Or maybe everybody knows that as soon as you arrive at Blueys, you better get right in that line. So maybe it’s not him? Except now that he’s closer, it’s almost definitely him: craggily handsome face, blond hair shagging down from under the ball cap, really cool plaid shirt.Īnd if it is him, and we’re supposed to have breakfast, should I have been waiting in that long line? Or does he not have to wait in line, because he’s famous? Maybe this is his regular breakfast spot-they know him, and he has a special table-so waiting in line would make me look like an amateur. This could be the start of the article, I’m thinking.īut what’s this? There’s another guy hovering behind him, on another bike. He wears long pants, though the weather is warm. The bike maintains speed even though he’s not pedaling. He’s half standing on the bike, one leg straight, lips pursed to the relative wind, like a kid cruising to the bike racks at school. When you can see his whole body, it turns out he’s riding a bicycle, which was why it looked like he was hovering. IS THAT HIM? There’s a guy hovering over the asphalt, way, way down the street, a head with a ball cap and sunglasses. Soggy jocks, heaving muscle, the tang of victory in the mouth! It's more than enough to satisfy my demanding kink for m/m erotic wrestling.Jacket by Hermès vintage shirt and tank, available at the Society Archive trousers by Nanamica hat by Gladys Tamez Millinery vintage belt, available at Stock Vintage, NYC. The climactic choke-out is the match's sweet spot for sure. At the 30:00 mark, both bodies are again luminously wet and bound in a rear naked choke that lasts (gloriously! decisively!) for almost 90 seconds. By the 24:00 mark (out of 35 minutes), both are down to jock straps, and the battle is far from over, and far from a done deal for either. When McNair muscles loose of Flynn's flesh-and-bone shackles, it's fairly clear (if not yet certain) who is going to rule this mat.Ī third of the way through the video, both adversaries are attractively gleaming with sweat, which disappears after a jumpcut apparently dries them off so they can work up a fresh coat. He loses some momentum when Parker hurls him down to the mat and traps him in a cross armbar. Scrappy remains in charge for the next three minutes, during which he roughly strips his opponent down to the waist. I'm a fuckin' pro wrestler!" He lifts Flynn up in a bear hug, intensifying pressure to the wrestler's lower back with terse, dramatic squeezes. "Y'know what?" Scrappy barks all of a sudden, running low on patience. They lock up again, tentatively, nervously, though hiding all that behind lively banter. Scrappy recovers quickly and shoves Parker all the way to the opposite side of the mat. He picks the curly-haired Hercules up and slams his back to the wall. Parker easily fends off Scrappy's opening attack. It's all a big tease, of course, but how I do love to be teased! Together these two are almost too much eye candy, especially as the match progresses, and the two shed their singlets, eventually stripping down to their jockstraps. While Scrappy has moves and holds on top of his muscles, Parker seemingly glides on pluck alone. He's fit, photogenic, and sure of himself - and he's one of the first wrestlers on the MBW roster two years ago. Scrappy, of course, is an underground wrestling phenom, but Flynn is a draw, too. Scrappy offers to "knock some rust off" Flynn, whose last appearance in this fight space was at the end of 2017. Parker apparently thinks Scrappy is too musclebound to grapple. Scrappy overhears his opening pitch and steps in to remind everybody, Parker especially, of how much muscle he brings to the game. Parker is feeling good about being back at MuscleBoy and confident in his ability to take on Scrappy.
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