Date: Tue, 21 Mar 2006 09:35:47 +0000
From: "hippocrene2003 @hotmail.com" <hippocrene2003@hotmail.com>
Subject: wrestling for relief 13

	After a quick breakfast Dave and Jimmy jammed their gym bags into the trunk
of Ty's Honda and jumped in. Jimmy rode shotgun while Dave stretched his
long legs out in the back seat. Even though none of them knew exactly what
to expect from this weekend in the company of a bunch of strangers, they
were pumped at the prospect of  getting it on with guys like them who liked
to rumble and tumble.
	Jimmy kept up a lively commentary on a wide spectrum of topics: how
much he dug the house and the campus; his conquests at the community
college; cool lyrics (he and Ty would occasionally break into what passed
for a male duet, mostly old stuff. Their mom, it turned out, directed the
church choir back home); football; sex jokes; family stuff. Dave mostly
listened, enjoying the repartee between two brothers who were obviously
proud and enamored of one another. "Blazing Saddles" must have been their
all-time favorite flick, because lines like "Where de white women at?", "I
hope you brought enough for everybody," and "It's twoo, it's twoo!" kept
inserting themselves into the conversation, triggering giggles, laughs and
punches. Dave only wished that his own family were half that outgoing and
entertaining.
	Jimmy sprawled sideways so he could address Dave. "Is there gonna be stuff
to drink up there, you suppose?  Or smoke?"
	"What do you think?" said Dave. "We're expected to bring our own and share.
We can pick up stuff on the way. You're not into anything heavy, are you,
Jimmy?"
	Ty broke in, "He better not be, or I'll stuff his balls up his ass. These
guys may be just off training, but I bet there won't be a doper in the
crowd. You clean, Bro?"
	"Better believe it. I didn't even bring no weed with me, man. That's why I
can out-run, out-lift, out-box and out-screw you, daddy."
	Ty and Dave whooped derisively, while Jimmy pantomimed his athletic
prowess.
He turned to Dave again. "You think there's any chance I might get me some
nice tight ass this weekend?"
	"Christ, baby boy, these guys are veteran rasslers. It's you who better
worry about protecting your precious rump."
	"Yeah," Ty chimed in. "That little thang between your legs wouldn't
intimidate
a freshman towel boy, let alone one of them varsity studs."
	"Little thang?! You blind, man, blind." Thereupon Jimmy began pawing the
crotch of his sweats and then lowered the waistband to exhibit the onset of
a handsome black boner. Dave leaned forward and peered over the back seat at
the impromptu strip show.
"Pretty little, alright. You ever try a vacuum pump?"  Jimmy swung at him,
but Dave pulled back out of reach.
	Ty stopped laughing long enough to tell his brother to pull his sweats up.
They were in fairly heavy traffic, and he didn't want some elderly lady in a
passing car to have a heart attack. His brother was actually generously
endowed, maybe a tad bigger than he.
	Hours later they were honking at the curb outside Mike Simmons' Bloomington
apartment. He ran out, was introduced to the brothers by Dave and then asked
them into the building.  They met his folks, then lugged boxes of food, beer
and liquor to Ty's
trunk. Jimmy got in back so that Mike could guide Ty north to the summer
lakes. As they drove they exchanged  encapsulated life stories, and quickly
became buddies. Dave could see that Ty and Mike really hit it off, because
by the time they arrived at the field behind the cottage Mike's knee was
pressing against his seat mate's leg, and  Ty was doing a lot of smiling
back at him.
	Jimmy was not nearly as subtle. As soon as they were under way again he
began instigating little fights, jabbing at Dave, challenging him to small
feats of strength and occasionally capturing his head to apply a Dutch rub.
Dave gave as good as he got: pressure points, slaps, a sudden incapacitating
arm bar which forced a complete -- though only temporary -- capitulation of
his new younger buddy. Mike took it all in, smiling broadly, and assured
Jimmy that his aggressiveness would have plenty of outlets and more
challengers than he could handle once they were at the cabin.
	There were already a half-dozen vehicles parked in the field when they
pulled up.
They emptied the trunk and lugged everything down a path through barren
trees.
The shingled cabin sat back from a good-sized lake which disappeared around
bends at either end. Dave could see a few other summer cottages along the
lakefront, and smoke rose from one or two chimneys.
	Rounding the corner of the building, they came upon a soccer game in
progress, six or so guys sweating and cursing as they tried to score through
makeshift goals at either end of a  large overgrown lawn. Mike introduced
his three guests to his teammates, and they were invited to join the game.
	"We'll get settled in first," said Mike, and motioned the others inside.
Dave had surveyed the soccer players, and actually got a little lump of
excitement in his throat. What a terrific-looking crowd  to be with for the
weekend. The hands which he shook were coarse and manly, and the friendly
grins said that they were as glad he and his buddies came as they were to be
there. When he gripped the hand of one bull-necked blond, the guy commented,
"Nice grip, Dave. We'll have to try a little arm wrestling this evening,
OK?"
     "Hey, you're on!"
     Inside, his excitement escalated. It was only afternoon, but already a
couple of chiseled wrestlers were down to their levis and sox, muscling each
other around a pile of mattresses in the middle of a big front room. Other
guys were slumped on old furniture or standing at the edge of the
mattresses, and two onlookers were peeling off their sweat shirts ready to
take their turn. Two others on a sofa had their hands locked together, each
trying to force the other onto the floor. Dave, standing beside Ty as they
both watched, was amused to notice his black buddy trying unobtrusively to
adjust a growing bulge in the front of his shorts. Then Dave's glance
traveled -- as it often did -- to Ty's protruding ass. "That," he silently
declared, "is the meatiest, shapeliest butt in all creation, and it needs a
master's drilling before it goes back home."
     The kitchen was separated from the front room by a bar, behind which
stood the host, Woody, and his roommate Gary, who was the captain of the
wresting team. Mike joined them, and the three began preparing the evening
meal.
     "You guys can stow your gear anywhere you like," said Mike. "There are
a couple of bedrooms in back, but most of us will just sack out in here
around the fireplace. You can reach the head and wash room out that back
door. It's got a cedar hot tub just in case your bods can't take the
punishment you're in for."
     They tossed their bags in a corner. Jimmy hurried outdoors to impress
the other guests with his soccer prowess. The shouts and laughter indicated
they were having a gay old time plowing into each other. It had been hours
since the last rest stop, so Dave and Ty headed for the facility out back.
Dave stood at the throne and let fly with a mighty stream. "Look," he
crowed, no hands!" Ty sidled up and bumped against him.  "Asshole! Look what
you made me do! Now you gotta wipe it off the floor."
	"It ain't my piss, Paleface. You wipe it up." They both hurried to zip up,
and Ty  bolted for the door. Dave grabbed him before he could escape and
with a choke hold jerked him down onto his back and sat down on Ty's face.
They started to thrash around, but that end of the wash house was narrow.
When Dave banged his head against the hard wooden wall they decided to wait
until they were in a more commodious environment.  They sat on the floor.
	"Well, what do you think so far?" asked Dave.
	"I think this could be one of the cherriest weekends of my poor, sexually
repressed life. I thought our house was a kind of studsville, but there's
more prime rib here than in all the locker rooms I ever cased. Did you get a
look at the arms on that Gary, their captain? Mr. Minnesota Viking with high
cheek-bones."
	"Are you going to challenge him?"
	"I sure as hell am. You think I could pin him?"
	"I doubt it, but you know I know you're strong as hell. And besides, you
cheat."
	"I never cheat -- unless I'm losing."
	"That's not true. When we wrestle you cheat all the time."
	"That's because you never let me have what I want."
	Dave gave him a  crooked smile. "You have to earn it, bud."
	They locked eyes for a few seconds, and then Ty leaned over to press his
tongue
against Dave's mouth. Dave's lips parted and sucked it in. He reached his
right hand around and stuck it down the back of Ty's shorts. They both
chuckled, but went no further because they still didn't know the ground
rules here. There had been no overt randiness so far, and as outsiders they
weren't about to initiate anything themselves.
	"Thrash you later, Whitey."
	"Screw you later, Tar Baby."

	When they returned to the front room the soccer players were piling through
the door and the blond with the iron grip was organizing wrestling-type
festivities as the pre-dinner entertainment. The bar was also officially
declared open, and the big keg had been tapped. There was also an abundance
of bottles, both wine and hard stuff. As Ty had predicted, the only things
being smoked were cigarettes, and those who did went out on the front porch.
By now everyone had arrived, fourteen in all. Dave, Ty and Jimmy were not
the only guests. Two were cousins of a team member, still in high school
(host Woody had checked their ages), and two more were introduced as
university swimmers with friends on the team. Beside Mike, the only one Dave
recognized from the tournament at State was a short guy named Willie, who
looked and acted like a ripped jungle  animal. Willie had peeled off his
rugby shirt, kicked off his shoes, and was riding piggy-back on the biggest
of the high school jocks.

	The blond -- Randy -- had called for "Horse and Rider," and quickly three
other pairs joined Willie and his horse in the middle of the field of
mattresses. The riders, appropriately, were four of the smallest guys, their
legs secured around the necks of their mounts. Randy shouted "Charge!" and
they charged, the riders clawing at one another and the horses trying for a
trip. The sidelines chose their favorites and
cheered them on. In this version of "Horse and Rider," a pair  not only had
to bring its opposition down (one point), but then had to wrestle them into
submission (one point per submission), which meant that the downed pair
could still win if they both managed to get submissions off  the winners.
	Dave didn't remember this particular game from his high school wrestling
workouts. They'd had a lot of crazy ones, though, some of them real
turn-ons.
His favorite had been a free-for-all that ended in a pig-pile. Once they
were crammed into that final  stack of sweaty warriors, the bold ones would
invariably start grabbing for cocks and asses, and he never emerged from the
pile without sprouting a donkey. That seemed to be the game by which a guy
could identify teammates who would be fun to connect with for some practice
on the side, in a basement or a garage or somebody's orchard.
	Willie and his high school kid sent their opponents sprawling, and
immediately each of them jumped his downed adversary. Willie was a real
tiger, wiry and deeply cut, and his challenger never made it to his feet.
There were no pins: you had to get your victim to "give" any way you could,
short of breaking a bone. They rolled across the war zone, snarling and
grabbing. When his opponent went for Willie's hair, Willie kneed him.
Finally he locked on a scissors to the head and squeezed until his red-faced
opponent blurted out a muffled "I give."
	Willie's horse (Brian) was not so successful. The other horse was a State
sophomore who had made it past the quarter-finals, and he dazzled the kid
with his chain of tried and true maneuvers. Brian was a real scrapper, with
great upper body strength for his age ("I'd like to throw a bear hug around
that smooth chest," mused Dave). For a moment it looked as if he had secured
a winning choke, but the veteran captured his wrists and eventually
hammer-locked them both behind his back. Reinforced with a knee to his lower
back, Brian was done for. But anyway, Willie and the kid won by a score of
two to one.
	The other foursome was already through. "Shit," thought Dave, "there's too
much to see, and it's only getting started. Even if I could stay awake all
night I'd miss seeing most of the good stuff. I need holes in the back of my
head."
     Jimmy was acting hyper.  He longed to be in every match, test himself
against all thirteen opponents, wrestle until he dropped from exhaustion. By
now he had downed three beers, and  fancied himself the Son of King Kong.
Dave and Ty informed him: No more beer until you've eaten some dinner.
	There was one more contest that afternoon. Gary and Woody were summoned
from their cheffing in the kitchen so that they and Randy the blond -- being
the three  toughest wrestlers on the team - could stand against all the
rest. Any number could gang up on the "big three," but the three could not
help one another. It was an elimination: any man pinned or made to submit
was honor-bound to quit and retreat to one of the sofas.
	The mighty Trinity took its defensive position in the center of the
mattresses, their broad backs to each other. Ten others encircled them
(Number fourteen stayed in the kitchen to tend the lasagna and the pizza).
Ty and Jimmy decided to gang up on Gary, but
Dave positioned himself in the circle opposite Chuck, eager to match wits
and brawn with the handsome blond. As he was limbering up, he glanced up at
his target. Chuck
was looking straight at him. He grinned and winked, and Dave grinned back.
Suddenly somebody -- probably crazy Willie - shouted, "Let's cream `em!" and
the attacking savages converged on their prey.