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I.

Corey was walking off the mat after pinning his opponent in an intercollegiate meet, where he wrestled on the local community college team. It had been a good match. His opponent, at 6'2" and 190 pounds, outweighed him by about four pounds and had two inches on him in height. Corey had been thrown around pretty good during the first half of the match, but he finally got used to his opponent's style, regained his confidence, rallied and pinned his man.

The modest gymnasium crowd cheered loudly as Corey flashed them what was definitely a winner's smile, his fist in the air. As he scanned the crowd, his eyes locked on a man in his mid 30's in the third row of the bleachers.

The man was about the same height as Corey and was applauding, nodding congratulations, and -- was it possible? -- looking Corey over from pretty head to wrestling shoe-covered toe. The man was handsome, despite a roundish face. He had big brown eyes, a wide smile, straight light brown hair, and a classic wrestler's neck – his Adam's Apple pricking out between thick ropes of muscle on either side. His black v-neck T-shirt clung to a broad chest, stretched so tightly that Corey wondered if it the shirt was made with spandex. Even from this distance, Corey could tell the man had thick traps that sloped into bulging shoulders. And there was no question that his arms were solid rock – his biceps were at least 18 inches. As the man stood with the crowd, Corey could see his hard torso tapered sharply into a pair of old jeans straining in all the right places, including around thick quads. A wide black belt was wrapped around his narrow waist.

Without his permission, Corey's smile lit up. He couldn't help himself as his gaze stayed fixed on this guy -- who was smiling right back. He felt a creeping fear that he might trip and make a fool of himself in front of his coach and team, and of course the home crowd. Beyond that, his singlet was starting to strain from his involuntary physical reaction to this man's looks, physique, and -- most importantly -- the possibility that the man was impressed with Corey for similar reasons. He forced himself to look away and joined his teammates on the bench to watch the remaining few matches of the meet.

II.

Because of his size, Corey always wrestled near the end of a meet, if not last. So it was only a short time after his match that Corey emerged from the locker room, his hair still wet, and walked into the chill of the parking lot.

"Hey, Corey" the voice said from just behind him. Corey turned to find the man he'd locked eyes with in the bleachers smiling at him. "Jack Keegan," he said, extending his hand. "How you doin?"

"Fine," Corey said evenly, caution mixed with a twinge of excitement.

"Nice match. You've got great moves. How would you feel about going to work for me?" Keegan said. "I run a professional wrestling promotion, and I'm always looking for new blood. You're a natural."

Corey mouth dropped slightly and he looked at the man blankly. Corey was a serious pro fan, but he never expected to get any closer to a professional wrestling ring than was allowed by the cheap tickets he bought every now and then for the pro matches in Cincinnati. Besides, even though Corey was pretty big, he knew the hot boys he loved to watch straining against each other in the Cincinnati arena were definitely bigger than he was. In fact, they were, well, Keegan's size. Why would this man be interested in Corey?

As if reading his mind, the promoter said "We're getting a cruiserweight class going, and I need a couple more guys. You interested?"

Corey was a part-time student, figured he should've had a degree years ago and, at 28, was starting to feel restless. Life was moving along and he was stuck on a treadmill, watching it pass. What was more, he loved wrestling, including pro style, so he couldn't help but be intrigued.

Still, he was cautious. "What would I do? Uh, you know… What would be involved?" Corey asked, swallowing a little harder than usual.

"Simple, guy. You get yourself some trunks and boots – I've got about a dozen extra pairs of trunks and maybe boots that would fit if you want to borrow some – and I put you on the card for one of our smaller shows. See how you do."

"You make $150 for an hour's work," Keegan continued. "If you like it, and the crowd likes you, we take things from there."

"But I've never been in a ring…" Corey said, his voice trailing off. He wished he didn't sound so helpless, but this was taking him by surprise.

"No problem," Keegan said, again flashing that smile. "You can come down and watch the guys practice if you want, learn a few moves, get used to the ropes."

Corey couldn't help himself; he loved the idea. He just didn't want to make a fool of himself, and he didn't want to get hammered into a human gravel sack by some bruiser like the ones he'd seen in action in Cincinnati. "Let's say I'm interested," Corey said, trying hard not to show just how interested he already was. "Who would I wrestle?"

"Don't know, my friend. I'll figure that out between now and your match. I've got a show in Canton next Saturday night. I usually sell about eight hundred seats there. What d'ya say?" Keegan asked confidently.

The truth was, eight hundred seats wasn't a "small" crowd, but the promoter was feeling pretty certain about the talent and magnetism he sensed in this new find. Corey was just the kind of handsome young hunk the girls -- and their mothers -- loved. Plus, Keegan had the feeling that Corey had enough piss and vinegar in him to get the teenage guys on his side too. Even the ones who were not gay.

"Next Saturday? That's barely a week from now," Corey stammered lamely.

"No time like the present, buddy. You can come down that afternoon and check the place out, watch the guys practice."

Wow. This was Thursday, and a man he'd seen for the first time in his life less than an hour before was talking about putting Corey inside a professional wrestling ring in exactly eight days. In front of 800 people. In a match against someone he'd never met.

Corey couldn't believe he was allowing himself to get sucked in to this. If he agreed, he wouldn't even set foot in an actual ring until a few hours before his first match. His "training" would consist of mostly watching other wrestlers in action, which he'd been doing since he was a teenager. That was "training?" Crazy. Fucking crazy.

Still, Corey felt a knot of excitement in his stomach, because he knew he was going to say yes, no matter how many more questions crossed his mind. Jack Keegan knew it too. He looked at his talented quarry and flashed a broad smile. "You'll do great," he said.

III.

Corey was sitting on one of the wooden benches that ran along the dank, smelly locker room, lacing up the white boots Keegan had handed him when he went to the "practice" session that afternoon. The boots were size 10 and a half and Corey didn't need the "half," but they'd do. He looked up as Keegan poked his head into the dingy locker room. "Your match will be up first, Corey. About 15 minutes."

Corey felt the knot in his stomach from a week before return -- this time more from anxiety about his looming pro wrestling debut than from excitement at seeing Keegan. "When do I, ah, you know… Get to meet him?" Corey asked, his mouth dry and his voice practically croaking. God, he hated being so nervous – especially in front of Keegan. It was pathetic, he thought. Just stupid.

"For the first match, I think it works best if you just meet in the ring," Keegan said. "Trust me on this, okay? The two of you are basically an even match, although he's got a little size on you. He's tough, and he's wrestled for awhile, but either one of you could take it. I'll be interested to see who wins."

With that, Keegan turned and said over his shoulder "I'll be back -- 15 minutes." Then he was gone.

'Basically' even? Jesus Christ, what did that mean? His opponent was bigger and more experienced. And, Keegan had warned Corey this guy was "tough." How tough? How much bigger? Christ. The knot in his gut tensed up again.

Corey needed to get his mind off what he imagined he was about to face across a wrestling ring. He walked over to the door to check himself out in the mirror hanging on the back. People considered him a "looker" for good reason – a young man with a mop of wavy blonde hair, short and tight on the sides, longer on the top, with a few subtle highlights. He had brilliant blue eyes, high cheekbones, a strong, square jaw line, and a perfect ski jump for a nose.

He had an impressive body too. His 186 pounds were solid muscle from hitting the weights six days a week – something he'd managed for almost three years now. The results were obvious to anyone, starting with powerfully broad pecs that had a deep crease between them and a ridge defining their underside. His chest muscles made the perfect frame for silver dollar-sized nipples, brownish-pink in color. He had wide shoulders topped by thick, rounded caps of muscle, 17-inch biceps, and abs that were hard and tight.

Corey turned to the side. There was nothing wrong with his profile either – a thick, muscular back sloping into the metallic-peach trunks Keegan had found for him that afternoon. The trunks stretched tightly over his perky ass in back and a nice package in front – a little too tightly, as far as Corey was concerned.

Corey figured at least he looked good. And he was beginning to feel a little better about the match. As an amateur wrestler, he had never gone down easy, even on the very rare occasions when he'd lost on the mat. And the crowd always seemed to be on Corey's side, whether the meet was at home or away. Corey figured he'd give his opponent, and the crowd, a respectable match.

IV.

Corey heard the knock that signaled Keegan's return to the locker room. He had already heard the muffled echoes of the ring announcer's voice booming through the small arena, which meant it must be time for his match. Even though the knock wasn't a surprise, the sound triggered another pull on the ropes that made up the knot in his stomach. However, his gut didn't feel twisted up quite as tightly as it had when Keegan knocked a few minutes before.

Corey was ready to take his shot.

He felt an additional surge of confidence as Keegan clapped his hand over his muscled shoulder and said "They're gonna love ya, buddy." Keegan again flashed his handsome smiled at Corey, and self-confidence wasn't the only thing Corey felt beginning to surge upward.

His upper body was covered by the satin white jacket Keegan had found for him, but there was a rush of cool air brushing against his face and his thighs as Corey mounted the top of a flight of stairs and turned down the short hallway that led to the arena floor. He heard his name – "Corey ZIMerrrrrrrrr" -- roll up the high walls of the old hall and bounce down from its dusty rafters. As he reached the small archway covered with black curtains that separated him from the muffled chaos of crowd noise inside, he hesitated for a split second and boldly thrust them apart, stepping onto the arena's main floor.

He felt a rush of adrenaline as he began trotting down the aisle, waiving at Canton's skeptical wrestling fans on either side. He moved quickly through smokey darkness toward the ring, which gleamed in a pool of bright light about 100 feet in front of him.

As the echo of his name faded, Corey became aware of a different sound – a growing chorus of boos. Corey did his best to ignore the crowd – at least for now – and plunged ahead. He bounded up three black metal stairs onto the ring apron and vaulted the top rope. As he swung over, he felt the blazing force of the lights hanging directly above him. With the intense heat from the lights came the realization that he was about to be in front of a crowd like he never had been before.

As he landed on the canvas, Corey lifted a proud fist in the air – just as he had after the fateful college match a week before when Keegan first spotted him -- and slowly turned a complete circle, flashing his megawatt smile for the crowd. As they got a better look at him, the chorus of boos faded slightly, and Corey heard the first smattering of cheers. Obviously, he looked good – in fact, he looked hot. Jobber or not, the crowd was starting to like what it saw. Seizing the moment, Corey stripped off his jacket and tossed it over the top rope. A new swelling of cheers went up as his body glinted in the hot lights. Corey tensed up his pecs, shoulders, and arms in a modest, quick muscle pose. A few piercing shrieks told Corey he'd made his first points with Canton's wrestling fans.

The sound of the ring announcer's voice abruptly cut through his moment of small triumph, shushing the crowd almost instantly. "AAAAAAAND his opponent!" boomed the pasty man in the tuxedo, who stood a few feet from Corey in the middle of the ring. "Weighing ONE hundred NINETY FOUR pounds… DERRRRek DOOOOOM!" A bath of brilliant purple light lit the opposite entrance just as Derek stepped through the curtains. Corey stopped dead in his corner as he got his first look at the young stallion he was about to face. He couldn't believe what he saw moving toward him.

Walking confidently toward the ring and staring straight ahead was 194 pounds of sculpted muscle -- not one of those 194s was wasted. Derek Doom's body glistened in the light, his purple trunks practically shimmering. Walking on black patent leather boots and without a jacket, he strode across the wooden floor showing no hint of emotion -- no apparent recognition of either Corey or the crowd. His skin tone was darker than Corey's – a Mediterranean bronze was the best description – with a buzz cut of black hair. And God… What a body.

The arena filled with loud boos – this crowd knew Derek, and from the sound that filled the arena, his reputation was not one of 'scientific' wrestling – far from it. In this match, it was obvious to Corey that his opponent wasn't going to be the wrestler that promoters call the "hero."

Of course, the catcalls were punctuated by many shrieks from the teenage girls who nearly fainted at the sight of Derek. And many of those girls' mothers didn't shriek OR boo. They just kept their eyes riveted on Derek as his form moved smoothly passed.

Corey's eyes were now adjusted to the lights and he began to get a frightfully clear idea of what he was about to face inside a professional wrestling ring. Derek was 6'2, and the lean bulges of his physique were sheathed in caramel skin. Underneath his Marine-style haircut, Corey saw the handsome complexion of a 26-year-old, beautiful dark brown eyes, and a jaw chiseled from granite. Derek's chest was massive – about 48 inches – and his nipples stood out like copper coins on a beach of rock hard sand. His powerful arms were definitely larger than Corey's. His torso dove into his purple metallic trunks and the deep ridges of his impossibly defined abs looked like they'd been cut into amber stone. Derek's smooth torso was interrupted only by a narrow trail of faint black hair that began at his navel and disappeared into his trunks – as if leading the way to the large bulge inside. (Not that anyone possibly could miss noticing it without the assistance.)

As Derek stepped onto the ring apron, Corey could see this Olympian stud had thick and powerful legs and a tight ass shaped like a pair of cantalopes. Corey felt a stirring in his trunks as he watched his opponent climb through the ropes.

It was only then that Derek shifted his intense gaze toward Corey. As he did, the warm stirring Corey had been feeling in his trunks was abruptly replaced by the now-familiar knot in his gut. This time, Corey's stomach muscle-knot twisted white-knuckle tight. His opponent was now across the ring, rocking back against the ropes, his thick arms draped over the top rope, and was flashing a predatory smirk at a young guy he planned to take down hard.

Corey felt a weakness in his legs as he heard the ring announcer blare that his opponent had never lost a match – which prompted another chorus of boos from the crowd -- and then he saw the ref order them both to the middle of the ring.

V.

The ref checked them for weapons as Derek stared into Corey's eyes. Derek's arms were up and slightly bent, revealing the large curves of his biceps as the ref patted his trunks. Derek's eyes were locked on Corey, and he said with icy indifference "You ready to wrestle me, punk?"

Without waiting for an answer, Derek abruptly returned to his corner, his back toward Corey, and yanked hard on the ropes one last time.

As Corey stepped backward to his own corner, he couldn't help but admired Derek's thick and bulging lats as his opponent rocked in and out, one bulging arm now clamped onto the top rope on either side of the far turnbuckle. Corey started to bounce lightly in his corner and at that moment, the bell sounded, its metallic clang stabbing through the arena. Derek released the ropes and spun around to face Corey, moving smoothly along the edge of the ring, his hand running along the top rope and then quickly circling in.

No more waiting; no more time for admiring his opponent's stunning physique; no last chance to back out. Corey's first pro wrestling match had begun.

Corey moved cautiously along the opposite ropes and felt a stirring in his trunks again as he drew closer to the awesome, cut torso of his opponent. Derek broke a too-easy smile as he and Corey slammed together, locking up collar and elbow. Corey pumped his legs against the canvas, straining, and felt Derek's power as his muscular opponent pushed back.

Quickly, Corey found himself backed into the ropes and arched slightly over the top. The ref immediately shouted "Break!" but Derek continued to lean in tight, his thick hard pecs pressed against Corey, arching him further over the top rope. Corey felt the warmth of Derek's smooth body against him, and then abruptly, the feel of cool air as Derek backed off, his arms raised. Corey dropped his eyes to Derek's rock hard abs and the wisp of hair that paved the way from his navel to the bulge beneath his purple trunks.

Just as Corey moved off the ropes, he felt Derek's boot rocket into his gut. Corey's abs tensed in pain. He doubled over slightly and heard the smack of Derek's fist against his skin as it slammed into his gut. Corey fell back against the ropes, his upper body reflexively curling up, air rushing from his lungs.

Again, there was the warmth and moisture of his opponent's hard body pressed against him as Derek clapped a hand under Corey's chin and again arched him back over the rope, their handsome faces an inch apart. Derek whispered "you like the way I feel, kid?" as he pushed Corey's head back. Corey had no time to respond. He caught sight of Derek's fist raised in the air above him and he shot his hands up in defense – far too late -- as Derek brought his fist crashing down across Corey's cheek.

Corey's head snapped backward, his body recoiled off the ropes, and he dropped instantly to one knee. His forehead was slumped against Derek's navel, his right forearm draped behind him over the middle rope. The jarring impact of Derek's punch sent a black flash across his field of vision and Corey thought he might pass out. But the pain shooting through his skull told him he was still very much awake.

Derek now stepped away from his quarry as the ref screamed at him for the closed fists he was hammering into his opponent. Boos filled the arena as Derek again raised his arms innocently to three-quarters height and smiled at the ref. Arms still up and smile growing, Derek slowly spanned the arena, showing a taunting grin for the fans, and the booing grew louder.

Corey shook his head quickly, and saw from the corner of his eye that his opponent's back was now turned as Derek continued his cocky sweep of the arena. Corey jumped up and moved fast toward Derek. As Derek turned, his brown eyes flashed surprise at the sight of his pummeled opponent standing upright.

Just then, Corey returned a hard boot to Derek's gut. Derek clutched his stomach, his biceps flexing as he grunted in pain. Corey stepped in, his hand quickly shoving Derek's chin up and back, and brought his fist violently down across his opponent's cheek with all the force he could find. The blow landed squarely, its force dropping Derek to one knee. The crowd roared its approval at this tit-for-tat, and the ref now turned his attention to Corey, backing him off.

Corey stepped back and slowly bounced up and down as he watched Derek shake his head and get to his feet. Derek circled backward, his body facing Corey, and shouted "you're fucking dead, punk," his facing turning red as he did so. Corey too was pissed, and didn't flinch.

Derek rushed at Corey, but Corey stepped quickly to one side, grabbed his opponent's wrist and threw him hard into the turnbuckles back first. Derek's body arched in pain as his arms draped over the top ropes on either side. Corey charged in, driving a knee to Derek's midsection.

"Oooooomf!" The knee connected and Derek doubled over, bobbing in the corner as he hung on the ropes. Corey stepped into his man again, locked an arm under Derek's moist armpit and hip-tossed him to the middle of the ring.

Derek's powerful body bounced as he hit the canvas and his face registered pain. He rolled up slowly, massaging his lower back and spit out "You mother fucker!" as Corey moved to press his advantage. Corey dropped behind his opponent and grabbed Derek's wrist, jamming his arm into a hammerlock.

Derek's head jerked back and he screamed "FUCK!" as pain ripped through his shoulder. Beads of sweat glinted on Derek's forehead as Corey again jabbed Derek's fist up between his shoulder blades. The crowd came to its feet.

Corey flashed Canton's fans a smile, then drove his opponent face down against the mat, still pumping the hammerlock – and hard. Derek slapped the mat with his forearm, and was shaking his head, moaning. Corey slid up on top of Derek, their trunks even, and felt his dick growing hard as he pressed up against Derek’s tight ass. As he pressed against his muscular opponent beneath him, Corey knew now wasn't the time to stop wrestling, even though he could have stayed right where he was for hours.

Derek again spit out a string of expletives, then lunged for the lower ring rope, hooking it with his free arm. The ref demanded the break, and Corey reluctantly rolled off his man. Very reluctantly.

Corey stepped back, as Derek used the ropes to pull himself to his feet. He shot Corey an icy stare as he worked his arm and stalked the edge of the ring. The crowd booed its disgust with Corey's sportsmanship.

Derek adjusted his trunks and circled. Again the two wrestlers locked up, slamming into it harder than the first time since they both felt the surge of adrenaline that a close wrestling match produced. On top of that, both wrestlers had now felt some serious pain compliments of the other and there was no love lost between the two.

Despite its intensity, the lock-up was quick as Derek easily wrenched Corey into a side headlock and pressed Corey's face into the hot flesh of his torso. Corey clamped a hand on Derek's forearm trying to loosen the grip as Derek cinched up on the hold, his right bicep bulging against Corey's temple. Derek drove a boot to the canvas and tightened his grip, increasing the pressure against Corey's skull. Derek again drove a boot to the canvas, causing Corey's jaws to slam together, and Corey began to feel dizzy. With a loud grunt, his opponent wrenched his muscled arms tighter, locking them like a vice grip around Corey's head.

Corey staggered as Derek continued grinding his head against his upper body, and then abruptly felt the pressure release. The relief lasted but a split-second, however. Derek had released the grip only so he could clench his left hand into a fist, and Corey felt a jolt of pain as the fist connected with his face. His body snapped upright and Corey noticed the salty taste of blood in his mouth as he staggered backward. The feeling of air rushing against his body was then added to the sensations of taste and pain as Derek grabbed him arm and whipped Corey into the ropes. As Corey bounced off, Derek clotheslined him with a rock solid forearm across his throat.

Corey crashed to the canvas, clutching his throat and kicking the mat in pain. Derek dropped a hard boot to his forehead, the stomp causing Corey's body to buck on the canvas. Then another, and another, as Corey writhed in agony. Derek took two fast steps back from Corey's supine body, and then -- falling sideways like a giant redwood -- dropped an elbow across Corey's chest. Corey's supine body bucked from the impact as he felt the stunning pain jab through his ribcage.

Rolling up, Derek grabbed a fistful of Corey's blonde hair with his left hand, pulling him up along with him. As soon as he had Corey on his feet and facing him, he drove a vicious right fist into Corey's face. The blow felt like a jackhammer against Corey's cheek as he staggered, wobbly on his feet -- but held in place by Derek's hand, now gripping his own.

Derek whipped Corey against the ropes, met him as he bounced back, deftly reaching a forearm under Corey's blue trunks and scooping him up smoothly. He paused a moment, though not long enough to break the momentum of the move, pressed Corey's limp form overhead, and bodyslammed him to the canvas.

A 'BOOOOOM' echoed through the arena as Corey's back slammed down in the center of the ring, the ropes shaking from the impact. Corey felt indescribable pain rack his torso as his body bounced off the mat. Confidently, Derek dropped on top of his man, hooked the far leg and pressed his hard body against Corey. The ref dropped and counted – 1… 2… -- but Derek abruptly released Corey's leg, again grabbed a fist of blonde hair, and pulled Corey's shoulder up. Just as abruptly, he let go of Corey's head and Corey fell back against the mat.

As deafening boos filled the arena, Derek simply leaned back on his heels, kneeling, hands on his hips, and smirked first at the booing fans and then at his dazed and moaning opponent. Corey was slowly kicking the canvas, his back arched off the mat. He looked up to see Derek's hulking form close beside him. The kneeling position showed off his enormous quads, and Corey noticed a thick bulge growing in Derek’s trunks.

Derek stood and slowly walked around his opponent's form, a fist in the air for the crowd, a sheen of sweat gleaming on his back, shoulders, and chest. Corey could barely move, his head and upper body throbbing in pain, his gut heaving as he struggled for air. Derek strutted to the corner, and climbed to the second turnbuckle, defiantly posing -- his hands again on his hips, deliberately provoking the already hateful crowd. At this moment, Canton hated Derek's guts -- but they loved his sweating body and his masculine power even more.

Behind Derek, Corey struggled to his hands and knees, then slowly up on one knee. A wave of nausea rolled through him as he stood, dropping him back to one knee. His hand massaged his lower back, which was shooting daggers of pain up through his shoulder blades and into the base of his neck.

Derek jumped down from the turnbuckle and moved in with deliberate strides to finish off his prey. He grabbed Corey's head and pulled him up on both feet. Corey jammed a fist into his gut. There wasn't enough force behind the punch to have a huge effect, but it was enough to gain a momentary reprieve from the crushing Derek was planning. Again, Corey fired into his opponent's midsection, then lunged for Derek's arm, and flung him into the far ropes, staggering backward as he released him.

Corey regained his footing as Derek bounced off the ropes and set his stance for a clothesline. He looked up just in time to catch the dark blur of Derek's boot sailing toward his forehead.

Derek had been rocked more by surprise at the spunk of his opponent than by the force of Corey's last-ditch effort to turn the tide of the match. He was back in control now, and had used the spring of the bounce off the ropes to launch a devastating dropkick. His black patent leather boot hit like a missile, leveling Corey. The crowd gasped at the force with which Corey's body snapped backward, and hit the mat with a loud, flat thud.

Now, Derek took no chances. He rolled up from the mat, launched himself against the side ropes and sprung into the air, coming down in a crushing cross body block on Corey's heaving chest. Corey spit out a loud groan at the impact, and convulsed in a spasm of pain. Derek, smirking with pleasure, slithered on top of Corey to position his body directly on top of him, their faces a half-inch apart. Corey could feel the press of his opponent's sweaty chest expanding as Derek inhaled, then the breath on his cheek as Derek breathed out. Derek slid his massive arms underneath the small of Corey's back, locking them together with crunching force as he wrapped his muscled legs around Corey's in a withering grapevine. The blood vessels popped out from Derek's shoulders and biceps as he ground his opponent against the mat.

Corey howled in pain, slapping the mat hard with both hands, his face red and twisted, his head tilted back so his chin touched Derek's. Derek mouth stretched into a satisfied grin as he applied the hold. The ref was now on the mat and Corey heard the sound of his hand tapping out the count.

One…

Two…

Corey threw his arms around Derek's wide back, slapping his wet skin in a final wretch of agony. Three.

As the bell rang signaling the pin, Corey again cried out a long, low plea – 'Ah GAHHHD' -- hoping Derek would quickly release the body clamp he had locked on his man. Instead, he felt the crush against him tighten and bolts of pain shoot through his knees. For the first time, he also felt the warm, moist press of Derek's cock, the head of which was poking out through the top of Derek's trunks as Derek almost imperceptibly moved his muscled body forward and back against him. Derek's face twitched, his jaw clenched, and Corey felt the rush of Derek's breath against his face as Derek exhaled hard. At that moment, Corey's skin registered the warm silky feel of Derek's fluid spurting across his taut stomach.

The ref slapped Derek's shoulder and he released the hold, his eyes locked on Corey's beneath him. This time, there was no sneer. Instead, a warm smile. "Tough match, pal" he said. And without further elaboration, he rolled off his opponent, smoothly tucking his cock back into his trunks as he did so. No one saw. He rolled up onto his feet quickly and leered at the crowd as the ref raised his arm, sweat now rolling down from the crease between his pecs. The ring announcer's voice blared through the arena "the winner of the match by pinfall…. DEREK DOOOOOOOOOM!"

The arena went wild with hostility and pulsing lust.

Corey looked up from the mat in disbelief and watched Derek taunt the crowd with satisfaction over his brutal victory. And he felt himself grow hard despite the thudding ache and weakness that wracked his body. He rolled onto his stomach and allowed sweat and Derek's cum to drip from his torso onto the canvas. Collapsing again, the side of his face resting on the mat, he looked out at the ringside fans watching him through the lower ropes. And there he saw Jack Keegan, an unmistakable look of regret creasing his handsome face. At that moment, a hazy blackness spread across him and he lay still.

VI.

Corey felt jostled and annoyed. And God, the pain. He thought he would puke. He came awake as he landed roughly on a hard wooden bench. He was sitting up, and he noticed he was slumped against someone. It was Jack Keegan, who had an arm wrapped around his back and Corey's arm draped over his shoulder. Keegan smiled.

"Sorry about that buddy. But I gotta tell ya -- they loved you. The rematch is yours anytime you want it."

Corey smiled weakly. "I want it," was all he had the strength to say.

"No problem stud. But the next person you're gonna be in the ring with is me. There are a few things I'm gonna show you," Keegan said. "Derek's little undefeated streak is about to end." Corey felt Keegan's hand gently digging into his traps.

Check out Zimmer vs. Zimmer, the sequel to this.

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