Date: Mon, 9 Jul 2001 01:17:44 -0500
From: Jobguyil@hotmail.com
Subject: Retired Ex-marine vs Young Cub

Guys like that really pissed me off.  You know the type.  Ex-military,
retired, crotchety old bastards that think they are the only ones who know
how to do anything right.  They sit around and bark orders, looking for an
excuse to tell a younger guy that they're not doing whatever they're doing
the right way.  You tell yourself, if you can show the old fucker that he's
wrong, it would be worth any price.  Unfortunately, you rarely ask yourself
exactly what price that might be...

	I had lived next door to "Hawk-eye" Johnson for a couple of years.
To this day, I still have no idea what his first name was.  He was one of
those guys that had done some small, unremarkable thing during his service
in the military and had gotten a nickname for it.  In "Hawk-eye's" case, he
and his squad were perimeter guards at a small support base in Vietnam.
They had never seen combat, and probably never would have.  One night when
they were all drunk off their asses, "Hawk-eye" happened to look in the
direction of a hill south of camp.  There on the side of the hill was an
old Vietnamese man, his wife and their grand-daughter.  They had made a
camp on the hill for the night after a long day of traveling.  "Hawk-eye"
had been the only one to see them and reported it to his buddies.  Needless
to say, the family was taken into custody for possession of contraband.
Never mind the fact that the contraband consisted of the old man's walking
stick and the grand-daughter's straw doll (which she could have used to
conceal a hand grenade-if she had one, that is).  After the incident,
"Hawk-eye" had earned a medal and his new nickname.  Afterward, his tour
ended and he came home to a loader supervisor job at a local lumber yard
which he kept until he retired.  He never married.  The rest of his life
consisted of drinking cheap beer, getting a tattoo of a dancing girl, and
getting wrapped up in the drama of pro wrestling.  Don't get me wrong, I
love to watch wrestling, but I only enjoy the action in the ring.  All the
interviews, screaming, kidnapping, coffins, ladders, fire, and ridiculous
gimmicks I can do without.  Not old Hawk, though-yep, you guessed it-in the
years following his bravery on the hill, "Hawk-eye" had shortened to
"Hawk."  Old Hawk thought it sounded tougher-especially when he rode his
motorcycle through town.  That was a sight to behold too!  I've always
wanted to learn to ride a motorcycle, but after seeing Hawk on his, the
desire left me.  He had one of those HUGE things with the windshield as big
as a truck's, built in saddlebags that had more space than a station wagon,
and an automatic transmission!  What a loser!

	Anyway, I had the pleasure of living next to him for the past two
years.  Let me tell you what a pleasure that was.  Our two houses were on
the top of a hill in the neighborhood.  The trees from the woods behind our
houses concealed our backyards from the rest of the neighbors.  I bought a
hot tub for my backyard, the first year I was there.  To keep it safe, I
put up a chain link fence to keep any wandering neighbor kids from drowning
in it.  In retrospect, I should have put up a privacy fence.  I didn't feel
that I needed too, though.  Old Hawk had a privacy fence around his
yard-that is, until I had my chain link one installed.  The week after my
fence went up, he tore down the side of his fence that adjoined my yard.  I
asked him why he did it.  His response was that the fence had started to
rot and he didn't need to repair it since I had just put up a fence.  The
cheap bastard...  I could never enjoy my backyard-he was always..there.
Let me illustrate.  The week after my fence was up, I went out to enjoy the
hot tub.  I didn't see Hawk out in his yard, and he never had company, so I
took the liberty of sitting in the hot tub nude.  How he knew to pick that
day, I'll never know.  But within minutes he had call over a couple of his
old war buddies and and they sat and drank beer in his back yard, facing me
and my hot tub.  I'm not a shy man, but I try not to be offensive either.
I stayed in the tub, hoping he and his friends would go away.  After 2
hours, I could stand the hear no longer and turned off the heater.  Another
couple of hours and the water was getting cool.  Finally, I had had enough.
I climbed out of the tub-not caring if they saw.  If they wanted a show,
fine, I would give them one.  I'm not the most built thing in the world.  I
go to the gym when I can.  I describe myself as a bear cub.  I'm about 5'6"
or 7", and weigh about 176 pounds.  Not solid muscle, but not fat either.
Just kind of your average build with a hairy stomache and a lightly hairy
chest.  A trim beard outlines my rugged features and a small bear claw
tattoo rests on my left shoulder.  I like going to the leather bars and
meeting the big bears there, but enough about me.  I exited the hot tub to
the jeers of the old men watching.  They yelled things like, "What kind of
a faggot goes around nude."  And, "Look at that little dick!  He thinks
he's a man!?"-you gotta remember, the water was cold when I gave up and got
out.

	Over the next couple of years, I endured his presence every time I
went into my back yard.  Always, he had something to say, or some advice to
give-"Don't light your charcoal that way," "That's not the way to paint a
house," "You're mowing your yard in strips instead of concentric squares!"
I usually tried to tune him out, but then he'd trick me into having
conversation with him.  "Hey, did you catch WCW last night?"  I'd reply
that I had and he'd call me over to the fence to ask my opinion about a
match, only to tell me that I used the wrong kind of razor when I shaved.
I would have given anything to prove the old shit wrong-I call him an old
shit, but I don't guess he's that old.  At Sixty even, he stood 5'9" and
weighed about 200 pounds.  His hair was cut into a flattop, his nose a
hairy Gin blossom and a scraggly unkempt beard.  His chest-which I always
saw because he never wore a shirt to show off his dancing girl tattoo on
his chest (which incidentally was covered with a rug of white hair) was
saggy, indicating that he once had muscle there, but no longer.

	One day, as I was watering my backyard, he came out of his house
wearing something I had never seen before.  He called me over to the fence
and asked what I thought about it.  He was wearing nothing but what looked
like a large pair of spandex pro wrestling trunks.  Upon closer inspection,
I noticed that they had straps.  When he pulled them up, I almost laughed.
The suit was brief bottoms, but a singlet top with very thin 1" straps.  It
was covered in pastel Hawaiian flowers and looked like a shirt someone
would wear to a luau.  "What are you wearing?" I asked.  He explained that
he and a couple of his friends (the ones that had taunted me about the hot
tub incident) had bought a couple of mats and lined his basement with them.
They were holding wrestling bouts in his basement.  I laughed out loud, but
saw that he was dead serious.  "That's great, Hawk." I said.  "But don't
you think you guys are a bit old to be doing that.  You could get hurt."
He insisted that he was in better shape at sixty then he was his whole
life.  Again, I chuckled.

	"What do you know about it anyway," Hawk snorted, "you hardly watch
wrestling.  I'll bet you wouldn't last five minutes with any of us."

	"Hawk, we both know that I'm in much better shape than you are.
Why don't you go back downstairs with your buddies and tape yourselves
giving interviews and such.  That's what you're always talking about after
watching WWF on TV."  I smiled and started to walk away when his hand shot
out and grabbed my arm.  He turned me back toward him and fixed me with a
stern look.

	"Don't make fun of me, boy.  I was marching in Vietnam when you
were still in diapers."  Hawk had an odd look on his face-not anger, but
intensity and need, like he really wanted something from me.

	"Hey Hawk, I'm not making fun of you," I said.  "But don't put your
hand on me either.  Neither one of us wants to get hurt."

	"That's it, you're afraid to take on a marine, aren't you.  You
pussy boy!"  Hawk spat at the ground.

	"Listen you old shit," I yelled, "Fear isn't something I feel when
I see you.  I feel sorry for you.  You're life's over.  The most excitement
you get is seeing me get in and out of my hot tub."  I was angry and not
thinking straight. "Nobody in the world would be afraid of you, least of
all me.  As for wrestling, on my worst day, I could stomp your ass with a
hand behind my back!"

	"Are you saying that you challenge me?" He asked, a hopeful look in
his eyes.  At that point, I figured it out.  He wanted me to wrestle him so
he could regain his youth vicariously through me.  He wanted to see me in
action and feel me close to him so that he could feel like he was young
again.  Once again, I felt pity for him.  I also felt all the frustration
that had built up over the past two years having him as my neighbor.

	"Yeah, I said.  I'll take you on.  But it's not going to be what
you want.  You're going to feel pain like you've never felt.  I'm not going
to pin you, you're going to submit.  And before I let you out of the hold,
you're going to promise to leave me the hell alone.  No more of your
friendly advice or your opinions about how I do things.  My own father's
dead, and I don't need another one."

	"So you'll do it.  You'll come to my basement to wrestle me?" He
asked.

	"Yes.  Not today, I've things to do, but day after tomorrow.  I
assume you'll be home all day?"  I asked.

	He said that he had stuff to do during the day and wanted me to
come over about 7pm.  He said he'd leave the backdoor open incase he had to
get some last minute stuff from the store.

	"Fine," I said.  "I'll be there."

	The next couple of days passed quickly.  I started my week's
vacation so that I could spend the time out in my backyard, knowing that
Hawk would not be able to bother me after I broke his old ass.

	When 7pm arrived, I went next door and found him not at home.  I
let myself in as was instructed, and took a look about.  His house was
somewhat plain.  He had a couch with a clear vinyl covering on it.  The
furniture looked to be out of the 60's-a metaphor for the life of the man
that lived there.  I found a note on the table.  It said to go to the
basement and wait there for him.  The general layout of his house was
identical to mine, so that meant the basement was off the master bedroom.
In the hall, I saw a framed medal.  It was the medal he was awarded for
spotting the old family on the hill back in his service days.  What a joke,
I thought.  Turning, I opened the door to the basement and descended the
stairs.  What I saw took my breath away.  He had 12 foot ceilings in this
basement.  There were two finished rooms off to the right, presumably his
new dressing rooms.  The center of the basement was open and had a 15x15
wrestling mat on the concrete floor.  He had drilled out holes on all four
corners and cemented in ring poles, complete with ropes and turnbuckles.

	"Damn, he must be serious," I thought.  Above the ring, he had
track lights focused on the mat.  All in all, it was a nice setup.
Suddenly, I heard him coming down the stairs.  He wasn't alone either.  His
two old cronies had come too.

	"I thought this was a match between you and me, Hawk.  What's going
on?"

	"This is Jake and Marty, Dave.  You remember them, don't you?
They're the other members of my wrestling club.  Don't worry, though.  I
don't need their help to take you out.  Marty's here to referee-to make
sure you follow the rules.  Jake's our camera man.  He's going to do the
interviews."

	"Interviews?" I said.  "Why interviews?"

	"This is a pro wrestling match, Dave.  Interviews are a part of
it." Hawk asserted.  "We're not just doing this for kicks.  We like to be
as authentic as possible."

	"I see that." I said, looking back at the ring.  "Well are you
ready?" I asked, flexing my arms.

	"Almost." He replied.  He gave Marty the shopping bag he was
carrying and Marty took it to one of the dressing rooms.  When he emerged,
He was dressed in a referee's uniform, complete with striped short and
microphone.  I was so busy looking at him that I failed to notice that Hawk
had pulled off his shorts and shirt.  Underneath, he was wearing his
singlet with the Hawaiian flowers.  He must have kept it on since he and I
had agreed to wrestle.  It had sweat rings on it and a dirty spot on his
belly.  He pulled up a chair and began to don his patent leather black
wrestling boots.  I waited patiently for him to finish.  When he did, he
entered the ring and started doing stretches.  I started to step through
the ropes, when I was pulled back.

	"Hey, you can't wrestle in that." Said Marty.  This mat's new and
street shoes and metal buttons on jeans will tear it up."

	"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, still dazed from the reality of it all.

"There's an outfit for you in the dressing room.  Go get dressed."  He
said.

I nodded and headed off to the dressing room.  Once I was in I heard Jake
starting to interview "the Great Hawk."  I almost laughed at the sound of
it.  The interview went on for about 5 minutes while I got dressed.  He
said all sorts of things ranging from what he was going to do to me, to
what he thought about being the champ.

"The champ," I thought.  That's a good one.  He's not even had a match on
his mats yet, and he's calling himself the champ.  I decided then and there
to win the championship from him.  Just to add insult to injury.

The Dressing room was bare save for a bench to sit on and the shopping bag
that Marty brought in with him.  I opened the bag and was surprised by what
I found.  A white pair of wrestling trunks, matching knee pads, an elbow
pad, a pair of socks and a box containing an unopened pair of patent
leather black and white wingtip wrestling boots.  This asshole had gone all
out.  The boot size was right (how he knew what size to get is beyond me)
and all the items were new with tags still on them.  He must have gone to
quite an expense to get them.  I decided that after I kicked his ass, I
would keep the items as trophies.  I dug to the bottom looking for the
jock, but there wasn't one to be found.  I had worn boxers under my jeans,
so they would be of no help.  Finding nothing else in the bag, I decided
that maybe he hadn't been as authentic as he claimed.  I donned the outfit
and looked at myself in the mirror on the back of the door.  I was
impressed.  The tights were a tag snug, but they outlined my form
excellently.  The outline of my dick and ample balls could be seen quite
easily through the trunks.  The white color of the trunks, furthermore,
stood out in stark contrast to my tanned body and dark hair.  I almost got
a hardon just looking at myself in the mirror.

As I exited the dressing room, Jake focused the camera on me and began to
ask me questions about the match.  "Don't bother, Jake.  I'm not into all
that.  Let's just get this match underway" I said.  He gave me a paper to
sign.  When I asked what it was, he said it was a release that said I
couldn't sue them if I got hurt.  The other paper, he explained, was a
standard wrestling contract.  He said wrestlers always have a contract for
a match.  "Jeezus!" I yelled and scribbled my name on the papers,
confidently stepping through the ropes.  Jake moved away and took up
position to tape the match.  Marty came up to me and began to frisk me for
foreign objects.  This was getting a little deep, I thought.  Then, I felt
Marty's hand rubbing back and forth on my balls.  I looked at him and asked
what the hell he was doing.

"The last time I saw your package, he was a lot smaller than this.  I'm
just making sure you're not hiding something in there"

"Get off me, you old pervert," I yelled as I shoved him away.  "Go check
out the GREAT Hawk over there"

"I already did that, while you were jacking yourself in the mirror." Marty
snorted.  "Stay in your corner until I ring the bell."

As Marty exited the ring, I looked across at my opponent.  The ex-marine
was standing with his arms crossed over his chest.  This singlet was
low-cut on front, and his sagging chest was clearly visible even if the
dancer tattoo was obscured by the white hair.  Around his waist was the
coup de grace.  He had commissioned a championship belt to be made for him.
It shone brightly in the glare of the ring lights.  Seeing it, filled me
with the desire to take that from him too.  When this day ended, I was
going to have quite a prize.

Marty dimmed all of the lights that weren't a part of the track system
illuminating the ring, rang the bell, and stepped back into the rind to
officiate the bout.  Hawk unsnapped the belt from about his waist and
handed it to Jake who was filming on the outside.  After pulling on the
ring ropes a couple of times, he turned to face me and we circled each
other in the ring.

After a couple of seconds, he lunged forward to lock up.  I responded in
kind, but at the last second, he side stepped and I grabbed nothing but
air.  Jake and Marty chuckled as I stumbled forward.  Hawk strutted about
the ring like he had done something noteworthy.  Again we circled and
finally locked up.  I let him push me back a step to see what he had.  Then
I pushed forward and walked him backward to the ropes.

"Hey, ref, get this jobber off me!" bellowed Hawk.

"C'mon, Dave, give the guy a clean break now." Nagged Marty.

I gave a final push forward and stepped back and away from the ex marine.
One more time, we circled and fell into a lockup.  This time, I stepped
back again, but instead of pushing forward afterward, I clutched his arm
and fell back, turning my hips so that I tossed him over me.  I maintained
my grip on his arm and now had him in an arm bar.  He kicked and sputtered
on the mat, complaining that I had pulled his hair.  What a joke, I
thought.  Marty told me to watch the hair and I told him to get lost.  I
pulled Hawk up by his arm and when I got him to his feet, I executed a full
arm drag and twist.  He was grimacing in pain and stomping his opposite
foot.  Can't take the pain, I thought, as I pulled and twisted his arm
another round, slowing to a crawl at the end to let him really feel the
last few inches.  He was cussing like a sailor and reaching for the ropes.
Behind me, Jake was positioning himself to get the best camera angle.  I
looked at him and turned slightly so that he could get a better shot of his
buddy getting tortured.

"Alright, let him go, Dave" Marty shouted.  I spun my head back around and
said "What the hell are you talking about?"  Marty said Hawk had reached
the ropes.  "That's bullshit, I said.  We're in the middle of the ring!" I
protested.

"He touched the ropes while you were mugging for the camera, now let him
go!" Marty asserted.  "Fine!" I yelled as I let go of Hawk and stepped
back.

"You're gonna pay for that, son."  Growled Hawk.  Shaking his arm to get
the blood flowing again, he and I began to circle again.  This time, when
he shot forward, I dropped and grabbed his leg, pulling it out from under
him.  He hit the mat with a thud and wheeze as the air rushed from his
lungs.  I grapevined his leg and fell back onto the mat and pulled.  Hawk
spat and sputtered in pain while he flailed his arms and pounded the mat
with his other leg.

"How 'bout it, Hawk.  Is it too much?  Ready to submit?" Marty checked Hawk
and I applied even more pressure.  I was sure that it was only a matter of
time before this match would be over.  I would hardly break a sweat.
Again, Jake was there filming his writhing comrade.  I was leaning back
with my back on the mat.  I decided to sit up a little to get a better look
myself.  That was mistake number 1.  Hawk took the opportunity to drive his
other leg straight into my chest.  I fell back and released the hold I had
on him.  Fortunately, He was in much worse shape than I was and I got to my
feet in a hurry.  I pulled Hawk up by what little hair I could grab with
his flattop and locked him into a side headlock.  Marty told me to watch
the hair-I told him to watch my ass.  I backed us up into a corner and then
came out, turning the headlock into a bulldog right in the center of the
mat.  I was rewarded by the feel of Hawk flopping on the mat behind me,
holding his head.  I couldn't help but smile.

I turned around and rolled Hawk over and pinned him, hooking his leg.
Marty began a VERY slow count.  1............2....Come on Hawk, kick
out....Thr.  Hawk bucked his whole body, but didn't manage to get his
shoulders off the mat.  Marty started the count over.  I guess I was giving
his friend a little leeway.  1....... 2........Thr.  Again, the bucking.
Marty started another count.

I couldn't believe it.  I had pinned the man for 6 seconds, but every time
he kicked his legs, Marty started the count over.  I got up off my beaten
opponent and pulled Marty close by the collar and backed him up to the
ropes.  "Listen here, you old shit, his shoulders never came off the mat.
If you can't see that, then we don't need you in here playing referee."  I
shoved him out through the ring ropes and told him to take a seat and only
come back to hear Hawk scream his final submission.

Marty got up off the floor and said to have it my way and took a seat.  I
turned to finish Hawk off and was met with a boot to the midsection.  Air
rushed from my lungs and I doubled over more fro instinct than from the
pain.  This time, my forehead was met by his knee on it's way up.  This did
hurt and sent me reeling backward into the ropes.  I was stunned and Hawk
knew that he had to take this advantage or there wouldn't be another.
Quickly, he pulled the second rope up and over the first, trapping my arms
in the ropes.  Then he began to pound my abs with punch after punch.  None
of the punches sank in, since I was still relatively fresh, having been in
control the entire match.  I was calm and began to arch my back and push up
with me feet to free my arms.  Just then, though, Jake leaned in on the
ropes while filming, preventing them from becoming untangled.  I started to
yell at him to get off the ropes when pain exploded in my balls.  While I
was busy trying to get out of the ropes, Hawk stepped back and kicked a
field goal right into my big balls, which were trapped in the snug trunks
so that they took the whole hit without being able to move.

The pain was like white hot fire running from my crotch to my kidneys and
back around to my stomach.  Waves of nausea washed over me, and I thought I
was going to vomit when another boot found it's way to my abs.  This time,
it sank way in because of the state I was in after the low blow.  This
forced the rest of the air from my lungs and Hawk stepped forward and undid
the ropes, allowing me to fall to the mat.  I lay there, clutching my
already swelling nuts, when his hand snaked down and grabbed a fist full of
my hair, lifting me to my feet.

I swayed on my feet and coughed, trying to get air back into my lungs.
Hawk wasted no time taking me back to the mat.  He stepped forward and
locked on a bearhug, then jumped and turned, making it a spine buster.
Again, pain shot through me and the air was forced from my lungs.  My minds
eye flashed back to about 6 months ago when I was coming home from the
hospital from a car accident.  I wasn't seriously hurt, but I did injure my
back in the crash.  I had gone straight to the backyard to soak in the hot
tub when Hawk, punctual as ever, showed up and asked where I had been for
the past few days.  I told him about the crash and that the doctor said to
watch jarring my spine up and down.  I suppose he had tucked that useful
bit of information away for a rainy day.  Right then, my day was more like
a thunderstorm of pain.

I arched upward, hollering in pain and holding my lower back.  Hawk stood
up and stomped my gut back to the mat.  This left me moaning and gasping
for breath.  Again, I found myself being dragged to my feet.  Both hands
were now holding my aching back and I tried to pull away from his grasp.
He was quicker than I thought, though and pulled me back into a bearhug
again.  The pain was intense and made worse because he was a little taller
and was pulling upward.  My ribs felt like they were going to crack and
what little breath I had gained was squeezed from me.  Trapped in the
bearhug, my crotch was rubbing up against Hawk's.  The thought that he
might be gay never occurred to me, but as I struggled to get air in the
bearhug, he was rubbing our crotches together.  I could feel his dick
getting harder from it.  It wasn't just the accidental boner that a guy got
when he wrestled either.  It was the rock hard dick of a man who got off on
being in control of another guy.

I didn't get much time to ponder this situation, however.  Hawk sensed that
I was getting some strength back and put an end to it with s knee snapped
straight into my package.  Again, the waves of pain and nausea washed over
me and I thought I might even black out from it.  I'm no sissy when it
comes to pain, but when I'm not expecting it, the surprise of it can be a
bit much. As my hands tried to hold my bruised balls, Hawk bent himself
backward, lifting me off the ground.  Then he brought me down into an
inverted atomic drop.  Both by crotch and my lower back felt like they were
being ripped apart, and I fell back onto the mat, pulling my knees up to my
chest.  I wondered to myself, how things could have gone this bad.  I had
the old bastard beaten.  That screw-up, Marty, had prevented me from
claiming the victory from this ex-marine who was proving he could dish pain
out much better than he could take it.

Hawk, who had been watching me roll around in agony with great pleasure,
now took hold of my right leg and pulled me up and over onto my belly.
Locking my leg under his arm, he sat down and back, pulling me into a half
crab.  My already tortured back was filled with the now familiar fiery
pain.

"Give it up, Punk!"  Hawk Shouted as he pulled back even harder.  My leg
felt as though it might pop out of socket while my back was popping in all
of my lower vertebrae.  Hearing this, Hawk decided to get sadistic with the
hold and began to rock side to side, rubbing my already compacted spine
against itself.  My moans of pain turned into screams of agony.  If I could
have had a rational thought at that point, I would have screamed out my
submission, but as it was, my mind was filled with pain and the fight to
find a way to make it end.

Hawk must have liked the way I sounded, because it make him stop and
listen.  Realizing that if I was going to get out of this hold, it had to
be now, I put all my remaining strength into my arms and stomach.  Somehow,
I managed to push myself up and throw him off with my leg.  Hawk went face
first into Jake who was getting a close up of my trunk clad, swollen nuts.
The two went down in a heap and I collapsed to the mat in relief.

Jake was screaming about the possibly broken camcorder, Hawk was groaning
about the goose egg forming on his head from where he struck the camera,
Marty was yelling for them both to get up, and I was dragging myself up
rope by rope in the corner.  By the time Hawk was up and coming at me, I
was ready for him.  The dirty old shit had busted my balls and had tried to
really injure my back.  I was not happy with him.  As he reached for me, I
planted my boot solidly into his solar plexus.  This doubled him over.  I
then locked him into a front face lock and DDT'd him right there in the
corner.  I know it had to hurt, landing on the knot forming on his
forehead.  Hell, it hurt me to do it.  I managed to recover faster than he
did.  I drug the ex-marine to his feet, shoved him face first into the
corner, caught him on the rebound, and planted his head into the mat with a
belly to back suplex!

By now, I was getting my second wind and was determined to get this match
over with as quickly as possible.  Seeing that my neighbor was motionless
on the mat, I climbed to the top rope and came off with a big elbow to the
sternum.  His body bucked from the impact and I grabbed his near leg,
rolling him up into a lateral press.  Hawk made to attempt to kick out of
this one.  With my other hand, I slapped the mat counting the pin.
1................2................3!

With that, I jumped to my feet, feeling like I could take on the world.  In
fact, it had been a small victory over a washed up know-it-all bossy old
man who had it coming for a long time.  I was feeling pretty good about
myself as I walked to the corner facing Marty.  With sweat pouring of my
heaving body, I told him to give me the belt that he was guarding.

"I don't think so," responded Marty.  "You haven't won the match."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I rasped. "You're pal's out in the
middle of the ring.  You can count to 50 and he's not going to get up!  I
won the match, give me the belt."

Marty took the papers I signed out of his pocket and tore a copy off for
me.  "As you can see, you signed a contract to wrestle Hawk for one fall.
However, the contract stipulates that in order to win the match, the winner
must make the loser say the words 'I quit'.  It's a standard wrestling
contract.  After all, you yourself said that you wouldn't pin Hawk, but
make him submit."

"Fine, have it your way." I said and started to turn around to finish it
once and for all.

"Wait, that's not everything."  Marty's reply stopped me dead in my tracks.
I wanted this match over with as quickly as possible, due to the throbbing
in my back.  I gave him my full attention so as not to miss a single
stipulation.  "What more, Marty?" I asked.

"There's a stipulation on the end.  As per your request, if you win, Hawk
bothers you no more.  We never discussed what was in it for Hawk if he
wins."  This little development by Marty was starting to make me anxious.

"What does he want?" I asked.

"If Hawk makes you submit, you are his.  It's that simple.  You become
property to be disposed of as he sees fit.  You will continue to work and
earn an income, but your money is to be deposited into his account.  When
you are in his presence, you will refer to him as 'Sir' or 'Master' and he
will dictate where you go, what you do, and with whom you do it.  This
arrangement will last as long as he is the champion of our underground
circuit."

"What underground circuit.  It's just you three." I protested.

"Exactly.  So if Hawk wins, you belong to him until Jake or I take the
title away from him."  This was beginning to sound like an old man's
Christmas wish list.

"It's not going to matter what he wants, because 1, he's not going to win,
and 2, that paper's worthless.  Nobody's going to believe I signed it."  I
was pretty sure I had covered all bases.

"Seeing is believing, Dave."  Marty's reply sent shivers up my already
aching spine.  "Jake's got you signing it on tape."

Before I could turn around to smash the camera, Hawk's forearm came up
between my thighs, smashing my balls into my pubic bone once again.  A
groan escaped my lips and on my way down, I knew I had been had.  Hawk's
arm came circling around my throat.  Soon, he was pulling me back into a
dragon sleeper, once again, applying pressure to my spine.  With my nuts on
fire and my face locked firmly in his arm pit, there was little I could do
to resist being pulled back into the center of the ring.  Without warning
of any kind, Hawk dropped me with a reverse DDT.  My vision had a flash,
and then just blackness with little tiny specks of light.  I was vaguely
aware of being on my back and in pain when Hawk came off the second rope
with a sitting splash to my gut.  All the breath was knocked out of me and
I kicked my legs and flailed about trying to get air into my lungs.  Before
I knew what was what, Hawk had reversed his position and was sitting on my
face/upper chest, facing down the length of my body.  My upper arms were
trapped beneath his knees and I was pinned flatly to the mat.  My struggle
to get breath was made doubly difficult by the addition of his weight to my
chest and the awful smell of the singlet that I was now sure he had worn
for the last 3 days.

With the slow, methodic pace of a blacksmith, Hawk sent hammer after hammer
of his fists into my midsection.  Alternating in a pattern that attacked my
upper and lower abs, my sides just below my ribs, and the occasional smash
to my manhood, Hawk pounded away at me, taking my breath and strength
support away from me.  After untold, strikes, he reached beneath my trunks
and with each hand, snared both of my normally large, now swollen beyond
belief, nuts in his fists.  He began to squeeze and twist them.  My legs
found the strength to buck and kick as I screamed my submission into his
ass.  Since the only sound that could be heard was my muffled screaming and
the cheering of Marty and Jake, My submission went unheeded.  My only hope
was to buck the sadistic old man off me.  When he saw I was trying to do,
he maintained his grip on my orbs, while pulling them upward toward
him. This put an end to my kicking as I now needed my legs to hold my hips
up to relieve the pulling agony in my loins.

When I was on the verge of blacking out from the pain and lack of oxygen,
Hawk released my balls and my lower body came crashing back to the mat.  I
heard Hawk order Jake to throw him "that thing."  What that could have been
I had no clue.  Truthfully, I didn't care.  I was on that twilight zone
between consciousness and unconsciousness.  I had the sensation that my
trunks were being stripped off of me.  The next thing I knew, air was
rushing into my lungs as Hawk got up off of me.  I coughed a few times and
rolled over onto my belly, hoping to avoid any further pain in my loins.

My reprieve was short lived as Hawk straddled my back and yanked my head
back with a fist full of hair.  Next, he forced what I thought was a hood
onto my head.  It turned out to be a ball gag.

"Gonna make this last a while, so I can't have you ending it by shouting
the magic words."  Hawk was intent on making me pay for accepting his
challenge.  As I tried to get out from under him, he secured the gag in
place and dropped his entire weight onto my back.  The additional fight
that the adrenaline from that scare had give me faded instantly as my back
spasmed and the muscles there began to contract.  What would have been
hoarse screams and pleas for mercy came out as only muffled grunts and
whines as my arms were pulled up into a camel clutch.

At this point, folks, I would have died if I could have--Anything to stop
the pain that was ripping through me.  Hawk asked me several times if I
wanted to submit.  Because I was unable to answer him, he kept applying the
pressure, adding comments like, "You really shouldn't have ejected the
referee," and "c'mon, punk, just two little words can save you this pain."
Then the mean old asshole showed just how cruel he could be.  He moved his
hands from under my chin and put them on the sides of my head, using them
to rotate my head side to side and front to back.  The effect was that the
bones in my neck and upper back were mercilessly grinding together.  Unable
to submit or power my way out of the hold, clamped my eyes shut and endured
the unthinkable torture.  Sweat and tears flowed down my face and then,
bliss....

Somehow, I had managed to black out from the pain.  The next thing I
remember was being upside down in the corner of the ring.  Pain filled my
neck as I strained to look up.  My feet were crossed and locked under the
top turnbuckle.  I tried to reach for them, but my hands had been secured
behind the post.  Helpless and hogtied in the corner, I began to try to
squirm out of the situation.  That lasted no more than a second.  Hawk and
his buddies were seated across the ring, enjoying the view as I fought my
bonds in a useless effort to escape.

Beer still in hand a nude Hawk got up from where he and his friends had
apparently gotten themselves off watching their unconscious captive.  As he
approached me, I fought harder and harder against my restraints in a last
ditch effort to save myself from whatever sadistic fate awaited me.  Hawk
kneeled beside me and watched me struggle for a minute before stunning me
with a powerful smack across the face.  Again, I saw stars and felt the
warm sensation of blood welling up in my nose.  With the ball gag still in
place, my only source of oxygen was now closing off as blood from my nose
filled my airways.  Panic and terror set in as I coughed and shot blood out
of my nose.  Ignoring my plight and the blood that was getting splattered
with every breath I could muster, Hawk focused his attention on a device in
his hand.  I felt his hand close roughly around my balls and the icy
sensation of something cold closing around them.

With a dull but constant ache in my balls, Jake brought a Dremel tool over
to Hawk who used it on the device around my balls.  "What are you doing
with that, Hawk?"  Asked Jake.

"I'm stripping out the bolts that hold this split collar on.  Then I'm
going to engrave my new property."  Hawk's response sent me into panic.  I
tried to wiggle free, but a firm openhanded smack to my constrained balls
took the fight right out of me.  I endured the engraving with one thought
in mind.  One small detail that would allow me to retain my dignity.  When
he was finished, he put the Dremel away and cut the rope holding my hands
behind my back.  He also unhooked my feet and dumped me unceremoniously on
my head in the corner.  His last act was to yank the Ball gag from my mouth
and use his singlet (which had already been jacked off on by three old
perverts) to wipe the blood from my face.  He got up to leave and threw the
singlet back down onto me.  "That's going to be your uniform from now on.
Don't even think about washing it."  With that said, Hawk, and this two
cronies left me a broken heap in the corner of the pro wrestling ring in
his basement.

"Aren't you worried about him running off?" asked Marty.

"I done tagged him.  He wouldn't get far." replied Hawk.

Then they were gone.  When I could, I drug myself up and staggered
painfully to the dressing room where my clothes were.  Once inside, I took
a look at myself in the mirror.  I had a handprint across my face, but
otherwise that seemed normal.  I had pretty much guessed that he'd shaved
my crotch, but wasn't prepared to see that I had not a single hair left on
my body!  That mean, dirty old bastard had tried to strip me of every shred
of dignity.  I looked down at my crotch and saw that the source of my
testicular aching was a stainless steel split collar that was locked firmly
around my package.  On it were the words, "Property of 'Hawk-eye Johnson,'
won in a contract match.  If found, please return to 122 Lakeshore drive
for handsome reward."  Shit!  And he had even stripped the bolts holding it
on, so that I wouldn't be able to remove it.  For some reason I noticed
that my dick was rock hard.  Maybe it was the sensation of being locked in
the split collar.  Who knows.  Either way, I was rock hard and after the
ballbashing I needed to get off.  I sat back on the bench and began to
stroke my shaft, think about the match.  Old Hawk was a mean fucker, but he
had taken what I dished out without too much complaint.  Even though he had
cheated, something about being beaten by the old man that I rightfully
should have manhandled turned me on.  Something about having the ex-Marine
in control once more of a young man made me respect him.  I wanted to be
the one who gave him a sense of purpose.  I would never be his slave, but I
could allow myself to be a willing participant in his role-play fantasy of
being an important and powerful force in the ring.  That thought got me hot
and I savored the sensation in my balls.  I shot a huge load of hot semen
onto the already soiled singlet.  Afterward, my respect for him grew even
more as I realized that he had me totally helpless and could have fucked my
brains out.  But he didn't.  Instead, he let me have the choice-a choice I
pondered as I dressed.

After getting dressed, I left and went upstairs.  Jake and Marty were
already gone.  Hawk was sitting nude on the couch.  When he saw me, he
ordered me to come service him.  I smiled the smile of a man who knows
something of great importance.

"I'm not your slave, Hawk.  The match is void.  Neither of us won because
neither of us said the words."  There, I had done it.  I had proven him
wrong about something.  I had gone to hell and back for the opportunity.
Admittedly, it didn't go exactly as I wanted it, but what ever does?

A smile played across his lips.  He knew it just as I knew it.  I was a
free man-except for the metal ring around my balls.  He must have had the
same thought, though.  "You want me to get the drill out so you can drill
that thing off of you?" asked Hawk.

I paused a moment before answering.  "No," I said.  "I'll leave it on a
while longer, Sarge.  It's kinda nice and to tell the truth, I've worn one
before."  I grinned and looked up from my pants.  He had the strangest look
on his face.  Maybe it was befause I had called him 'sarge.'  He looked
like I had done him the best service in the world.  With his face all
glowing like that, not barking comments and being a pest, he looked like a
nice big polar bear sitting on the couch.  I never in my wildest
imagination would have guessed that I would be attracted to my neighbor,
but seeing him there with that look on his face, thinking of what the
inscription on the split collar said, I was suddenly glad to have found
him.

I knelt beside him and kissed him long and hard on the mouth.  When we were
done, I looked him straight in the eyes and said.  "Whatever happens, I'm
going to burn that nasty, ugly singlet."

He laughed and pulled me close to him.  I returned the embrace which we
held for a few minutes.  Then without need of words, the polar bear and the
cub went downstairs to the wrestling ring and there, we hibernated, locked
in each other's warm arms.