JiminQueens2's blog

“Alexa, pause timer,” Ryan said. He looked over at Johnny. “What’s the idea?”

“Last round coming up,” Johnny said shortly, then held up the gloves. “How about we lose these?”

Ryan stared at him. “What, you mean bareknuck it?” he asked in a surprised voice.

“Sure,” Johnny replied. “Just the way we never got to do when we were kids.”

Ryan looked at the man across the ring from him. Johnny’s face was calm and unreadable. But it was clear that he really wanted to do this. And, to his surprise, Ryan knew that he wanted to do it, too.

“Fine,” he said. He lifted one glove to his mouth and detached the Velcro with his teeth, then trapped the glove between his arm and his body and pulled it off. With one hand free, it was easy to remove the other one. Johnny was doing the same across the ring. Ryan made a show of tossing his gloves aside, and Johnny, smiling, tossed his – right past Ryan’s head.

“Alexa, resume timer!” Ryan said. To Johnny, he said, “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Oh, I know when to quit,” Johnny smiled back. “When I’ve put the other guy down and he stays down, I quit beating on him.”

“Must not happen too often, then.”

“Almost happened a few minutes ago, I think.”

“’Almost’ doesn’t count, asshole. Let’s fucking do this.”

Their naked fists raised and ready, the two bruised, battered men moved toward each other to finish their battle, their bodies glistening with sweat and the smell of their exertion permeating the room. Where they had thrown punches with abandon in the previous rounds, now, with no protection on their hands, they were more cautious. It was a long minute before Ryan finally threw a jab that fell a little short, and Johnny threw one in response that Ryan slipped to the right.

They lunged in at the same time, and their heads collided in an inadvertent mutual headbutt. Dazed and stunned, they held onto each other for support, their fists taking the opportunity to punish each other’s ribs and stomachs. Johnny thought about bringing up a knee, but thought better of it. This was a boxing match, after all…

But then Ryan slammed a hard forearm into Johnny’s jaw, and Johnny decided that boxing was out the window. A knee came up hard into the pit of Ryan’s stomach, and Ryan gasped in pain and shoved Johnny off.

The two men circled, their fists up but every other weapon on their body ready to strike if necessary. Something curious began to happen; it was as if thirty years were draining away from the two men, and they were once again the two schoolboys who hated each other in high school but never had an opportunity to settle matters man-to-man.

They leaped at each other, collided, and fell down to the mat in a tangle of arms and legs. Over and over they rolled, wrestling, their fists hammering whatever they could find. Every bit of humiliation Johnny had felt for three years was boiling over inside him, while Ryan was fighting for what felt like his life and the imagined insult that had started the whole business in the first place.

Johnny, his back on the mat, got a foot between him and Ryan and flipped the man over him to land flat on his own back. The two men got slowly to their feet and went for each other again, their fists flying. All pretense of a boxing match was gone now; this was a schoolyard fist fight, and wild punches flew between the two of them, inflicting more bruises, and drawing some blood.

Ryan smashed a hard fist into the side of Johnny’s face, and Johnny felt a couple of teeth loosen even as he saw Ryan shaking his hand in pain. Johnny responded by driving a knee into Ryan just north of the border, and Ryan doubled over, gasping, giving Johnny the opportunity to land an uppercut that snapped Ryan’s head back.

Johnny, his own hand aching from the unaccustomed impact, rushed Ryan, wrapping his strong arms around Ryan’s ribcage. He began to squeeze, and Ryan’s grunts became yells as his ribs were crushed in the other man’s grasp. Johnny noticed, with some surprise, that both of them had become aroused during the fight, as his manhood pressed against Ryan’s through the thin material of the briefs they were wearing.

Ryan, on the other hand, was frantic to find a way to escape the hold. He twisted and turned, and he and Johnny staggered back and forth across the mat, with Johnny’s grip becoming increasingly unstable. Finally, Ryan managed to get an arm free. He landed two short punches right in Johnny’s unprotected face, which was now reddened with extertion and abuse, and he felt Johnny’s grip loosen even more. He got his hand under Johnny’s chin and pushed up and forward, forcing Johnny’s head back until he was staring at the ceiling.

Johnny was desperately trying to keep his arms locked around Ryan’s back, but Ryan was forcing him back and back and his fingers and shoulders began to ache. He finally released his grip – but his arms were far apart and his hands were down. He was wide open, and Ryan was there before he could get his guard up.

A right hook impacted Johnny’s face and disfigured his jaw for a split-second. A left hook to the body doubled him over, and then Ryan grabbed Johnny’s hair, yanked his head up, and delivered a solid right cross to the face that sent Johnny down to the mat.

Ryan, unsteady on his feet, waited for Johnny to get up and continue the fight. He poked Johnny experimentally with one toe, but the only response was a low moan from the beaten man. He dropped down to his knees and grabbed Johnny by the hair, pulling his head up to face him. “Are you done?” he asked sharply.

Weakly, feeling miserable, Johnny nodded. Ryan let go of his hair and caught his unsteady body in his arms, then guided him into a sitting position against the wall. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone far less sharp than it had been. Johnny nodded just as weakly.

“Ice?” he asked, his voice hoarse and rough. Ryan nodded and sprinted to and up the stairs. Once in the kitchen, he opened the freezer, cracked an ice tray, and dumped the contents into a plastic bag. He ran back downstairs; Johnny was where he’d left him. He applied the ice pack to Johnny’s battered face himself, and Johnny shot him a grateful look.

For a long moment, the two men sat there, not speaking. Something odd was passing between them. But finally Johnny spoke up. “You kicked my ass,” he said simply, “but I’m still glad we finally did this.”

Ryan grinned at him. “Could have gone either way,” he said, “and I’m glad, too. Best workout I’ve had in a long time.”

“Same here,” Johnny agreed. He glanced at Ryan’s briefs, and noted the still-bulging material. “Looks like something else needs a workout, too.”

Ryan’s grin grew wider. He immediately reached down and pulled his briefs down to his knees, revealing a respectably-sized erection that bounced up and slapped against his stomach. “I haven’t been this hard in a long time,” he confessed. “This fight was better than Viagra.”

Johnny slipped off his briefs; he was just as hard as Ryan. “Yeah, same,” he said. “Shall we?”

Ryan began to stroke his dick, his eyes locked on Johnny, who was stroking his own. For a long moment there was no sound between the two men, but eventually Ryan said, “Hold on a minute.” He quickly ran back into the main house, returning after a few minutes with a bottle of vegetable oil.

“Best I can do,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“No worries.” Johnny poured a liberal amount of oil on his cock, then began to stroke again. “Yeah, this is much better, thanks.”

“No problem.” Ryan began to jerk his dick, but after a moment, with a look at his erstwhile enemy, he sidled over until he and Johnny were hip-to-hip, then reached over and got his hand under Johnny’s and began to stroke the other man’s dick for him. Johnny smiled and reached over to grasp Ryan’s shaft in a firm grip.

“Why didn’t we do this in high school?” Johnny murmured.

“Because we were fucking stupid,” Ryan replied.

“No argument here.”

The two men continued to stroke each other. Neither made any move to escalate matters; neither was wired that way. They’d shared the second most intimate exchange two straight males can experience; now they were sharing the first.

Ryan came first, a geyser of thick, white semen exploding from his dick under Johnny’s careful hand to cover his torso and splash against his chin. Johnny wasn’t far behind; he didn’t shoot as far, but his chest got its own coat to match Ryan’s. The two men sat there, gasping with exertion, their hands moving away from each other’s cocks to slide around each other’s shoulders.

They sat there for a long moment, their arms around each other, their dicks slowly getting softer and smaller, their bodies slick with sweat and cum. Then Ryan, with a wry chuckle, said, “You know, I can’t even remember who told me you’d called me a fag.”

Johnny laughed. “Does it really matter at this point?”

“Only that I’d probably want to thank him,” Ryan smirked, “right before I watched you beat his ass.”

“Maybe we should ask around at the next reunion,” Johnny replied.

The two men’s laughter echoed throughout the garage.

(thanks to JHK49 for the idea!)

It was Friday night at the Stallion and Falcon. Jesse Gibson took a swig from his Bud Light and wondered what the hell he was doing here. It had been one hell of a week at work, and he hadn’t planned on coming out tonight. Order in dinner, a little TV, and then bed, that had been his plan. But then Mike, the owner of the bar, had texted him from his direct number – not the bar account – and told him that there was something special planned for the evening. It had to have something to do with the curtained-off area in the back; with half of the floor space off limits, the bar seemed more crowded than usual.

He checked his watch. Just past eleven. He’d give it until midnight and then he was out of here. He was tired and he just wanted his damn bed already.

But it wasn’t more than ten minutes later that microphone feedback made every man in the bar wince and involuntarily reach for their ears. Mike, a burly man in his mid-fifties with a respectable beard and a nice gut, adjusted the sound controls and took up the wireless microphone. “Okay, boys and bears, it’s time for the special event of the evening. Please welcome Randy—and he is—to the stage!”

Jesse rolled his eyes at the “clever” double entendre—but then his eyes were riveted to what stepped out from behind the curtain. This boy was….beautiful. Slim, thick reddish-black hair on his head and a light coating of it on his chest and abs, angular elfin face, looked to be about twenty or twenty-two years old, wearing only a white speedo. Someone had wetted him down, so his skin glowed in the lights and the speedo was almost see-through. Jesse could feel his dick stirring in his jeans. He wanted this boy.

And so did a lot of other men in the room. Offers were being made – some financial, some sexual (“I’ll blow you if I get to fuck him”, like that). But Mike just smiled and walked over to the far wall – then grabbed the curtain and pulled it back, revealing a miniature cage, about eighty square feet, with a mat laid on the floor inside it and a door on the bar side.

“You didn’t think this boy was going to be anyone’s for free, did you?” Mike asked mockingly. “You want this boy – you’d better be prepared to fight for him!”

Jesse rolled his eyes again. Mike thought of himself as the greatest showman since P.T. Barnum, but Jesse found that a little of his act went a very, very long way. But Mike wouldn’t have texted him if he hadn’t expected Jesse to be one of the men in the cage, and since Mike was always understanding when Jesse was a little late with paying his bar tab, Jesse knew that he was better off in the long run getting in there.. And from the sound of things, it was going to be a long night, because at least a dozen guys were still clamoring for Randy, and a couple had even removed their shirts in preparation for whatever sort of fight Mike had in mind.

But the noise died down abruptly when one man stepped into the cage, slammed the door behind him, and peeled off his t-shirt. Brian Driscoll. Tall, shaved head, built like the proverbial brick shithouse, massive torso covered in light blonde fur, matching beard lightly flecked with gray and reaching down to his chest, and one of the meanest, most unpleasant people Jesse knew. No one really liked Brian, but everyone, even Mike, was more than a little afraid of him. Jesse had tried to get to know the guy, maybe see what made him so angry, but it wasn’t more than twenty minutes before he figured out the truth. Brian was, purely and simply, a grade-A asshole and he liked it that way.

But Brian was also tough as nails. The Stallion was mostly a tight-knit community, and mostly friendly, but every bar in existence has its share of bar fights, and the Stallion was no exception. The one time that one of those fights had involved Brian…Jesse still shuddered at the memory. The fight had been close, for about two minutes. Then Brian had shown that he had just been playing with the other guy, and put a beating on him that stopped just short of hospitalization. Jesse couldn’t even remember the other guy’s name, because he’d never shown up at the bar after that.

So when Brian took his stand in the cage and wordlessly staked his claim on Randy, a lot of the voices “bidding” for the twink suddenly became quiet. Randy was smoking hot, no doubt about it, but Jesse could almost see the couple dozen guys who’d been raring to fight for him redoing the math in their heads, and deciding that no piece of ass was worth risking taking a beating from Brian.

Maybe it was beer nuts, or maybe it was just wanting his nuts to unload into Randy…but Jesse decided that he was going in the cage that night. Or maybe, he thought, I’m just fucking sick of this guy and it’s worth the risk of getting my ass kicked if I can stop him from ruining the Stallion.

He stripped off his shirt and tucked it into the back of his jeans, then made his way through the crowd – not quite pushing guys out of his way, but “adjusting” their bodies to give him a path. Eyes followed him as he made his way to the cage, some in annoyance at the unexpected touch, some in admiration at the muscular bear body brushing against them, but most in shock as they realized that he was volunteering to lock up with Brian.

The silence was deafening as he walked around the front of the cage and stepped through the doorway. Mike, thank goodness for small favors, was speechless, and even Brian looked surprised that anyone would be willing to challenge him. It wasn’t until he was inside the cage and had pulled the door shut behind him with a loud CLANG that Jesse realized that the rules for this fight, if any, hadn’t been announced yet, and he could have just let himself in for a no rules brawl.

But Mike recovered quickly, and announced into the mike, “Well, unless anyone else wants to step up, looks like we have our two bulls ready to fight over this calf!” That last was accompanied by a gesture at Randy. Jesse glanced in the twink’s direction, and to his surprise, Randy was staring directly at him, a look of fear and anxiety on his beautiful elfin face. He glanced once at Brian and then returned his gaze to Jesse, silently pleading with him not to let Brian take him.

“Okay, men…time to vote! How does this go down? What rules?” Jesse looked sharply at Mike. What the hell was he playing at?

“Wrestling!” came a voice from the crowd.

“Yeah, wrestling ONLY!” came another. “No punching!”

The chant went up: “WREST-LING! WREST-LING! WREST-LING!” Jesse was a little surprised – none of the bar patrons shied away from rough contact. But maybe it’s because it’s me and Brian, he thought, and they want to help me out.

Brian strode over to Jesse and got in his face. “You really don’t want to do this, little man,” he growled, his breath stinking of beer and whatever cheap shit he’d had for dinner that night.

Jesse noted that, while Brian always seemed larger than life and the biggest man in the room, chest to chest they were almost exactly the same height and build, with massive muscles built from long hours with the weights. He started to feel better about his decision to get into the cage with this man.

“I’m not afraid of you, dipshit,” he growled back. “If you’re too much of a pussy to fight me, the door’s behind me. But if you’re man enough to do this, then let’s do this. I’ve had enough of your bullshit to last a fucking lifetime.”

A look of pure surprise passed over Brian’s face; Jesse realized that probably no one had ever talked to him like that before. But before Brian could respond, or more likely throw a punch, Mike was, shockingly enough, in the cage with them, forcing his body between them so that both men had to take a step backwards. “We have a wrestling match!” he announced, “but to what finish?”

Half of the room shouted “Submission!” and half shouted “Pin!”, and it went back and forth while Jesse was trying to decide how where he’d hit Brian first. But just as the controversy died down, one lone voice yelled “PENETRATION!”

Jesse turned sharply in the direction of the voice, but there was no sign to tell who had said it. Brian looked to be just as shocked, one of the few times Jesse could remember the two of them agreeing on anything. But the crowd apparently loved the idea, because the chant of “PE-NE-TRA-TION! PE-NE-TRA-TION!” began to echo throughout the bar.

Mike raised his hand for silence, and surprisingly he got it. “Well, if the boys are going to wrestle THAT way…” he said, “we need to see what they’re going to work with. Drop your pants, you two!”

Jesse stared at Mike in disbelief, but then he thought, Well, what did I think I was going to wrestle in? He quickly undid his jeans and let them drop to the floor, then pulled off his shirt. Something had told him to wear his favorite black jockstrap tonight, and the crowd certainly approved, judging from the whistles and cheers.

Brian did not look happy, but with Jesse standing there in just a jockstrap and ready to wrestle, he obviously wasn’t about to back down. He grabbed his shirt in a two-handed grip and literally tore it off his body, letting the rags drop down to the floor, then unbuckled his belt and swung it in the air a few times, looking directly at Jesse the whole time. The implication was clear but Jesse wasn’t even remotely intimidated, and Jesse shot him a look of pure, unvarnished contempt.

Even wanting to kick Brian’s ass, Jesse had to admit that he liked the view. Brian had big, burly shoulders and a massive chest, with a nice bear belly underneath it – no six pack, but solid muscle covered by that nice covering of fur. Jesse found himself comparing the other man’s body with his own, and realized with a start that, except for the color of the fur, their bodies were pretty much identical. Physically, at least, they were evenly matched.

Brian frowned when he didn’t get the result he wanted. He tossed the belt into a corner, followed by his boots and socks. He unbuckled his jeans and let them drop to the floor, revealing a black jockstrap that matched Jesse’s. He kicked the jeans to the corner and stood there, bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly ready to wrestle.

“You bulls must have been psychic,” Mike said into the mat, to uproarious (and disproportionate, Jesse thought) laughter from the men in the bar. “Here are the rules: wrestling with body punches and kicks and anything else you can think of, nothing to the face, no holds barred, no holes barred! But the only way to win…get your junk in the other man’s ass! No pins, no submissions!”

“Fine,” Brian growled.

“Fine,” Jesse said calmly.

“All right, then, gentlemen—to your corners!” They hadn’t been assigned any, but Brian and Jesse backed into opposite corners, neither one of which was near the door. Mike moved to the door, saying, “When I’m out of the cage – come out fighting!”

They didn’t wait. Mike had just opened the door of the cage when the two men bears charged each other, and as he scampered outside and slammed the cage door shut, they locked up in a collar and elbow. They strained and pushed, first one man pushing the other backwards, then the reverse. The muscles in their arms and back bulged as they tried to establish their early dominance over each other.

They broke the collar and elbow and stepped back. Jesse came in for another collar and elbow, and Brian looked as if he was going for it, too—but at the last minute, his hands dropped, his right hand clenched into a fist, and he drove it deep into Jesse’s middle. Jesse wasn’t prepared for a gut punch and he doubled over, gasping and his eyes watering. Brian clasped both his hands together and brought them down hard on the back of Jesse’s neck, and Jesse hit the floor, seeing stars.

Jesse got up on his hands and knees – a big mistake, because it let Brian let loose with a savage kick that caught him in the stomach and sent him rolling across the floor, holding his middle and groaning in pain. Brian followed just as Jesse got up his hands and knees again. Brian drew his foot back for another kick, but this time Jesse was ready. His hands shot out and grabbed the ankle above Brian’s planted foot, and he pulled with all of his strength. Brian’s bare foot slid across the floor and he tumbled down, and Jesse leaped on top of him.

The two men rolled across the floor, first one on top, then the other. It was still early enough in the match that they were respecting the rule barring punches to the face, but they found plenty of other targets for their fists. Hands closed around throats as they tried to choke each other out, and were quickly knocked aside. All the while, the jockstraps they were wearing became increasingly tight, as their cocks reacted to the body contact and the intensity of the match.

Brian’s beard was turning out to be an unexpected weapon. It was long enough to get in Jesse’s eyes when Brian was on top of him, and it kept getting in the way when he tried to get his hand on Brian’s throat. Jesse cursed his own, close-cropped beard; it wasn’t helping at all.

The two men struggled to their feet, still locked in combat, but with Jesse’s head trapped in a headlock and Jesse smelling Brian’s rank armpit. Brian frog-marched him to the edge of the cage—and then, before Jesse could react, Brian had gotten behind him and grabbed a couple handfuls of Jesse’s hair! He pushed Jesse’s face into the cage wall, and then started grating it against the wall like cheese!

Jesse howled in pain and tried to reach behind him to break Brian’s grip, but he was in the worst position to do so, and both he and Brian knew it. Brian gave him a couple more good rubs, then switched his grip to Jesse’s shoulders and spun him around.

With Jesse leaning weakly against the cage wall, Brian’s fists began to dig deep into his middle, hammering shot after shot at Jesse’s unprotected gut. Jesse grunted in pain at each impact, which only made Brian smile and hit even harder. Jesse was holding himself up and holding back tears by the thinnest of margins from the beating he was taking.

Brian reached down and effortlessly lifted Jesse’s limp body into the air. With Jesse held over one shoulder, he strutted around the cage, with the spectators absolutely silent. Then, when he was facing the spectators, with a feral, almost inhuman snarl, Brian slammed Jesse, back first, down to the mat. The mat wasn’t THAT soft, and Jesse’s cry of agony reverberated throughout the bar.

Brian stepped over Jesse’s body and squatted down. Jesse had only a moment to register what was happening before Brian’s ass was in his face. The musky, manly odor that Jesse normally found intoxicating nauseated him now, and he had to force himself to keep from retching.

Brian, meanwhile, was putting on a show for the spectators. He flexed, a double bicep pose, the sweat on his body making his muscles stand out in full relief, then, his fists still clenched, delivered a pair of hard shots to the helpless Jesse’s gut. Brian smiled, the most vicious smile imaginable, and bracing himself on Jesse’s legs, began to wiggle his ass back and forth, rubbing it into Jesse’s face!

The spectators began to boo, jeering the musclebear as he humiliated his far more popular opponent. Brian shrugged, got to his feet, and with a couple of solid kicks to the ribs got Jesse to roll over onto his stomach.

Brian kicked Jesse’s left calf, then his right, spreading the other man’s legs open. Dimly, Jesse realized that he was about to lose, and in the worst way, and the knowledge seemed to give him new energy. Quickly, he got to his hands and knees, drew one knee in to his chest, then lashed out blindly with the foot, hoping for the best!

He got it.

Jesse’s foot caught Brian completely by surprise and right in the gut. The impact doubled Brian over, and since he was already leaning forward, the net effect was to make him headbutt the mat. He collapsed onto his stomach, his hands cradling his forehead as lightning shot back and forth behind his eyes.

Jesse took several deep breaths, trying to will strength back into his body. He looked behind him and saw that Brian had rolled onto his back. He slowly got to his feet just as Brian was sitting up, and dropped down behind him. He shifted his legs so they were around Brian’s waist, and then wrapped his arm around Brian’s throat!

Jesse knew that the match—fight, at this point—wouldn’t end if Brian tapped out, but the choke hold was sapping Brian’s energy, so he poured on the pressure and ducked his head behind Brian’s, even as Brian tried to claw at his face and hair. He felt some hair on his horizontal arm, and he felt around with his hand – and sure enough, Brian’s beard was within his grasp. He grabbed it and straightened out his hand, and Brian’s head was pulled to the side even as Jesse’s arm crushed his windpipe.

Brian’s hands reached up, pushing at Jesse’s face, trying to free himself, but Jesse jerked his head to the side and left Brian’s hands grasping only air. But Brian’s hands quickly found Jesse’s face again, his fingers pushing into Jesse’s cheeks and the side of his nose – and then Brian deliberately poked Jesse in the eye.

Jesse’s hands reflexively came up to cradle his injured eye, releasing Brian from the choke hold, and Brian slowly got to his feet. All pretense at a wrestling match was gone now; Brian drew his foot back and kicked Jesse in the stomach, sending the other man down on his side in a fetal position. Brian threw another kick, and Jesse howled his agony for all the bar to hear. Again and again Brian’s kicks sent Jesse rolling across the mat in torment.

Jesse had reached the wall, and Brian bent over and forced him to his feet. He started throwing punch after punch, mostly targeting Jesse’s gut, but a couple found their way to his face. When Jesse bent over from a gut punch, Brian grabbed his head and threw a couple of knees into his face as well. The assembled men stood in silent shock at the beating Jesse was taking.

Jesse’s mind was reeling from the punishment Brian was inflicting on him, but as he blinked his bleary eyes, trying to clear them, he saw Randy at the edge of the cage. If the otter had been anxious before, he looked terrified now.

Time seemed to slow down as Jesse saw another fist coming for his face. He ducked, and Brian’s punch landed right in the wall instead. The other man howled in pain, shaking his injured hand, and Jesse, now fully invested in this being a fight, sent him staggering back to the middle of the cage with a right cross that spun Brian almost completely around.

Now it was Jesse’s turn to punish Brian’s middle with solid hooks that left the other man gasping for breath and holding his middle. An uppercut snapped Brian back upright, his beard flapping in the air, and Jesse couldn’t resist. He grabbed Brian’s beard with one hand and pulled, while the other landed a cross that sent Brian spinning into the cage wall!