canwrestle's blog

Bonded Like Brothers Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yep,” he answered with his mouth full.

“He cried, the pussy,” Robbie smirked.

Danny’s fist smacked into Robbie’s shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Next week.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Robbie and I visibly deflated - attack mode deactivated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You pissed on my shoes,” he growled.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re sorry… what?” he demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here?” I gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

“Please,” I managed to wheeze.

“Please what?”

“Please, Sir.”

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

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

“DO IT NOW BOY!” he yelled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled back and handed over his cup.

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

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

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