Caging the Wolf

So, the little wolf worked me over a bit. It happens. Sure, there are matches where you spend the entire time mopping the floor with your opponent, but where’s the challenge in that?

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A foot in my face? You know, that took guts.

It also wasn’t particularly smart. It kind of pissed me off.

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Aw, does that hurt?

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Go to sleep, little bitch.

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Yeah, let me take your mask off. You shouldn’t be allowed to wear one, since you’re just  little bitch.

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I have to say, this was my first time ever unmasking someone, and it kind of made my dick hard. Who knew symbolically stripping my opponent of his power would be such a turn-on? I’d stripped opponents out of their trunks before, but this was a whole new world of arousal.

Oh, I took his trunks too.

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Yup, nothing more humiliating than having your own sweaty trunks shoved into your mouth.

Poor Lobolito. He always wanted a rematch, but it somehow never happened.

Pity.

Wolf’s Bane

Lobolito never knew what hit him.

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Newsflash: it was me, and I just kept on hitting the punk. There’s something satisfying, you know, about landing some blows, seeing the glaze of pain in your opponent’s eyes, listening to their labored breathing, their whimpering and sobbing.

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Although when they don’t really resist much, it’s disappointing. I can’t speak for other wrestlers–or viewers–but I get bored with matches that are just beat downs. And when you get bored, well, that’s when you make a mistake. That’s when your victim gets a chance to make his own move.

And I’m always up to see what the punk has to offer.

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Nice! If I weren’t so flexible, this would have been pretty fucking painful. But I didn’t submit, so the punk made a heel move and grabbed my crotch and squeezed.

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I can respect that, you know? It’s what I would have done. But you know what they say about payback…

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And again–props to not letting me get my breath and get back to speed before moving in on me again. Maybe the punk has some potential.

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Always go for the balls again when in doubt.

But you’d better fucking finish me off, punk.

Hungry Like the Wolf

One of the things about wrestling for BGEast is you do have to be careful before your match–jokes can be taken seriously. Back in the day, people used to send me gear–or give it to me in person, before match–that they thought would look hot on me; they usually wanted me to have pictures taking wearing the gear. Someone sent me a ridiculously skimpy pair of trunks, and during the what shall I wear portion of the pre-match with Lobolito I came across them in my big bag o’gear and jokingly put them on and showed them to the Boss.

And that’s why, in Masked Mayhem 3, wrestling Lobolito, I was dressed like this.

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The trunks were clearly not meant for anything other than posing in them; after the match they were incredibly sweaty, and the gold was coming off just from being wet. I washed them by hand in the sink, and a lot more of the gold came off. So, they went into the garbage. They were a bit on the revealing side, don’t you think?

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I  didn’t realize just how revealing they actually were. Yes, I’d posed in them before, but I didn’t realize they were little more than straps, a small pouch in the front, and a butt-crack cover in the back. A little more revealing than I would have liked, to be honest.

Sigh. Then again, I became a masked wrestler because I sent the Boss a picture of me in a mask as a joke…so, yeah, be careful when you make a joke with the Boss!

Lobolito, the ‘little wolf,’ actually challenged me, if you can believe that. He saw my tag match in Masked Mayhem 2, and somehow got it into his head that not only could he beat me, he could take my mask. I’m not sure why he got such a hard-on for me and how I was ‘debasing’ the tradition of masked wrestlers (his words, not mine)–please not he did not come for either the Enforcer, the Marauder, or Muscle Mask, all of whom were wearing masks before I was–but hey, I’m always game to give some cocky punk a beat down.

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I mean, seriously. You want a piece of me?

Bitch, please.

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