Route 69 S302: Toledo OH

Route 69: Toledo OH

Dylan says, "Meet you in the showers, babe?"

I nod, "Yeah, just let me get my stuff together."

My boyfriend Dylan and I kiss passionately, pressing our sweaty, bare torsos together. Dylan's shirtless in exercise shorts, while I'm in tight pro wrestling trunks and boots. We're taking advantage of the near-empty facility, working out separately. Dylan was using the treadmill and I was rolling around the pro wrestling ring, jumping rope, doing push-ups and sit-ups.

Mmm, our bodies feel so good together it's all I can do not to take him right here and now. We reluctantly break, lingering in a long stare. Finally, he leaves and I think about how lucky I am. If not for Dylan, I don't know how I would've handled the last three months since my best friend Jeff decided to not only abandon his dream to be a pro wrestler, but also quit on our journey to find where we fit.

It's especially hard here, using the temporary facilities of Ring of Wrestling here in Toledo. ROW is one of the bigger mid-tier federations. However, they're also the bastards that fired Jeff and drove him out of wrestling. I'm mad at them, but I love Dylan, so for his sake, I'm being professional. Even though he just turned 25, he has a leadership position with them and I'd never do anything to jeopardize that.

I'm also 25 and I've managed to build a burgeoning pro wrestling marketing business. I represent smaller federations, offering powerful marketing solutions at the fraction of the cost of hiring a full-time person, but with better results than relying on part-time or volunteers. I'm up to six clients, all of whom are benefitting from bigger buzz and the ripple effect of being better known.

Since he's on my mind, I pick up my phone and call my best friend Jeff. He's doing well, working construction in upstate New York. We talk every day, but I still miss him. I think I'll be in his area soon, so I let him know. I'm really excited by any chance I get to see him. I've pushed and prodded him to give pro wrestling another try or at least come back on the road with me, but so far, I've failed miserably.

As I hang up and move to follow my boyfriend down the black hallway, I freeze.

Blocking my way is this long-haired asshole. His name's Kyle. I have to admit that he is smoking hot in his black gear, his skimpy trunks exposing most of his smooth 6'1"/215-lbs body. The lean and handsome muscleman looks at me, wearing his trademark smirk. He's so fucking arrogant.

Kyle might be hot, but I hate this guy. In spite of Dylan's best efforts, Kyle is the main one who managed to drive Jeff away. I'm still furious and resentful. His career has flourished, with him rising really fast, while Jeff's stuck doing construction in Albany. It's not fair.

Kyle smirks, "So, I hear things are looking up for you ever since you got rid of that fucking albatross you were carrying around. Business booming. Hot man in your life. Good for you."

I want to slug him, but Dylan's warned me I'll be banned and he won't be able to do anything about it. So instead, I answer, "Whatever."

Kyle blocks my path, "Dude, I just heard you on the phone with him. I don't get why you're still friends with Candi when you've got a guy like Dylan." Candi is what Kyle calls Jeff. It's a long story, but it is intended to be just as insulting as it sounds.

I warn, "Don't provoke me, Kyle."

Kyle holds up his hands, "I'm just saying you should stop being mad at me. Take a cue from your boyfriend. Think big picture. Long-term. Focus on the future, not the past. You know, D was right. That loser really was holding you back. You should thank us."

"What does that mean?"

Kyle looks like a deer caught in the headlights for a split second. He gets arrogant again as he mutters, "Never mind, just yanking your chain. Provoking you, like you said."

I grab his arm and drag him into a storage room. I close the door, demanding, "You're a fucking liar. You meant something. Tell me what you meant about Dylan being right. Why are you and Dylan even talking about Jeff?"

Kyle can't keep his cockiness in check. He just shrugs, "There's nothing to tell. Honest." The last word is dripping with sarcasm.

I say, "You don't even like Dylan."

"Ha! Guys like me can't afford to not like Dylan around here. Anyway, don't make such a big deal about it. It's just like an enemy of my enemy thing. It's done. You're better off. So who gives a fuck?"

I'm taken aback, "You're saying Dylan thinks of Jeff as his enemy?"

Kyle looks at the ceiling with an affected innocent look then moves to leave. I block his path, but he doesn't force things, just standing there grinning. I turn back to the storage room door and lock it. CLICK! I turn to Kyle. He still has a huge smirk on his face, finding this all very amusing.

I tell him, "Now, you're going to talk. One way or another."

Kyle laughs, "Dude, be serious. You can't make me do shit. I let you fuck around with me back in Indy, but that was two-on-one and I was out of it at first. Besides, even back then I kinda knew I couldn't piss off D. He's got way too much power on talent."

I give Kyle an opening to keep spilling his guts, "Not that much power. He couldn't save Jeff from you." I wait, hoping he'll take the bait, while fearing what he'll say if he does.

Kyle rolls his eyes, "Right, because Dylan really wanted to keep his competition for you around. Don't be a fucking idiot." Once again, he realizes too late that he's just blown it again.

"Go on. Tell me more. Was firing Jeff ..." I choke up for a second. "Was it Dylan's idea?"

I'm too direct and Kyle shuts up. When I demand he answer me, he taps my cheek in a condescending manner, "Ben, Indy was a hot scene and you're really fuckable, but don't kid yourself that you can make me do shit. We both know that Dylan told you not to attack me."

"And how do you know that? Sounds like you and Dylan talk a lot. A lot more than I realized, anyway."

Kyle laughs in my face, "How the fuck do you think I'm getting ahead? Look, I'm done with this shit, Ben. You're not in my league. In any way, based on how tight D's ass still is. Now get outta my way before you get hurt."

Kyle shoves me hard. I answer by driving my boot into his stomach. When he bends over, I grab his long hair and flip him to the mat that's laid out on the floor. He crashes onto his back and I press my boot onto his throat. I press down just hard enough that he gags, letting him know I'm serious.

I feel surprisingly calm. Too calm. I tell him, "It's weird, I don't even give a shit if you and Dylan really are fucking behind my back. I only care about what you two did to Jeff. Now, I know a selfish, self-centered prick like you can't understand this, but Jeff and I are family. More than family. When it comes to him, you've got no idea what I'm capable of."

Kyle tries to lift my boot up, but I keep it pressed. He chokes under my foot and I reluctantly ease the pressure off. I need him to talk. To confirm it. 100%, every detail. I don't want to leave here with any doubts on Dylan's guilt. He's rubbing his throat as he rises to his feet. I demand he talk, but he just laughs. Arrogant prick raises his hands. With his voice returning, he rasps, "I tried to warn you, tough guy. Now I'm gonna show you."

Kyle dives at me, tackling me to the mat. I throw him off me and we rise again. We hunch over. The long-haired stud still has that fucking cocky look on his face. Does he really think this is all a big joke? Fine, let him. We lock hands, quickly getting into a test of strength. Kyle's not that much bigger than me, but it's enough. He overpowers me, arching my back and getting me almost to one knee. UNGH!

I hold out, getting a burst of energy. Kyle's shocked as I power up, my muscles pumping with adrenaline. We strain and struggle against each other. Our arms fall to the side and we smash chests. THUD! Our pecs are pressed tightly, our heads beside each other as we fight for dominance. Suddenly, I'm winning and Kyle's grunting. I push my hands down, getting the angle and it's all he can do not to drop to his knees.

Kyle strains, muttering, "Oh fuck! UNH! How the fuck?"

I laugh, letting him feel worried for the first time. I drive him to his one knee. With a quick thrust, Kyle swings our hands down. I'm caught off guard as he gets the advantage, bending my wrists back. He rises and I'm forced onto my toes. Kyle's smirking again. He starts to say something when I move our arms apart and bring my knee up between his legs. SQUISH! I compact his balls and any trace of smile leaves his face.

"URGH!" Kyle groans, his face contorting and his hands lose all power.

I use my grip on his hands to drive them up into his own face. Kyle repeatedly punches himself, with my guidance. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The long-haired stud is reeling from the face hits, staggering backwards. I push back on his hands then roll back, dragging him forward. I plant my foot on his bulge and flip him over, my boot driving into his manhood as I do it. He collapses behind me, curling into the fetal position.

I roll over, grab his hair and ask him to tell me what I want to know. He refuses, threatening me and calling me a cheap bastard.

I tell him, "Don't say I didn't warn you, Kyle."

I drag him up by his hair, pulling out a clump, then hurl him into the wall. He slams hard on his back. WHAM! Kyle staggers off the wall, right into my boot. I kick him in the gut then use his hair to flip him back onto the mat. THUD! I stomp the shit out of him, going wild with boots on his legs, abs, pecs and yes, his crotch. I've got no time for rules or playing nicely. I feel like a man possessed, focused only on one thing - information and retribution.

Kyle still won't talk, so I mount him. I grab his ears and hair. I lift his head then slam it back into the mat. Kyle goes limp under me. I keep demanding he talk, but he keeps refusing. The musclehunk tries to buck me off, but I'm getting up anyway. I drag him up by his hair, another big clump coming out. He tries for a low blow, but I turn and his fist bounces off my hip.

In response to his attempted low blow, I pull his head into my knee. CRACK! Kyle goes limp as I force him up. I throw him across the room into a stack of boxes full of sports equipment from this community center ROW is using. He collapses in them, breaking them apart. I march over. In desperation, Kyle throws whatever he can find at me. I try to dodge as dusty, dirty balls, bats and shoes fly at me. A few things hit, but nothing that breaks my stride.

When I get close, Kyle kicks at me. I catch his boot and drag him out. We're both covered in sweat, dust and grime, our bodies filthy. Not that I care at this point. I keep giving Kyle a chance to spill his guts, but he's resilient and determined. I start kicking his leg, slamming my boot into his hamstring and knee. He moans and squirms, but can't do anything.

I throw his leg down then grab him by the hair again. I drag him up then spin and hurl him head first into the wall. CRACK! He staggers back, right into a full nelson. I charge forward, slamming him, chest first, into the wall. WHACK! Kyle goes limp in my arms. I let go of the full nelson and he almost goes down. I keep him up by his hair, holding him as I twist. We're back-to-back as I bend forward, pulling him up with me

Kyle cries out as his hair is pulled from his scalp. I grab under his chin, cinching in the hangman hold. Kyle kicks and moans, his feet lifted off the mat and all the pressure in his neck and back. I'm hunched over, demanding answers. I'm not sure the long-haired stud even gets what I'm saying, he's in too much pain. Realizing that I'm getting nowhere, I let him fall to the mat.

I kneel down, "Had enough?"

The punk spits out, "Fuck you!"

I shrug, rise and stomp the crap out of him again. STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! Kyle tries to escape, crawling towards the door. I have to smile, seeing him slide slowly forward, unable to mount any resistance.

I tell him, "It's just a matter of time. Why suffer just to protect Dylan? I already know the score. I just need to details."

Kyle ignores me and just keeps crawling. I casually pick up a basketball, spinning it in my hand. The long-haired punk climbs up the door, using the knob for support. When he goes for the lock, I whip the basketball at him. It hits the back of his head, driving his face into the door. POING! WHACK! Kyle turns, using the door for support. I grab a softball and whip it at him, hitting him right in the bulge.

"URK!" Kyle grabs his smashed manhood, spins, stumbles back then drops to the floor.

I saunter over and stand over him. He just lies there, curled up in a ball. I grab his hair, forcing him to hands and knees. I drive the toe of my boot into his abs. The force of the kick topples him over. As he rises, I kick his head, flattening him again. I grab his ankle and drag him back to the middle of the mat. I flip him over then step over his leg. Kyle is helpless as I lock on a figure-four. AARRRRGGGGHHHHH!

Kyle thrashes and cries out. He actually calls out for help, hoping someone passing the room will rescue him. I remind him that he can end this, but he's a stubborn piece of crap. I've got him crying in pain, so I release the hold. Kyle grabs his knee, moaning on the mat. I kick his hands away then mount him in a schoolboy pin. I wrap my hands around his throat adding light pressure.

"Kyle, Kyle, Kyle. Here's what's happening. I've softened up your body. Now, I'm breaking you piece by piece. I just took out your legs. Next, I'll take your arms. Then your back. And so on until I get what I want. Now, tell me the truth about you, Dylan and Jeff."

Kyle sucks up his energy, actually toppling me off him. He tries to rise, limping as he tries to walk to the door. I dive at his legs and his knee goes out. He moans on the mat as I pin his arm out on the mat. I deliver a series of knee drops to his bicep and tricep, breaking down the muscle. Kyle tries to pull away, but I fire my fist out across his face. WHACK!

I rise up, dragging the dazed Kyle up by his right arm. I wrench his arm behind him then run him into the wall, shoulder first. ARGH! Kyle goes limp, falling into me as he's unable to stand. I slam him face first back into the wall. I grab his right wrist with both hands, forcing his hand up between his shoulder blades. The long-haired muscle punk groans as I lift him up onto his toes.

Kyle screams as I power him up off the ground by the chicken wing hold. "Oh god! Please! I GIVE!"

"Did you just give?" I laugh, explaining to Kyle, "What the fuck makes you think this is that kind of match? I don't want a submission. I want info. And this doesn't stop until I get it."

I let Kyle drop and he collapses at my feet. I stomp his broken body again. He begs for mercy, but I tell him he knows how to stop this. I ask about Dylan, but he still won't respond. I shake my head at his stubbornness, but if I'm being honest, I'm not that upset. I've wanted to pound on Kyle for months, so I don't mind doing more of it. I grab a jump rope from the pile of crap. I fold his arms up his back then bind them, tying the rope around his wrists, forearms and neck to keep it tight.

I grab Kyle's hair, dragging him up. He can barely stand. As he falls back down, another huge clump of long black hair comes out in my hand, which I casually toss onto the pile. I drag Kyle up again, scooping the musclestud up across my chest. I drop him in a backbreaker. CRACK! Kyle screams, his bound arms and neck straining. I stretch the stud out on my knee. His smooth muscles tighten as he's folded over my leg. I hear him whimpering, begging me to stop.

My eyes go to Kyle's bulge, followed by my hand. He starts begging when he feels my hand slide over the front of his trunks. I’m a little surprised the fucker’s cock is so hard (and big), but I don’t really care. The begging turns to screams as I close my hand, collapsing it around his tender balls. I know how to deliver a killer claw, something that Kyle learns quickly. He thrashes on my leg, but I hold him firmly.

"I can keep this up forever, Kyle! Whatever your deal with Dylan is ... is it worth this?"

Kyle cries then finally says, "Okay! Okay! I'll TALK!"

Fifteen Minutes Later

Satisfied that Kyle told me the truth, I open the door, running right into Dylan. He's showered and shirtless in jeans.

I coldly greet him, ushering him into the storage room. He says, "I’ve been ready forever. What've you been up to, babe? You're filthy."

In a monotone, I say, "Yeah, the storage room is dirty." I quietly lock the door behind me.

"Babe, what's going on? You sound so cold. Like a robot. It's - whoa." Dylan stops. He looks at the corner of the room, trying to process what's happening. He looks at me strangely then looks back to the corner. Kyle is lying there, face down, stripped and bound. Large clumps of his long jet black hair line the room.

Dylan mutters, "Kyle? What happened?"

I calmly explain, "I beat the shit out of him. Broke him. Made him spill his guts. Then I knocked him out."

Dylan looks shocked. "Why? Why would you do this? How did you do this?"

"How? Kyle asked the same thing. You'd be amazed what I can do when I get motivated." I grab Dylan and push him into the wall. My calmness breaks as I lash out, "As for why? You son of a bitch. You fucked Jeff over. The whole time we thought you were looking out for him, you were setting him up to fail. We trusted you. How could you?"

Dylan denies it, but then with coaxing, finally comes clean. He blabs on about how he loves me. Dylan says he only hired Jeff to get to me, but then he saw how Jeff was holding me back. How I never would have moved on with him around. How I never could have been this happy. How Jeff and I have a destructive, co-dependent relationship. How Dylan and I have something real, but I would have kept putting us second behind Jeff.

Dylan goes on and on. Jeff. Jeff. Jeff. Kyle already explained how diabolical Dylan is. Kyle confessed that Dylan made him screw up in the matches, to set Jeff up. That Dylan was waiting until Jeff really trusted him. He'd been seeding negative thoughts in Jeff's mind, even pitting Champ against him. Then, when the time was right, he pounced. He had Jeff fired only when he knew he could convince Jeff that pro wrestling wasn't for him and I wouldn't be around to convince Jeff otherwise.

Hearing it from Kyle hurt, but listening to a man I thought I loved reveal this huge betrayal is too much. Tears form and my energy is drained. I want to curl up into a ball. Dylan gets my attention again when he has the nerve to say, "I only did it because I love you!"

Through tears, I tell him, "Fuck you. I HATE you. I should've known. You manipulated me the first time we met into doing what you wanted. And you've never stopped. You hurt me. But worse than that, you hurt Jeff. And it's all my fault. You son of a bitch!"

Suddenly, Dylan shoots out both hands, slamming them into my chest. His locked fists hammer into my left pec. I feel my heart skip a beat as I fall back onto the mat. As I gasp for breath, the smaller stud stands over me.

Dylan says, "I do love you and I know you still love me. You just need time to see that, but I'm not ending up like Kyle."

Ben vs. Dylan

Dylan goes for the door, but I'm ready with a soccer ball, which I whip into his legs. He stumbles then turns as I'm rising. My now-ex chooses fight over flight, realizing I've got him trapped.

The smaller stud dives for my legs, tripping me. As I try to rise, he kicks my head, sending me back down. Dylan locks on an armbar then rolls us back. He scissors my arm, locking it in tight. As he works my arm, Dylan keeps trying to say he loves me. All that does is enrage me. I power out of the hold and roll to a crouch.

Dylan moves to the door. When I move in, I realize too late that Dylan has hold of a baseball bat. He swings it into my abs, doubling me over. He trips me down then mounts me, holding the bat across my throat.

I fight to keep the bat up, but he's got position and adrenaline on his side. I say, "Kyle told me you cheated on me with him!"

Dylan's eyes go wide. He says, "No, babe! It's not like that! It's like your wrest - WHOA!"

That new accusation has the desired effect, distracting him long enough for me to flip him off me. The bat flies to the side out of reach. I tackle him down, mounting his waist. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dylan searching with his hand for another weapon. He gropes and finds a tennis racquet, but I'm ready. When he tries to swing it, I grab his wrist, squeeze and force him to drop it.

Dylan uses my focus on his right hand to sneak in an upper cut with his left. I fall to the side, letting him move out from under me. As I rise, Dylan kicks my knee, bringing me down. CRACK! I feel it, instinctively reaching for the aching joint. That gives my ex time to kick at my head, sending me rolling onto my back.

Dylan stands over me then stomps my left pec over and over. STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! The soles of his running shoe leaves a huge red welt. I roll away, but Dylan's right behind me. He grabs the tennis racquet and brings it across my throat from behind, choking me. I kneel in front of him, desperately trying to fight back, but it's tough. He's got his knee in my back and is using all his strength and leverage to try and put me out.

With a powerful burst, I manage to push forward, tearing the racquet away and sending it flying across the room. I kneel on one knee, gasping for air. Dylan moves in behind me and drags me up by my hair and trunks. He whips me into the wall. THUD! The smaller stud pins me to the wall then grabs my left wrist. He locks it behind my head then lines up his right fist over my left pec.

"Let's see if those stomps softened you up enough!"

Dylan pulls back and delivers a heart punch. I feel my legs go limp as he lets me go. I fall onto my ass, holding my chest. Dylan squats in front of me. He grabs my hair and forces my head back. I see a cruelty in his face I never saw before. I'm sure it was always there, but I must have been blind to it.

My ex says, "Sorry this had to happen, Ben. I only wish it was that loser Jeff I was beating the shit out of."

RRARRRRR! In a rage, I take a swing, knocking him back. I stagger to my feet, using the wall for support. I warn Dylan, "Don't say his name again, you fucking psycho!"

Dylan charges at me, splashing into me. When he bounces off, I'm back to my knees. My ex says, "See, this is my fault. I never should've wasted my time on a guy who's so hung up on his so-called straight friend, no matter how rich and hot he is. Kyle was right about you all along."

Dylan jumps on my back, dropping me back to the mat. I grunt as he drags me up into a camel clutch. The smaller stud pushes my torso to the side, locking his arms around my amrpit and neck. The move is like a combination camel clutch and ab stretch. It kills as pain wracks my body. Dylan starts bouncing back and sideways, really amping up the pressure.

I moan as I'm taken apart. I don't bother submitting, instead focusing on surviving. Dylan shifts his left hand to my left pec, slapping on a claw. It hurts, but it also weakens his grip on my torso. I power forward then buck up, throwing the 165-lbs stud off my back. He gets to his knees fast, moving in beside me. I throw my body at him, tackling him down. We roll, but I overpower him and pin him down.

I tell him, "You had your fun. Now I'm going to have mine!"

I slide my legs back and wrap mine around his. I shoot my legs out as fast and as far as I can. YEEARGH! Dylan screams as I tear his groin with the grapevine. I let go of his left wrist then force my hand over his face. I grip his handsome features in a Kaine Klaw, taught to me by the expert. Dylan thrashes under me as I squeeze his face.

Dylan lasts thirty seconds before he's crying out, "I GIVE! OH GOD! LET ME GO!"

I laugh, "Not as much fun taking shit as dishing it out, right D? You're such a fucking wimp. At least Kyle held out for a minute."

I let go of the hold and roll off the whimpering Dylan. Suddenly, he lashes out with a shoe aimed at my balls. Too bad for him, I expected him to try something. I catch his foot, "So fucking predictable."

I flip him over into a single leg crab. Dylan groans, especially when I reach back and pull on his hair. He tries to submit again, but I laugh it off. When I figure he's done, I drop his leg then circle around. I drag him up and lock him in a front facelock. I grab his jeans and flip him over with a stiff snap suplex. WHAM! I roll us over and do it again. WHAM! I do it a third time then let go. WHAM!

I drag Dylan to his feet. moving behind him. I slap on a tight sleeper. Seconds later, Dylan's out in my arms. I let him collapse in a heap on the mat. I fall against the wall, exhausted and drained. My adrenaline leaves as I look at my two victims.

I notice Kyle stirring, so I saunter over. He's groggy, but waking. I casually wrap my arms around his head and put him out again. He collapses under me, back into dreamland. I drag Dylan's carcass to the middle of the mat. I strip him naked, neatly folding his clothes and Kyle's gear. I unbind Kyle's arms then roll them into a tight spoon formation.

I open the storage room door, leaving it propped wide. I don't know who will walk by next, but they're in for a treat. Two perfect lovers, enjoying a post-sex nap.

Hitting the Road

I walk to the locker room, grab my stuff then calmly march out of the ROW facility into the early March air wearing just my trunks and boots. I feel nothing but anger, my blood boiling despite the frigid temperatures.

My mind is racing at the ramifications of everything I've learned and done in the past hour. I doubt Kyle or Dylan will raise a fuss, but let them try. I've got brains, money and ... whatever. I don't care. I really don't give a shit about them. Not even a little bit.

I've only got one man on my mind.

I climb into my car and head to the motel. I shower, change then checkout and start driving east. Siri starts working on directions as I speed out to find the fastest way to I-90E. I'm devastated at what's happened to Jeff because of me. I'm going to fix this. No matter what.

The End