Story Preview: July 2019 (Warning: Spoilers)

The wrestlers and openings for July stories lie below the cut. You have been warned ...

Okay, you were warned and now you're here. Okie dokie, what's up for July?

2019 is the summer of stories. What does that mean? ALL of my stories this summer spend a lot of time on non-wrestling, non-sex things. Why? Well, the first story is something completely different, a writing experiment of sorts.

After that, we launch a summer series with a shared theme: reunions. High School. Family. Wedding. Random run-into. Four different kinds of reunions, but they're all about the past meeting the present. Who are they? What's their connection? Why are they wrestling? It adds up to a lot of setup.

And so, there's a lot of story in these stories.

It all means that for those of you that hate the build-up and only like the action, you'll have some scrolling to do. Luckily, though, they all result in someone wrestling someone, so you action junkies might have to scroll, but it's there.

7/1/19: The Cave 0: Beginnings

Cody; Dustin (Ch. 4); The Immortal (Ch. 6);
Nick (Ch. 7); Cobra (Ch. 8)

This summer is starting with Cody and Ryan's origin story. Nine chapters. We see how they met at the age of ten. How they got into pro wrestling in high school. How The Cave got started, including the first-ever match. And how and why things blew up. It all runs right up to The Cave 1: Meet the Bat.

A couple of guys have encouraged me to write a novel. This started as a writing exercise as I thought about that, but I like the result, they liked the result and so I've made it a story. It wouldn't make a great novel, I think it's too linear for that, but maybe as components that could be edited into flashbacks or such.

Chapter 1: Ryan. 10 years old. June. Parkside PA.

“I don’t wanna go.”

“Too bad. Put your sandals on, Ryan.”

“Please, Mom, can’t I stay home? Please?”

I whine on and on, but I get ignored as my mother looks at herself in the mirror. My mom mutters about how fat she is. Yes, she’s a big woman and she’s put on a lot of weight during the separation and divorce, but as her son, I know she’s beautiful. She’s taller than all the other moms, her white skin is flawless and her dark brown wavy hair is shiny and moves like water when she shakes her head. None of the past year’s drama shows. Not on her face, at least.

She’s adjusting and re-adjusting her navy blue and white summer dress and messing with her makeup and hair. I get hope. Maybe she’s as nervous as I am? Maybe she doesn’t really want to go. Maybe she’ll cancel if I ask her nicely to stay home with me? I take another approach. Instead of complaining, I offer up mommy-son time at home. No mom can resist that.

I’m wrong. She firmly says, “We’re going.”

I know I should let it go. I can see her getting tired of my protests. I know this, but I don’t let it go. I stamp my feet, “She’s your friend, not mine. Can I pleeease stay home?”

“Enough. You’re only ten years old. Sandals. Now.”

I pout, “I’ll be good. I won’t open the door to anyone. I won’t touch the stove. I’ll only answer the phone for your special ring. I won’t do anything.”

Uh oh. That’s it. I’ve pushed too hard for too long. My mother lashes out at me, “Exactly. You won’t do anything except play a stupid video game and pig out on junk food. You need to get off your butt before you’re too big to fit through the damn door. Now, you’re going to come with me, get outside and play with Maggie’s boy. Do you understand?”

Tears suddenly well up in my eyes. I try to speak, but I can’t. I know I’m a big kid. Taller and heavier than any of the other boys my age. Not just big. Fat. And I’m shy. Quiet. Nervous. At school, they even started calling me Shrek. I hate that movie. It’s just one of the mean names they call me. It all hurts and I won’t miss any of them now that we’ve moved to a basement apartment across Philadelphia in a new suburb.

As much as the teasing hurt, it hurts a lot more when your own mother says it. I can try not to blame her, but I do. I know she doesn’t mean it. It’s not her fault. It’s my dad’s fault. My dad left us for Cynthia. Ever since, my mom has changed. She can switch between happy and mean and sad without warning. I know she’s hurting and stressed. Just like me.

My mother realizes she’s gone too far. She kneels down and wipes the tears away with her thumb. She hugs me and she apologizes. I apologize, too, promising I’ll be good. I promise to be good a lot. I’m not bad, but she worries about me. She feels guilty. My dad left her with nothing and she says he has no intention of providing for his only son. I hate him.

When she pulls back from the hug, she says calmly, “Ryan Joseph Bates. You’re a big boy. I need you to act like one now that it’s just you and me. Mommy is trying her best. As the man of the house, I need you to try your best, too. Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll try.”

Mom gently brushes my overgrown curly hair with her fingers, “Honey, this is a chance at a fresh start for both of us. You are a smart kid. But you need friends.” I open my mouth to argue that I have friends, but she says, “Real, live friends. Not computer people who are probably all 40-year old creeps anyway. It’s not healthy to be alone all the time.”

“Okay.”

“And mommy needs friends, too. Mrs. McCoy is a nice lady that I went to high school with. I haven't seen her in a long time, so I want to make a good impression." She smiles, "Her boy will be in your class. Won’t it be nice to start at your new school with a friend to show you around?”

“What if he hates me?”

Anger returns to her face, “He will with that attitude. Didn’t you just promise to try?” I nod. My mom looks at her watch, “And now we’re going to be late.”

7/15/19: The Cave 24: Ryan vs. Dustin

Ryan; Dustin (yes, the same Dustin
from Chapter 4 above))

A lot has happened to Ryan since high school. The Ryan we know and love isn't the same guy he was.  In fact, he's unrecognizable to Dustin, the former star football player from Parkside High. Even in a city the size of LA, it's possible to run into someone you haven't seen in 11 years. Previously unknown grudges surface fast and Ryan's inner rage rises again. Is the unsuspecting Dustin ready for what he's unleashing?

Poison. Bar. Los Angeles CA.

“Excuse me, dude?”

I feel the tap then turn to see a hot muscle stud standing there. Oh. Yes, he’s absolutely gorgeous, but I actually recognize him. It’s been 11 years, but he’s aged well and is kind of unforgettable. I happily reply, “Hey. Wow. How's it going?”

“Yeah, great. Hey, I saw you talking to that guy over there. Is his name Cody McCoy?”

Oh. I realize Dustin doesn't recognize or remember me. Well, we haven't seen each other since high school and I've changed a lot in the past 11 years. Back then, I was an obese geek with thick curly hair and glasses, all but invisible to jocks like Dustin. I’m still a geek, but now, I'm 6’4”/250-lbs, muscular, groomed and wear contacts. So, I get why he wouldn’t know me.

The handsome hunk is 6’2”/220-lbs, clean-shaven, with short dirty blond hair. Dustin’s shirt is off, tucked into the back of his jeans. He’s worked up a slight sheen of sweat on his broad shoulders, meaty pecs and ripped abs. As the star tight end of my high school’s football team, he was a beefy muscleboy. Now, as a 29-year old man, he’s a sculpted muscle god with deep blue eyes, a hard body and flawless skin.

Dustin was always nice to me, but it's not like we were friends. He was a popular jock. I was tech and AV clubs. We only knew each other through my lifelong best friend, Cody. The guy across the club that he's asking about. Of course, Cody is completely recognizable. My buddy was the most popular guy in school and is still a major stud. He might actually be hotter than ever.

The scorching hot muscleman misreads my disappointment, “Oh, look, no offense. You're a fucking hot dude. It's not like I'm trying to use you to pick your buddy up. It's just I think I went to high school with him.” He laughs, “Oldest line in the book, right? But if that’s Cody, it's true.”

I smile, “Yeah, that's Cody all right.”

The hot stud stares down my best friend intently. I remember how much he wanted Cody. Everyone did, but Dustin was the type of guy who usually got what and who he wanted. Not Cody, though. They were going to go out, but for some reason, Dustin broke off their date at the last minute. Cody never told me why Dustin dumped him and I didn’t really press it.

A cute little guy comes up to us. Oh. I vaguely remember him from high school, too. Joey? He asks Dustin, “So, is it him? I mean, it has to be him, right?”

I turn away without introducing myself since neither guy remembers me. I'm not looking for a hookup anyway. I'm here with my buddy Pete and I'm going home with my buddy Pete. Where is Pete anyway? Oh, he’s getting ignored by the bartender. I hate this place.

Behind me, Dustin answers, “Oh yeah, Joe. That's THE Cody McCoy. In the flesh. Fuck, and what flesh. Damn. I knew he was in LA, but damn, imagine actually running into him. And just look at him. He's still fucking perfect in every way. It’s fate. I gotta talk to him. God, I can’t believe it. I just gotta figure out what to say.”

“You’ll be fine, bro. Just relax. But watch out, ‘cause is that his fat fuck buddy Ryan? The one who cock-blocked you?” I see an outstretched hand point out my second-best friend Pete who is finally getting served.

Dustin shakes his head, “No, I don't think that's Ryan. Thank god. I couldn’t handle seeing that snake. One fake word from him and things might get ugly.”

Joey says, “It figures that, even in LA, Cody would find another fat loser to hang around with. It’s like he’s got a chubby chaser fetish when it comes to friends.” I miss Dustin’s response, but Joey says, “C’mon, be honest. Just look at that gross troll. Yeah, chug down another full-calorie beer, Godzilla. So gross. What does he see in these losers?”

My hand tightens on my glass. I feel it cracking, but I get control before I shatter it. Yeah, Pete is a big bear, 6’3”/300-lbs, maybe more, but he's smart, funny, sexy and a good guy. He was there for me at my lowest point. I don't like him being insulted. Actually, I don't like being insulted, either, since I'm the actual fat fuck from high school they're talking about.

I feel another tap on my arm. It's Dustin again. I hold off decking him. Barely.

Enjoy July!

Alex