about to be suplexed again, as he lifts my feet off the mat, but I'm wrong. I'm not being suplexed. When The Beast hoists me up, he lifts my feet against the top rope, manhandling me into a seated position on the top turnbuckle. WHAM! The hairy heel delivers an upper cut with his forearm. Only The Beast’s quick reach and firm grip on my hair stops me from tumbling to the floor below. When he releases my hair, I fall forward, unable to keep my balance, until my face hits one of his hairy, bulging pecs. The big man is climbing the ropes in front of me. Not that he needs to, but he slams a forearm into the side of my head as he ascends.

The Beast reaches the middle rope. My face against his ripped torso is the only thing keeping me upright at this point. I just cannot get it together. The caveman pulls my head against his side, locks on his favorite controlling hold, the front facelock. He immediately clubs my back. I sit there on the top rope, arms hanging limply, pecs sagging lower over the title belt around my waist, which seems like more of a joke than anything else at this point.

Balancing on the middle rope, The Beast reaches his right hand under my left leg. He pulls up as he tightens his grip around my neck. The big man bounces up and down on the ropes, our weight building up and down momentum. When he's ready, he uses the spring from the top turnbuckle to help power me up as he falls back. My ass goes over my head as I'm flipped in this cradle suplex, falling all the way from top turnbuckle to canvas below.

WHOOMP! We crash down hard. The Beast holds the cradle, keeping my leg secure after we land. It's a perfect pinning position and when Kevin starts the count, I resign to a defeat in this fall. I know that sounds bad, but with the punishment I've taken, I can't break this pin. Not that it's my decision, as it turns out.

When Kevin hits two, the heel actually releases the pin, spinning my shoulder off the mat and letting me free.

The Beast taunts me, "No, no, no. It's not gonna be that easy, chump! I got something in mind for you!"

The big man moves to mount me. I get a shot of adrenaline as I realize this amateur heel is actually playing with me. I manage to spin and lift my left leg, planning to use my boot to push The Beast back. As my leg comes up, I'm too slow and The Beast is ready. He grabs my left calf, pushing up and extending my leg towards the ceiling. The hairy muscleman puts his knee on my right leg, holding it down. When he leans his 250-lbs of muscle into the back of my left leg, my groin muscles are stretched out painfully.

The heel's hips press against my ass as he leans harder into the move, bringing my left knee towards my head while keeping my right leg pinned. The stretch is painful, as building my muscles has reduced my flexibility. I try to push against The Beast, but his weight and power are winning as he punishes my groin and hamstring muscles.

My shoulders are on the mat again, so Kevin starts the slow count again. The Beast plants his hands on my shoulders and presses down. I feel his package against my ass. Based on the hard object digging into my cheeks, the muscular caveman is definitely enjoying the dominance he's displaying over me. I'm glad there are two layers of spandex between us. I barely manage to thrust my right arm up, lifting my shoulder to stop the count.

The Beast hammers me across the head before rolling off me. I curl into a ball then roll to my right, massaging the back and inside of my left leg. Nothing happens for a minute as the heel stalks me. I want to rise and take control, but I'm too dazed. Before I can do anything, the muscular monster grabs hold of my hair and drags my head up.

I'm quickly pulled into a sitting position. The mighty heel reaches down and snaps the title belt at the back. "Hope you enjoyed it, chump, 'cause that's the last time you're ever gonna wear this belt." He pulls the championship belt forward, off my waist and tosses it between my legs.

The Beast steps over my shoulders, locking my head in his thighs. He bends forward and grabs my left leg again. I flail and resist, but a fist to my forehead ends that. Next thing I know, my left leg is being yanked up, my left knee towards face and my groin mercilessly stretched out again.

I know this move, a stump puller, which Harry Zybiski made famous as the Al Capone Cradle! I've seen it, but never experienced it, until now. The combined pressure on my neck, groin and hamstring is intense. I'm moaning in pain, trying to figure out a counter, but I'm locked up tight. His 250-lbs of muscles are solidly resting on my shoulders and I can't get any force with my leg. All I can do with my arms is punch his legs and they're rock hard, my punches harmlessly bouncing off them.

With my head bent down, I understand why he tossed the belt where he did. I’ve got a perfect view of the belt, torn from my waist, as I suffer. I’m sweating and moaning, the pain growing with every moment. Kevin is asking me if I give. I hold out for a long time, hoping The Beast will release me, but it's not happening. I'm short of breath, my arms have gone limp and I'm crying out loudly. I have to submit.

"I GIVE!" I yell and also tap The Beast's legs to signify he's got me.

Kevin tells the heel to let go, but The Beast refuses. He says, "NO! BEG! HE'S GOTTA BEG!"

As the ref argues and threatens, I suffer. Finally, unable to take any more, I end the debate, screaming, "PLEASE! I GIVE! PLEASE LET ME GO!" I'm furiously tapping my submission as the muscular monster finally accepts my surrender.

The heel lets go of my leg, but stays standing over me, keeping my head locked down. “Look at that belt, Chump! It’s gonna look good around a real man’s waist for once!”

The Beast swats at my head. It would seem playful if he hadn't just kicked my ass. Now it seems mocking. He's taunting me after tying up the match, making me give in to his overwhelming power. When he finally moves off my shoulders, I fall back to the mat, exhausted and in need of rest. There’s one more fall and I’m going to win it. Fuck the idea of letting him win.

As I lie there, I lift my legs, bringing my knees to my chest in an attempt to stretch out my leg muscles. Naturally, my ass goes up in the air as I hold my knees up. It must give The Beast the wrong idea. At least, the wrong idea for me. He walks over, grabs my boots and lifts my legs, straightening them out. Before I can roll back, he steps over me and sits down, his ass on the back of my knees. His weight presses my knees into my chest, holding me down in a ball.

With me pinned, The Beast says, "I stripped your belt off, now it's time to strip off something else, Chump."

The heel reaches forward and grabs the waistband of my trunks. He pulls my pink spandex briefs off my ass. As I squirm under him, he spanks my ass, like I'm a naughty child. I struggle, repeating a weak, "No! No! No!"

The Beast laughs. He actually mocks me, "No? Try and stop me! C'mon, Champ! Fight back! I dare you! Face it, YOU'RE NOTHING! That BELT is as good as MINE!"

The Beast rises and lets my legs flop down. My trunks are off my ass at the back, but the waistband in front resting just at the top of my manhood. With my bush exposed, I reach down to pull them back up, but the mighty heel has other ideas. He stomps my abs then grabs the waistband of my trunks and finishes the job, pulling them down my legs, over my boots and off entirely.

Kevin finally pushes The Beast back off me, grabbing my trunks and tossing them over with my ring jacket. Even the ref wants me to wrestle the last fall with my junk hanging out. As Kevin helps me to my feet and back into my corner, the big man yells at me, looking bigger and more powerful than ever. He shouts challenges and taunts at me. I’ve got no response. My answer will be winning the final fall and seizing the belt.

I'm a little pissed at having legitimately submitted. It's one thing to give a nice old rich guy a thrill, but this isn't that. I can whine about his Pearl Harbor dropkick to start the fall, but it doesn’t matter how it happened. There’s no denying it. The Beast just kicked my ass, but I’m not going to let it happen again.

Round Three

I do understand why Hubert said he didn't want me to do the job and let him win. He's definitely able to be competitive with me. In fact, I briefly wonder if he let me win the first fall, but I dismiss the thought immediately. Not sure my ego could take it. It'd be like Magic losing a game of one-on-one to some guy off the street. No matter how tall or physically gifted the amateur is, the pro should win.

Thanks to the MWA, I've gotten over the embarrassment of having my trunks stripped off, so I ignore the fact that my manhood is dangling and exposed. Instead, I focus on trying to walk off the effects of the Al Capone Cradle. I do some deep knee bends, testing my groin. Everything seems fine. Hubert and Kevin are both watching me carefully, enjoying the view as I lift my leg onto the top rope and stretch.

As I stretch, I think on my plan. I decide for the third fall I need to start fast and dominate Hubert from the start, just to remind everyone who the real pro is. Once that's established, I’ll move him into a bearhug, full nelson then a backbreaker. He’ll love being put in those and it’s a cool combination.

Kevin orders us to start up again for the third and final fall, with the winner becoming World Heavyweight Champion.

We move in and circle. I bounce up and down like a boxer, letting Hubert watch my pecs and manhood shake. Once again, I prove that I know what these guys like. As I expect, he focuses on the view and I see that slight smile cross his face again before he returns to the stoic look of The Beast. Hey, gotta give the dude his money's worth, right?

As I close in, Hubert's still a little distracted, so I easily turn the collar-and-elbow into a side headlock. I really crank it as I feel his hands slide over my midsection. I think, "Sure, cop a feel, big guy." I start working out the next ten moves I'm going to use before I start my finishing combination as I flex my bicep into his temple. Before I even figure out the second move, I realize that he's not just feeling me up.

The Beast has his left arm around my waist and his right rests behind my right leg. Suddenly, he squats and thrusts up on the rise. I'm lifted off the ground, my feet flying up, level with his shoulders. The heel falls back, pulling me with him. WHAM! We crash down with me taking the brunt of the side suplex on my shoulders and neck.

The muscular monster rolls on top of me, placing his big hands on my pecs. Kevin slaps the mat for ONE! I prepare to lift my shoulder in the pin, but suddenly, pain shoots through my body. The Beast splits my legs, bringing his right knee up between them hard and fast. My balls get caught by the blow and I cry out with a very high-pitched and very real grunt.

Kevin re-starts the count, admonishing the heel on the low blow. With The Beast's hands only pressing down hard on my pecs, I manage to lift my shoulder at the second slap of the new count. The muscleman sits up. He slides back, his hands skimming my torso all the way down to my hips as he moves to straddle my right leg. He fires a rough series of fists into my lower abs. POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! POW!

The hairy heel backs off and rises to his feet. With my right hand, I adjust my balls as I carefully watch him out of the corner of my eyes. He flexes over me then runs back into the ropes. He springs off and leaps for an elbow drop. I roll out of the way, timing it perfectly, leaving him to connect with nothing but hard canvas.

We both rise to our feet, reaching standing at the same time. We charge at one another fast and hard, each extending our right arms. We slam into each other with the double clothesline. SLAP! WHUMP! The big mountain of muscle is staggered by the impact, but I'm flattened, landing on my shoulders. Once again, he's proven to be the stronger man. Damn it! Not how this fall was supposed to start.

I roll to my side, gathering myself, but I've got no time. Big black boots rain down on my left shoulder and bicep. The Beast grabs my left arm and pulls me to my feet. He twists it into an arm bar then slams forearms across on my big, but soft, bicep. I grunt with each blow and struggle to free my arm. No one has ever submitted to an arm bar, but it's still painful.

After five forearms, the mighty heel twists my left arm, bending it into a chicken wing. Before I know it, he drives three fists into my left arm then runs me into the corner, left shoulder first! ARGH! I scream out in pain as my shoulder muscle is tested. I have no defense as he drags me back three steps then sends me in again. WHAM! AHHH! Fuck, I need to do something or my shoulder will be dislocated!

The hairy muscle man drags me back to the middle of the ring by the chicken wing. The entire time, he keeps wrenching my left wrist up my back further and further as I try to counter by slamming my right elbow into his side. My attempts bounce harmlessly off his thickly muscled side. Realizing I can't win this way, I quickly bend over and turn, managing to twist myself free and reverse the hold.

Now it's my turn as I move behind him, controlling him with a hard chicken wing of my own. Well, controlling might be too strong, because he immediately slams his elbow back, using the same counter as I tried, only his is successful. The force of his hard driving elbow distracts me, enabling him to easily power out. I start to shake out my left arm, but see an opening. Time to play offense again!

When The Beast turns towards me, I charge forward for another clothesline attempt. I slam into him hard, but I only manage to send him back one step. I step back and move at him with a shoulder block. The big muscle stud braces and I barely move him. Figuring third time's a charm, I try one more shoulder block, but it's one move too many. He shifts, grabbing me across the chest. My momentum carries me forward, making it easy for him to lift me up. My legs fly up until I'm parallel with the mat then the powerful heel pushes down, slamming me down onto the canvas with a sidewalk slam! BOOM! The impact is devastating. Fast and hard, I'm muscled into the canvas.

The Beast moves off me as I lie there, a wrecked slab of beef. If I could think, I'd wonder why I insisted on challenging this guy with brute force, but I know the answer. In my stubborn mind, I'm the real pro, he's supposed to be the pretender ... the weaker, less talented rich guy who is just happy to be touching me. Too bad that's nothing like the truth.

I've barely moved, just my legs weakly swinging as I try to regain my focus. The heel lies across me, his hips grinding down on my right bicep. He puts his left hand behind my head and right hand on my chest. I feel him knead my thick pec as he mounts me for the pin. Kevin starts the count, going awfully slowly, if you ask me.

"ONE!" I will myself to fight. My left arm is free, but still damaged from the abuse it took moments ago. "TWO!" I focus my energy, trying to get my shoulder up, but it's not responding fast enough. Not that it matters, because The Beast uses his grip behind my head to pull me up at the two-count! He sits up, pulling my head with him. That’s twice he’s given up the pin. Fuck, he’s a good heel.

Kevin fulfills his referee-ly duties and chastises him, telling him to pin me, that I'm clearly done. If I was in better shape, I’d be pissed. Either way, the heel doesn't care. He's not done with me. As they debate, I'm limp in the grip on my hair. My face is pressed against The Beast's ripped and rock hard stomach. I put my left hand on his thick thigh and push off, getting free enough to roll onto my stomach. From there, I try to summon some strength.

As I lie face first on the mat, The Beast rises to standing then steps over me to straddle my waist. He jumps off his feet, driving his ass into the small of my back. I buck up from the pain only to be immediately grabbed under my shoulders. The powerful heel drags my torso up, draping my biceps over his knees. When he reaches forward and grabs under my chin, I'm trapped in a perfectly applied camel clutch.

I struggle to pull my arms forward, but The Beast leans back and the increases pressure consumes my attention. I feel a little relief as the hairy heel slides his spandex-covered ass on top of my bare butt cheeks, but it's short-lived. YEEARGH! I yell out as I'm pulled even farther back. I'm bent so far back that I'm looking at the ceiling as I suffer. Kevin is in my face, asking if I want to submit, but I refuse to give in.

I moaning in short, desperate grunts as I'm folded even more in the wrong direction. This muscular millionaire is overpowering me again. I try every counter I know, but he's too strong and too skilled. My back is in spasms and my neck and shoulders aren't doing much better. Worse still, with the heel's 250-lbs planted on my ass and pressing down as he cranks the camel clutch, my manhood is actually being crushed under me.

I'm seconds away from submitting when the heel releases the camel clutch. I don't know if he thought it wasn't working or if maybe he knew I was going to submit and has more planned for me. Either way, I free. The Beast stays seated on my butt. He takes his knuckles and digs them into the tender flesh of my back. I gasp as he tears at my back muscles, encouraging them to cramp up. The Beast follows up with several fists to my back before getting up.

I writhe, trying to crawl towards the ropes. Before I make it even a foot, the muscular monster returns. He sits back down on top of me, making sure I can't move. In his right hand, he has my stripped trunks. The dominant heel stretches one of the leg holes over my head and around my neck. He chokes me with it, twisting the trunks until they're tight.

With me clawing at the trunks around my throat, the heel grabs my right wrist. I try to fight, but he overpowers me, bending it back, positioning my wrist against the nape of my neck. Before I know it, he's wrapping my trunks around my wrist, tying my arm up, binding my right forearm against the back of my head. I feel the trunks tighten as he pulls on the dangling white shoelace. The small rope that normally secures my trunks around my waist is now securing my wrist to the back of my head. Before he's done, he ties the rope around two of my fingers and thumb.

I pull on my right arm, but it's locked in tightly. If I pull too hard, I feel like my fingers might tear off. I close my fist for protection, only to discover that the harder I yank, the tougher it is too breathe. My struggle is effectively choking myself.

The ref is challenging the muscular monster, but the heel insists that he’s doing nothing wrong. What? He tells Kevin that there are no foreign objects or illegal moves. These are my trunks and I’m wearing them. It’s not his problem if I got tied up in my gear. Kevin actually buys the argument and lets the action continue. Of course, he is on the heel’s payroll, but this can’t be legal. Can it?

Since no help is coming, I shift my body and legs, bucking up under the heel, but his weight keeps me flat on my stomach. With my right arm bound and useless, The Beast shifts forward, positioning his right shin over my immobilized wrist and neck, pinning my face hard against the canvas. I grunt and squirm, but the only result is a laugh from the powerful heel on top of me.

The Beast quickly grabs my free left arm, pulling it up sharply and back between his legs as he rests on top of my neck and back. His left leg and butt keep my back from twisting as he forces my left arm further and further back. It's really nothing more than an armbar, but cruelly applied as his weight holds my body down, isolating my shoulder.

My face is crushed into the mat as I kick my feet frantically. I try to come up with an escape, trying to shift my weight or push his 250-lbs of muscle off me. I can't seem to get my legs under me, with every attempt halted as The Beast jerks on my arm. My legs go limp and I cry out every time he ups the pressure, basically confirming the damage and pain the heel is causing. My screams only seem to make the punishment worse.

I try to hold out against the devastating hold, but it's no use. Damn it, no one submits to a fucking arm bar, but this one is really testing my will. Pain radiates from my shoulder as The Beast cranks harder and harder. One more wrench and I could be facing serious injury. I can't budge him and I can't concentrate to come up with an effective counter. It's just my willpower and ability to fight through pain against his attention span. Unless he willingly releases me, I'm done.

Kevin keeps checking, "Do you give, Champ?"

Finally, I blurt out, "ARGH! Yes, I give! I GIVE! I GIVE!" Unable to withstand it any longer, I surrender to the heel's mighty power and powerful submission hold. This time, The Beast lets my left arm go free immediately as I writhe on the mat.

And the Winner Is …

The Beast rises and then stomps on my back twice for good measure. He grabs my free arm and uses it to drag me to my feet. The hairy muscleman spins and twists my free arm into a chicken wing. He forces me to walk around the ring, my moans echoing through the empty ring room. Stripped of my trunks, which now bind my right arm up behind my neck, I must look as pathetic and helpless as I ever have.

The Beast taunts me, "Who's the champ, now, fucker?"

I acknowledge his victory, crying out, "You are! Please! Let me go!"

Kevin chimes in, "C'mon, Beast, let him go! You won!"

With disdain for my begging, the mighty heel pushes me into the corner, torso first. He grabs my bound right arm and uses it to slam my face into the turnbuckle three times, before letting me collapse to the canvas. I flop around like a fish out of water as he stands over me.

Kevin raises the arm of the new champ as I look up at his impressive body and determined face.

The ref returns to the corner and once again becomes the ring announcer. "And here is your NEW World Heavyweight Champion, Hubert 'THE BEAST' Howard!" He returns with the belt and snaps it around Hubert's waist as the victor flexes in front of me and the imaginary crowd.

After Kevin unties my fingers, I manage to carefully work my right arm free and get to a kneeling position. I leave my trunks around my neck as I hang my head in shame.

The heel yells, "Look at me, loser! Look at the CHAMP!" I obey and raise my head, looking up at the monster that beat me.

You wouldn't think that losing a belt for an imaginary title, one that I never earned in the first place and figured I would lose when I strapped it on ... well, you wouldn't think that losing that belt to the man who actually owns it would matter to me. I mean, why would it? This was what I was paid to do. But, surprisingly, it still hurts a little and is a little humiliating as I look up at this amateur ... this fan ... who completely dominated me. It's not like I gave it to him. That might have been okay. No, he beat me hard like a rented mule. He's a reclusive billionaire and yet he's stronger, faster and more skilled. What the fuck does that say about me?

The Beast spreads his arms wide and stares me down. I meet his eyes, but I can't hold them, I'm too embarrassed. I bow my head again and fall back on my bare ass to the mat, exhausted and sore. My adrenaline from the match is evaporating fast.

I glance up again, looking at his body, avoiding his penetrating eyes. I’ve got to admit, as I sit there, clutching my shoulder, he looks damn amazing in the belt. He’s easily the equal of any man in wrestling, in strength and skill. I couldn't match him, as evidenced by the fact that he's wearing the belt while my body, from neck to knees, is bare.

I don’t have much time to think about it, because despite winning, The Beast isn’t done with me, yet. He obviously plans to get his full five grand's worth out of me. The muscular heel moves in and lays into me with another series of stomps. I crawl to the corner, seeking escape, but he's on top of me the whole way. As I struggle to my feet, Kevin half-heartedly orders him to stop, like a typical pro ref, but like a typical pro heel, the warnings don't mean anything to The Beast.

When I turn towards him, The Beast grabs me around the throat. He uses the chokehold to force me to my tippy toes before slamming me hard into the corner. As I hang there, recovering, he quickly kicks up, driving the sole of his boot into the nest of blond hair that rests just above my exposed manhood. OOF!

The Beast roughly grabs my hair as I bend forward. He shoves my head between his legs and grabs me around my waist. With ease, he lifts me up, holding me upside down. I feel his beard against my bare butt as he adjusts our position. I brace my hands on his thick thighs, hoping against hope this is just an upside down, reverse bearhug.

Suddenly, we're falling back. My head plummets down, slamming into the canvas. I black out for a second as I collapse on top of The Beast's body. I wake up as he shoves me to the side. I lie there moaning, holding my head as he gets up. I feel his boot resting on my side, as he poses over my naked carcass.

I have no time to recover before he grabs my hair and pulls me back up. I'm still completely stunned, but my muscles react instinctively, keeping me for collapsing back to the mat for a second. In that moment, The Beast reaches under me and hoists my legs over his shoulder. The mighty billionaire moves to the middle of the ring, holding me up like a sack of potatoes.

The cruel muscle heel lowers me down his body, my face sliding down past the title belt, over his tented black trunks. With a tight grip around my waist, he easily controls my 225-lbs of muscle in the upside down bearhug. I slide down until my head pinned between his thighs. Oh no, please no, not again.

Before I can even react, we drop down. My head connects with the canvas, even harder than last time. The modified piledriver immediately knocks me senseless, as The Beast lets me fall onto my back in front of him. My legs fall open and flat as I twitch, aware, but immobile. He sits on my face for a moment then spins around, lying on top of my defeated body. The front of the title belt digs into my abs as 250-lbs of superior man crushes on top of me.

The Beast wraps his arms around my head. I feel his hot breath on my face as he tightens his grip. I open my eyes, looking into the smiling face of the monster of a man who has destroyed me. We lock eyes. The Beast smiles then tightens the front facelock. Within seconds, I’m put out, unconscious and helpless.

In the Land of the Living

Uh. I snap awake, bolting up to a seated position. I’m not in the ring. I’m in a sterile white bedroom, in a comfortable, spacious white bed. Of course I'm still naked, my body covered only by a thin white sheet and a few bruises. I roll my neck and test my left shoulder. All seems in working order.

I stretch, twisting my body. Everything feels good. The room is bright. It's morning. Shit, it's morning. There's an envelope on the table beside the bed. Inside, there's money and a note. I count out the neatly bundled sixty one-hundred dollar bills. Huh, it's a grand too much. I look at the note.


Wow. I grab the phone on the table and call Rex. I tell him I'm fine and I'll give him the scoop later today. When I hang up, my stomach rumbles and I know I should go. Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. I yell, "Come in."

Kevin enters. He checks on how I'm feeling. I tell him I'm great. Kevin opens the wall to reveal a closet where my freshly cleaned clothes and gear are hanging. I roll out of bed and stroll over. Kevin's seen me naked, so I don't waste time with modesty. He offers to escort me out or to breakfast with Hubert. I decide on the latter option. As I look at my ratty old clothes, I pause. I hold up my freshly cleaned wrestling gear instead. "Do you think Mr. Howard would mind if I wore this to breakfast?"

Kevin smiles. "I'm sure he would enjoy it."

I nod, pulling on my wrestling gear, the jacket unzipped to my navel. Kevin escorts me to a private screening room, where Hubert is enjoying breakfast. I look at the screen and see myself up there. It's a film of our match. I'm stunned, as I had no idea he had cameras going, but I sit down beside him anyway.

Despite watching myself be beaten, stripped and humiliated, I enjoy a great breakfast, stuffing myself with too much food. Hubert is really interesting out of the ring. He obviously has some major issues, but to me, he's smart and funny. He engages in running commentary and I get to see myself through a fan's eyes for the first time.

We talk about wrestling. I don't feel so badly about losing any more. He's actually been wrestling longer than me, since he was a teen, and has had multiple trainers come through, including some of the best and most famous guys in the business. And working out? Turns out, when you're rich and never leave your house, you can get a lot done, once again thanks to obsessive dedication and the world's best experts in bodybuilding. He even eats perfectly thanks to his personal chef. No wonder he's so fit, strong and skilled.

Midway through the third full screening of our match, each from different angles, Hubert thanks me and abruptly leaves the room. I sit there, watching myself, for a long while before I head back up to the bedroom to get dressed. When I get there, I find a big box with a computer in it. Kevin tells me that Hubert doesn't think I should buy a Commodore 64 for my brother and his family. Instead, he’s giving me this computer that won’t be available to the general public until January. It’s called a Macintosh and Hubert apparently thinks it’s amazing. I try to say no, but end up taking it with me anyway.

It's definitely the strangest encounter I've ever had, but also the most lucrative. I actually feel energized. As I tuck the envelope in my gym bag, I smile broadly. Looks like I’ve got some Christmas shopping to do.

The End

No comments:

Post a Comment