AWL: The Adventures of Danny Chase 6

Summer Storm, Part 1 of 4

"Fuck, it's pathetic. He's like what? 100? And he still calls himself 'Danny'? Like a kid. Uh, dude, it's 2016. The guy is seriously stuck in the 80's."

I overhear Kwame laugh as he says, "I know, right? How hard up for cash is he? If I was a fat, old has-been like him, you couldn't pay me to waddle out in front of a crowd. The guy is still wearing the same trunks from 30 years ago. Trunks! Are you fucking kidding me?"

Kwame

Koke responds, "Has-been? Try never-was. The guy was a jobber his whole ... career? Can you even call what he had a career?"

Koke

"Just be happy we're not stuck working with his slow ass." Kwame pauses then says, "Gotta admit, his ass used to be fine. You ever check him out on YouTube?" Koke must shake his head, because Kwame says, "You should. He got his jobber trunks wedged up all the time. Hot. Bet he got tapped after every fucking show. There's even fan fic on the web about it. Whole series called The Humiliations of Danny Chase or some shit."

"Yeah, well his ass is probably saggy as hell now. Gross." They howl and go back to bashing me. Yes, me.

Me, Dan aka Danny Chase

Welcome to life at an indie pro wrestling fed. I'm in the locker room, just listening to two young punks badmouth me behind my back. Yeah, I was a life-long jobber. Yeah, I've put on a few pounds over the years, but it happens. However, I'm 55, not 100. And I'm not hard up for cash at all. In fact, I'm pretty damn rich, but that's none of their fucking business.

My name is Dan Chase, but in the pro wrestling world, I do still go by Danny. It's how folks remember me. I made a helluva a lot of money being Danny the Jobber. Not from the AWL, the major federation that put me on TV for nearly 20 years. And not the small indie groups I worked for either. No, I made a lot of money because rich gay guys thought I was hot.

Let's be clear. I never had sex with a guy for money or for any other reason. I'm cool with gay guys, but it's not my thing. I made my money by wrestling for an underground federation that appealed to gay guys back when it had to be super-secret. They paid me a lot of money and bonuses, like cars, appliances, computers, clothes and plenty more. Even better, I made connections that got me into some of the best stocks in the country before they blew up. And when I stopped wrestling at 40, I got my current six-figure sales job working for a billionaire who still likes to beat on me in the ring every so often. Hubert Howard doesn't think I'm too fat or too old, so fuck these rookie brats.

I'm not here because I'm desperate. I'm here because I'm loyal. My best friend Rex Taylor asked me to help him out, so I came to Charlotte NC, put on my old trunks and I'm working three shows for him for free. He owns this place, but business has hit a rough patch and he's trying anything he can. Including dragging out old fossils like me.

Anyway, so the punks are still trashing me on the other side of the lockers. I get up to put them in their place when I'm surprised to hear what I think is a familiar voice.

The voice asks, "Is there a problem here?"

Koke replies, "Naw, Ben, we're good. Thanks for the training tips today. We've been here six months, but that's the most anyone's helped us. You know your shit."

Ben says coldly, "You're welcome. But I know I heard some trash talking."

Kwame replies, "Oh that? We were just laughing at that fat old fuck Danny Chase coming to town. I mean, you're our brand new marketing guy. How'd you let Rex bring a loser like him in?"

Ben replies sternly, "I suggest that you shut the fuck up about Mr. Chase. He's a great guy and we're lucky to have him here. Show some fucking respect. You've been in the business a few months. Watch, listen and maybe you'll learn something while he's here."

Ben

I smile. I always liked Ben. He dated my son for like six months. I was so happy when Dylan brought him home. Ben is smart, rich and a genuinely good person. Not like my kid who's rotten to the fucking core. I blame myself. I was always on the road, either wrestling or selling. And being famous as a jobber on TV opened him up to a lot of teasing. It made him a bitter and resentful little prick, but I didn't see it until it was too late.

Anyway, Ben couldn't change Dylan and my middle child fucked things up as usual. But me and Ben stayed in touch. His father has passed and somehow I've stepped into the role of occasional mentor.

I didn't know he'd be here, though. In addition to owning a pro wrestling fed in DC called CLAW, he runs marketing for a lot of small indie feds, offering them professional services for a fraction of the cost of hiring their own guy. I introduced him to Rex, but I didn't know they made a deal.

Koke and Kwame argue they weren't doing anything wrong, but Ben's ripping them a new asshole, defending me. I finally circle around the lockers, "Thanks Ben, but you don't need to fight my battles for me."

Ben smiles, "Mr. Chase? I didn't know you were in here, sir."

I look at the shocked punks, "Seems like nobody did. Right, kids?"

Ben comes over and gives me a big hug. He makes the guys apologize to my face then demands we do dinner while we're in town. We agree on tonight. Once Ben is out of earshot, Kwame and Koke get cocky again. They don't like being shown up, so they puff out their chests to act tough. I give as good as I get, but there's two of them. Before I know it, I'm in a full nelson getting my gut punched.

Just like the old days.

Suddenly, Ben re-appears. Koke is grabbed from behind and pulled off me. I break the nelson and turn to fight with Kwame. We grapple then all break up, with Ben and me standing shoulder to shoulder facing them. We're all yelling, but Ben takes command and shuts everyone up. I do like this boy.

Koke says, "Fuck this shit. You can't fire me, I fucking quit this -"

Ben interrupts, "What the fuck are you talking about? Nobody's getting fired you idiot." The punks look surprised. Ben shakes his head, "You rookies really don't know shit do you? We don't solve problems that way. We solve them in the ring. You two grab your gear and get to the ring and wait for us. Tag action. One fall. Stakes if you're open to it. Afterwards, we all shake hands and move on."

Koke and Kwame accept it all. On their way out, Koke says to his partner, "Looks like you're getting some saggy old man ass after all."

When they're gone, I tell Ben, "I don't do stakes, kid."

Ben smirks as he starts stripping, "Then I guess we better win."

Maybe I don't like him so much after all.

The Guys

When Ben and me are done changing, we actually kind of look like a tag team. I'm in my pink trunks with the white star in front and my name scrawled on the back, along with white boots, pads and wrist tape. They're the only style I have with me. Yes, they were always the fan favorites, but it's more because, they're the ones Mr. Howard likes me to wear, so I have a few new pair and they fit the man I am now.

Ben chooses to be color-coordinated, in white trunks with a pink lightning bolt on the front, along with white boots, pads and tape. The kid looks like a real pro. I guess at 26-years old he's not exactly a kid any more, but it's how I see him.

The gear is where our similarities stop. I'm 6'2" and 250-lbs, hairy and solid. I think "beefy daddy bear" is how the boys would describe me now if they were being kind. My face is still boyish, but I've accumulated some gray hair all over. I stopped shaving my body hair when I retired in the 90's, but I admit that I do trim it.

Ben is 6'/190-lbs of gym-built, super-fit muscle. The kid is smooth with a six-pack, something I never managed, even in my 20's. Of course it wasn't important back then. He's a good looking guy of Middle Eastern descent, with dark hair and tanned skin.

We stretch out and discuss strategy a little. Lucky for me, he knows what he's doing. I haven't been fucked in my 55 years of life. I really don't want to break that streak now.

When we emerge from the locker room, our opponents are standing around, looking impatient. They're in heel black, with black trunks, pads, tale and boots. They mock our pink and white, like the color of gear really determines anything. Yeah, we look like jobbers, but sometimes guys in pink can fight, too.

Koke is a 20-year old Asian kid. He's 5'11", probably 180-lbs. The guy is solid and strong with broad shoulders, huge chest and thick legs. Kwame is a 21-year old black kid. He's 6'1"/200-lbs and even more fit-looking than Ben. Abs, chest, arms and legs are all ripped without an ounce of fat on them.

As I look at the other three, the old children's song "One of These Things Is Not Like the Other" comes into my head. Oh well. It's show time and there's nothing I can do about it now.

The Match: Ben vs. Koke

Ben and Koke start off. My tag partner looks determined. The rookies look excited. Me? I'm nervous. I spent a lifetime being on the wrong side of these types of encounters. I thought this part of my life was done, but here I am. I'm back in pro wrestling for one day and I'm already smack dab in the middle of a crazy adventure.

The two young studs lock up. They feel each other out, testing their strength. Ben suddenly shifts, using Koke's momentum. The rookie trips forward, landing face first on the canvas. WHAM! Ben grabs him from behind, pulling him into a reverse bearhug then throwing him up and over with a belly-to-back suplex. WHAM!

Koke rolls to hands and knees, holding the back of his neck. Ben stomps his back, so the kid rolls away to his corner. Kwame tags his shoulder then comes in.

TAG! Ben vs. Kwame

Ben just waits, hands on hips. The rookies don't look as confident or excited now. Kwame moves in and they lock up. Another feel out period. This time, the ripped black rookie maneuvers my tag partner into a side headlock. He cranks on it for a second, but Ben grabs between his legs. He lifts, dropping Kwame with a side suplex. WHAM!

Both guys roll and rise. Kwame is fast with a boot to the gut, but Ben is faster. He grabs the boot then turns, pulling the rookie over with a leg drag takedown. Kwame flips over, crashing to the mat. He grabs his knee, which was wrenched by the move. Ben moves towards him, so he scoots on his ass to his corner.

Ben assumes a fighting stance, fists raised, silently challenging him to try again. Instead, Koke slaps his shoulder, tagging in to try again.

TAG! Ben vs. Koke

So far, Ben's experience is showing. He's putting on a clinic on how to move and counter. The rookies are frustrated, but I don't know if they'll go down this easy. Ben and Koke lock up again. This time, the punk doesn't fool around. He shoves with all his strength. He's a muscular, powerful guy, so Koke forces Ben to a neutral corner. CLANG!

Before Koke can release the lockup, Ben twists the rookie and reverses their position. He lifts his knee into the surprised musclestud's smooth stomach. THUD! OOF! When the rookie bends forward, Ben turns, locks on a side headlock then hip tosses him to the mat. PLOP! Koke lands on his butt, bouncing a couple of times before settling in a seated position.

Ben moves in from behind with a rear chinlock. Koke grabs Ben's arm, trying to relieve the pressure, but my tag partner has it locked in. The more experienced stud switches gears, releasing the chinlock, but pulling Koke's arms back. Ben rolls back, swinging his legs up for a leg nelson. The rookie moans in pain as his massive shoulders collapse under the force of Ben's legs.

Koke moans as he shifts. His head is forced down by Ben's boots, his arms extended behind him and locked at the wrist. The rookie is really moaning now. When Ben lets the hold go, he kicks Koke in the back between the shoulder blades. WHACK! Both guys rise and the aspiring pro is working out his shoulders. Guess he's not that flexible with all that muscle.

Ben is getting pumped, his muscles growing as the action gets more intense. I'm impressed at his focus and skill. He knows his shit. It relaxes me a little, but I know these things can shift on a dime. They lock up again. This time, Ben gets control. He locks on a standing armbar, twisting the powerful limb and attacking the shoulder again.

Koke groans as he clutches his shoulder. Ben controls him then backs up. He asks, "Want a turn, Mr. Chase?"

"Sure, kid." I slap Ben's hand to accept the tag. Okay, here we go.

TAG! Koke vs. Danny

I focus then hop over the ropes, coming down with a double axe handle to Koke's shoulder. WHACK! He bends over, holding his shoulder. Ben slips out while I move in behind the rookie. I grab him around the waist then lift and throw him over with a belly-to-back suplex. WHAM! He rolls onto his stomach as I get to my feet.

I reach down and use the back of his black trunks to drag him to his feet. I lock on a front facelock then suplex him over. WHAM! I roll beside him then lock on a side headlock as he lies on the mat. Koke pounds the mat as I crank on his neck. I'm already sweating, but it's feeling good. Been way too long since I did a competitive match.

Koke grunts into my side as I work the hold. He rolls around and we rise into a standing side headlock. The rookie slams his forearm into my back. THUD! I tighten the headlock. He does it again. THUD! I go for a hip toss, but he slips free and I stumble forward. The rookie moves in behind me.

The rookie wraps his arms around me with a waistlock, but I spin and clock him with an elbow to the side of his head. CRACK! He staggers backwards, so I give him a boot to his smooth stomach. When Koke bends forward, I grab his head then shove it between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together, locking on a standing head scissors.

Koke kneels in front of me as I crush his head. I fall to the side, bringing him with me as I keep the head scissors. I stare at his broad back, his head wedged in my thick legs. The rookie moans and struggles in the hold, desperately trying to pull his head free. I extend my legs and flex what I've got to keep him locked up tight.

I work the hold good, but decide to release it when it's clear he won't be giving. I roll up slowly, rising to my feet at half-speed. I grab Koke, dragging him to his feet. When he gets one foot planted, the rookie surprises me. He spears me, driving his shoulder into my stomach. The muscle stud runs me backwards into his corner. CLANG!

Kwame grabs the back of my trunks, stretching them out to hold me in place. It allows Koke to punish me with a series of big shoulder blocks. WHOMP! WHOMP! WHOMP! I feel the impact as I'm double teamed, my soft abs collapsing under the force of the youngster's broad shoulder flying into them.

From behind me, Kwame laughs, "Ooh, your ass isn't so flabby after all, you old jobber. It's still damn fuckable."

I don't bother responding as the rookies slap hands, their confidence returning.

TAG! Danny vs. Kwame

After the tag, Koke backs up, but he drives a boot into my stomach. He and Kwame move me sideways then whip me across the ring. I ricochet off the ropes. I try for a double clothesline, but they duck. When I bounce off, they hit me with simultaneous flying shoulders. The bigger Koke comes in low, hitting me in the stomach while Kwame hits high, slamming into my shoulder. WHOMP! THUD!

I go down hard from their perfectly timed move. Not bad for rookies. They high-five over me then Koke exits the ring. Kwame stands up then stomps my body, especially my stomach. STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! The rookie drops to his knees then digs his fingers into my stomach. He laughs that it's like a bowl full of jelly as his long fingers plunge into the flesh.

I groan as he works the claw, pressing down hard as he squeezes. I manage to shift then push him off me. We rise, but I'm slower. Kwame scoops me up, struggling a little, but he gets me up. He drops me almost immediately with a body slam. WHAM! I get dragged up and he tries again. I go up and get body slammed again. WHAM!

The ripped rookie flexes at Ben, enjoying the reversal of dominance. He drags me up, locking on a side headlock. Kwame squeezes tightly, but I grab him around the waist. I lift. He kicks his feet, trying to block me from doing a side suplex. Too bad for him. I go with his effort, slamming his butt onto my extended leg for an atomic drop. CRACK!

Kwame staggers forward, walking funny as pain shoots up his spine. I grab the back of his trunks and drag him to my corner where I tag an eager Ben.

TAG! Kwame vs. Ben

I use Kwame's trunks to hold him in place as Ben climbs to the top turnbuckle. They slip down his butt as he strains to reach his corner. The ripped rookie isn't even watching us, his focus entirely on Koke. My tag partner jumps out. I let go of the trunks just as he splashes into the kid's back. They go down hard with Ben on top. Kwame doesn't move.

Ben slides off then rolls Kwame over for a pin. ONE! Pause. TWO! Koke suddenly leaps over the top rope. I'm too slow to stop him from driving his boot into Ben to break the count. When my tag partner springs to his feet, the bigger rookie backs off quickly, his job done. Ben shakes his head, annoyed at the cheat, but he quickly gets focused again.

Kwame gets to hands and knees, showing his resilience. Ben drags him up. The ripped rookie fires a fist into the more experienced stud's abs. THUD! OOF! He rises and grabs Ben in a standing side headlock. He tries for a hip toss, but my partner blocks it. Ben pulls his head free and the two wrestlers face off.

They lock up. Kwame goes for an arm drag takedown, but Ben blocks then reverses it, sending the ripped rookie down onto his ass. PLOP! Ben kicks Kwame between the shoulder blades. WHACK! My tag partner then slaps on an armbar, forcing the younger stud to his feet. He cranks on the hold until Kwame manages to yank his arm free.

Kwame charges Ben, trying to surprise him, but the more experienced stud is ready. He shifts to his left as he lifts his knee to the tight abs. THUD! The ripped rookie takes the shot, but Ben wraps his arms around the leaner wrestler's body, pinning Kwame's arms to his side. With one quick squat and thrust, Ben lifts and spins, planting the rookie on the mat with a belly-to-belly suplex. WHAM! That takes the fight out of the leaner stud as he lies on the mat in pain.

Ben leaps to his feet then comes down with an elbow drop to Kwame's pecs. THUD! He slaps the rookie's chest then pounds on it hard. THUD! THUD! THUD! The ripped black wrestler grunts as he's hammered. He tries to defend his chest, but my tag partner swats his hands away. Kwame sits up, but Ben clubs him back down. WHACK!

The more experienced stud straddles the rookie's waist. He locks on a pec claw, cinching it in just right. Ben says, "This was taught to me by a master, Derek Kaine. You probably don't even know who that is, do you?" Ben tightens his grip then demands, "DO YOU, ROOKIE?"

Kwame mutters a weak, "No."

"Well, I bet you won't forget it now."

I smile at Ben's alpha male mentor approach to punishing the inexperienced rookie. He wants to teach them both a lesson and set up their hierarchy. Things haven't changed since I was a kid starting out, but I never had a Ben. When I mouthed off, I got knocked out. I know guys who hit worse.

Ben milks the claw, but doesn't submit Kwame. I'm sure he could. The Kaine Klaw can tear you open right down to your soul. My tag partner drags the ripped rookie to his feet. He forces him into a standing dragon sleeper. With the rookie locked in, Ben adds in a few forearms, smashing them down onto Kwame's aching chest. THUD! THUD! THUD! He shakes with every shot.

With Kwame trapped and not even resisting, Ben reaches out and kneads the rookie's pecs. Satisfied with his handiwork, Ben drops down, slamming the ripped rookie into the mat. WHAM! I'm pretty sure he could get the pin, if he wanted to, but he doesn't even try. My tag partner drags Kwame up by his wrist then whips him into our corner. CLANG!

I grab the back of the ripped rookie's black trunks, stretching them out, just like Kwame did to me. I wrap my arm around his throat and bend his head back. I tell him, "Never do something you don't want done to you, kid.”

With Kwame locked up, Ben unleashes with stiff pec chops. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! The ripped rookie thrashes as he punished. I let him go and he sags on the turnbuckle. My partner tags me in then grabs Kwame in a chicken wing.

I climb in, ready to finish this off.

TAG! Kwame vs. Danny

Ben holds Kwame while I pound him in the chest for a five-count. THUD! THUD! THUD! When my tag partner lets go, the ripped rookie wrestler drops to his knees. I drag him up then lock on a pec claw. He moans as I back him into the corner. I squeeze tightly, crushing the battered muscles. He wraps his arms around my wrists, but he can't pry my hands loose.

When I let go, I don't give the black musclestud even a second to react. I dive in, slamming my elbow into his chest. WHOMP! I force his left hand behind his head as I move in front of him. I kiss my fist then fire it into his battered left pec. THUD! Kwame shudders from the impact. I draw my hand back a second time then unleash another heart punch. THUD!

I move back as Kwame drops to his knees in front of me. He holds his chest tightly, trying to keep it together. I put my hand under his chin, forcing his head up. We lock eyes and I see that he's not so cocky any more. I see him move his right arm up. He fires it up between my legs, but I close them fast, locking his arm in a leg scissors.

"Not smart, kid. I've seen it all before. You wanna play dirty? I can play dirty, too."

Kwame shakes his head, immediately regretting his low blow attempt. I rake his eyes then fire a fist into his temple. CRACK! The ripped rookie goes limp on his knees as I open my legs then step back. I grab his head then throw him forward, slamming his face into the mat. CRACK! I sit on Kwame's back then pull him up into a camel clutch.

I pull back hard and Kwame can only moan. I slide my fingers inside his mouth, fish hooking his lips. When I pull his mouth out, the musclestud thrashes under me, fighting the pain. I tease him, "Never start something you can't finish, kid. Now, you apologize and we'll go back to wrestling right."

I ease up on the fish hook and Kwame moans, "Okay, okay! No more cheap shots!"

I pat his cheeks, "Consider that a free lesson."

I release the camel then rise. Kwame lies on his stomach between my feet. He rubs his back, grunting as he tries to re-focus. I stomp his back then circle around him. He fights to get to his hands and knees. I drag him up to his feet then scoop him across my chest. I body slam him down in the middle of the ring. WHAM! I give him a stiff stomp to his pecs for good measure.

I go for the pin, but Kwame kicks out at two. He's resilient, I'll give him that much. I drag him to his feet. I whip Kwame across the ring. He ricochets off the ropes right back at me. I go for a big lariat that would take his head off. If it connected, it would. Too bad for me that Kwame manages to duck.

I hear hands slap behind me then Ben confirm it. He points, "They got the tag." I nod and turn to face Koke.

TAG! Danny vs. Koke

I spin right into a flying shoulder block. Koke slams into me from the top turnbuckle, toppling me down. He gets up fast then lays his boots into my gut. STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! I feel every shot as he holds nothing back. I roll to my hands and knees. The young stud force me up, scooping my 250-lbs across his chest with ease.

Koke holds me across his chest then slams me hard to the mat. WHAM! More stomps and I'm in trouble. STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! He's powered by the adrenaline of being the fresh tag partner. I know that feeling well. You've watched your buddy get his ass kicked. You've been dreaming of saving the day. You enter in feeling invincible - stronger, faster and more intense.

I roll onto my stomach to crawl for a tag, but Koke grabs my boot. He drags me away from Ben then dives on me with an elbow to the back of my head. WHACK! The young pro wrestler slaps on a crossface pulling my head back. I struggle, but my arm is trapped between his smooth thighs. I claw at his fingers under my chin, but they don't budge.

The rookie wrestler works it pretty good, but it's not perfect. I feel the pain, but won't give. One thing being a jobber trains you for is taking punishment. Frustrated, Koke gives up on the hold. He gets to his feet to unleash more boots to my body. STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! I roll towards my corner, but Koke shows good awareness by blocking my path.

Koke drags me up, twisting on an armbar. He lifts it high, keeping his distance. I quickly duck and twist, relieving the pressure. I lunge at him with a shoulder block that staggers him to the neutral corner. As I move in, he dives at me with a flying elbow that catches my temple. CRACK! I'm stunned, but standing until he hits a high dropkick to my chest. WHACK! OOF!

I lie on the mat, catching my breath. Koke caught me good. The young stud puts his boot on my chest then poses over me. What a punk. I've had my ass kicked by the best and this kid isn't even close. I swing my arm out, tripping him onto his ass. PLOP! We scramble up, but he's on his feet when I'm just reaching one knee. He's faster, but that's fine. He tries to come at me, but I sweep his legs out. PLOP!

As I roll to a crouch, I tell him, "You're not bad, kid, but you need to work on that crossface. And no dropkick is ever gonna keep a guy down long enough to flex over him."

I dive into him as he sits up, slamming my shoulder into his jaw. CRACK! Koke goes down fast. I spring to my feet, leap in the air then splash down on top of him. SPLAT! The young wannabe groans under my bulk. I grab a hold of his thick black hair - ugh, there's a lot of crap in that hair - then drag him up.

"C'mon, let's give you a lesson."

Koke tries to pull free, but I drive my knee into his gut. OOF! I whip him across the ring into the corner. CLANG! I run in right behind him then leap up. I splash on top of him, crushing him under my 250-lbs of beef. I bounce backwards. He takes one step out of the corner then falls down flat on his face.

I shake my head, "Fat or muscle, 250-lbs is gonna hurt, kid. You shoulda dropped out of the way."

From the sides, Ben cheers me on, while Kwame orders his partner to rise. Koke struggles to his hands and knees, so I splash down onto his back. SPLAT! The aspiring pro wrestler writhes under me, but I turn to lie on top of him. I lock on a full nelson then roll onto my back. I squeeze hard and the muscle punk moans. He fights, but I've got him locked in.

"See, you're going nowhere. Especially if I use my legs."

I wrap my legs around his waist and he starts to gasp in pain. My thick legs crush his midsection as I tighten the nelson. Bet he wish he had some more meat on his bones now. I have him locked up and he can't do shit about it. I keep the pressure up until I feel the fight go out of his body. I'll give him credit for not submitting, but it's not like I'm asking, either.

I tell him, "Feel how your chin is digging in between your pecs? And how my legs are in that magic soft spot under your ribs? That's how a real wrestler does it, rookie."

Koke just moans before I release him. I casually throw him off me. Koke rolls onto his stomach as I stand up. I stomp his back. STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! The younger punk bounces with every shot, unable to escape. He meekly reaches his hand out, but he's too far away. I grab his trunks and thick black hair then drag him up to his feet. I whip him into a neutral corner. CLANG!

The rookie sags against the turnbuckles. He tries to kick out when I move in, but his boot bounces off my stomach. I kick out my boot, driving it into his ripped abs. THUD! He bends forward, so I mockingly slap his head. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! The young stud dives at me, but I hold my ground. As he struggles to move me, I grab his black trunks and wedge them up his ass.

As the young stud squeals, I taunt him a little, "Doesn't matter if they're black, pink or whatever, wedged up trunks always mark you as a jobber, rookie."

I lock on a front facelock. I force him up and over for a suplex. WHAM! He grunts as I drag him up then give him another. WHAM! Koke doesn't resist as I drag him up then give him a third suplex. WHAM! This time I let him stay down. He rolls onto his stomach, rubbing his back. I stomp a few times then splash down on his back again. SPLAT!

I kneel beside the ailing Koke, "Kid, I've been where you are now, so don't get discouraged. You just need some training. Listen to Ben and you'll learn what you could've done to counter any of the moves I'm using."

Koke doesn't respond to my lecture. He just tries to crawl to his corner. I look at a shocked Kwame with a smile as I adjust my pouch in my trunks. He just stares in disbelief. After I rise, I wipe the sweat from my forehead then put my hands on my hips. Fuck, I'm not as young as I used to be. I think about tagging Ben in, but I decide to keep going.

I block the path, "Sorry, but no tag for you, kid."

Koke has his hands in my boots. He struggles to move. The young stud crawls at my feet, his hands inching up to my knee pads. He gets his knees under him, his hands moving to my trunks. I smile, remembering how many times that was me, right down to the wedged trunks. I doubt I ever had an ass like this kid's, but my best 'wardrobe malfunctions' do have a ton of views on YouTube.

As I stand waiting, still with hands on hips, Koke's hands grab my belly and ass as he gets one foot planted. I reach out and grab his head, helping him the rest of the way. We lock eyes and he looks a little glassy. I scoop him up then body slam him down. BOOM! The young stud bounces off the mat then lies unmoving.

"Okay, I don't want to be an asshole here, even though you deserve it. I'll end it, unless you got an objection." I wait, but Koke doesn't answer.

With my back to Ben, I sit my ass on Koke's thick chest, facing his feet. My shins pin his shoulders down as I stare at Kwame and start to count. ONE! Pause. The ripped black stud debates whether to help his partner or not. He's looking past me, so Ben must be looking ready. TWO! Koke doesn't move, so Kwame has no choice. He hops over the top rope and charges.

I don't move, bracing for impact. Kwame almost reaches me, but Ben flies over my shoulder with a spear that flattens him. I casually announce, "THREE!"

I enjoy my perch as Ben wraps Kwame up in a pin/grapevine combination. My sweat pools on Koke's smooth body. I finally crawl over to Ben where I check the chiseled punk's shoulders and count. ONE! Ben opens the grapevine wider, getting Kwame to cry out in pain. TWO! The black stud tries to fight, but he can't break free. With his legs trapped and his arms stretched out, he's helpless. THREE!

Ben releases him and rolls off. We rise and hug. My adrenaline starts to fade and I feel tired. My tag partner puts his arm around my shoulder and his other hand patting my ample stomach. He says. "Great job, sir. Sure you don't want to enjoy the spoils of victory? I know a lot of straight guys who like the occasional -"

I interrupt, "Yeah, I'm sure you do, but I'm not one of them." Ben nods then hugs me again before I leave him with the boys to enjoy his stakes. I'm surprised (and kind of flattered) when Kwame asks me to stay. I shake my head, "Sorry kid, you'll have to stick to jerking off to me. At least now you got a real memory, not just your old YouTube videos."

Kwame's mouth drops open as I turn away with a cocky smirk. Yeah, I heard you, kid. As I exit, I see Koke and Kwame are on their knees, Ben firmly in control.

In the Locker Room

I sit on the bench, toweling off from my shower. I feel better. Ben comes in, the two punks walking in front of him. Their heads are bowed, shoulders slumped. They're naked except for their boots, carrying their pads and trunks. My tag partner leads them over to me. Kwame extends his hand, apologizing for being a punk. I accept. Koke does the same.

I tell them, "You two better appreciate how lucky you are to have a guy like Ben looking out for you. In my day, you wouldn't have left that ring until something was broken."

They nod then thank Ben. Kwame surprises me again. He asks if I'd be willing to train with them while I'm around, maybe teach them a few things. I accept the offer and we agree to meet first thing the next morning. Ben orders them to the showers, telling them to wait for him. The innuendo is clear as the guys grab their shower kits and towels before leaving Ben and me alone.

I tell him, "You really whipped them into shape. I'm impressed. As always."

Ben smiles, "We'll see. After you spend some time with them, I'd love to know what you think, sir."

"Sure. The guys change, but this world never does. The stories I could tell you about locker room encounters, just like this one. I'm glad to finally come out on top for once."

Ben smiles, "I'd love to hear about it, but you must've done okay. I mean, you're a great guy and a very successful man."

I smile ruefully, "In every way but as a father. You're the best thing that ever happened to Dylan and I blame myself for him screwing up. I -"

Ben stops me, "Don't be too hard on yourself, sir. Dan Jr. and Dave seem to be great guys."

I sing, "So don't be sad, 'cause two outta three ain't bad." Ben just stares, not recognizing the reference, so I add, "Meatloaf."

Ben scrunches his face, "Okay. I was thinking fancier, like steak and seafood, but there's a place on Thomas that has great meatloaf - what? What's funny?"

I just shake my head, "Nothing. I just forget how young you are sometimes. And how old I am."

Ben rubs my shoulder and smiles, but doesn't say anything, leaving us in silence. After a minute of reflection, I tell him, "Okay, enough of this serious shit. How about you get showered and dressed then I'll treat you to that steak." Ben objects, offering to treat me, but I pull the age card. He relents then strips down to get cleaned up.

Alone, I finish getting dressed, slowly packing my stuff up. As I fold up my trunks, I smile. Ben's a good kid. It sure was fun, being back in the ring for another adventure. I feel 25 again, like back when this shit used to happen to me all the time. Crazy times.

My chest suddenly tightens up. Whoa. That's not good.

What the hell? ARGH! I clutch my left pec and fall against the lockers. Oh fuck, it hurts. The pressure gets more intense. Please, God, no. I try to call for help, but I can't get it out. Oh fuck, I can't breathe. I move to sit, but I can't lift my foot high enough. I trip over my gym bag. I start to fall and -

To be continued 8/8 in Route 69: Bad Boys 8