Viva Las Vegas

It finally happened when I was in Las Vegas. I couldn’t believe it. After he emailed and set up the match–what were the odds, really, that we would both be in Las Vegas at the same time? I mean, really–I wasn’t entirely convinced it was actually going to happen. So many near misses, so many missed chances, and now, in Las Vegas, no mask?

 

I got the room set up, and then it was time to wait. And wait. And wait.

I fucking hate waiting.

And then came the knock on the door. I got up, opened the door, and there he was. My heat was pounding. He was wearing shorts, sunglasses (at night, of course), and a black wife beater. He gave me that smirk from that day at the photo shoot, and sneered at me as he took the sunglasses off, “are you ready for me?”

I was. We bumped chests, and then he sent me flying with a shove, backwards onto the mattress I’d set up as our wrestling arena, and as I got back to my feet, he took off his shorts and started taking off his shirt.

He’d gotten under my skin yet again, and I went after him before he had the shirt off.

Yup. I played right into his hands. He was ready for me, expecting it, and was able to use my anger and frustration against me.

Before I knew what was happening, I’d already submitted twice. And I was still wearing my fucking workout shorts.

Mother fuck.

And as you can see from the pictures, he was clearly enjoying making me eat some of the shit I’d been talking on social media…

And you know how good he looks in pictures and on video?

He actually looks better in person.

 

to be continued….