Here's my latest input to the 15-Minute Free-for-All over at Ringside at Skull Island's discussion group (a week old as of today). So far we've got two men in the ring and three men calling the shots from the outside--come on in and join the fracas here. Jump into the fray.
Bova kneels down beside Walker's head--correction: kneels with one knee on TOP of Walker's head--and clamps the blond's left arm under his bicep, Walker's knotty shoulder resting against Bova's crotch. Bova leans back and twists, cranking up the pressure of the armbar upon the American's ligaments. Every muscle of Walker's torso seizes up, each cut and indention defined with razor-sharp clarity under his golden tan. Skin glistening with sweat under the bright lights over the ring, Paul grimaces and writhes as Raoul wrenches his arm a little looser from his shoulder. Despite--or because of--the intense pain shooting through his body, Walker's cock is as hard as a Coke bottle against his shimmering shorts.
Bova grinds his knee into Walker's face, feels the man's lips and teeth against his kneecap. Walker kicks and his boot heels clump pointlessly on the canvas. Somebody in the studio audience hurls an empty Budweiser can into the ring and hits Bova on the back of the head, harmlessly, of course ... but supporters of the Italian boo the misbehavior anyway. The slight distraction causes Raoul to pull up his knee and loosen his hold, though, and Paul rolls over and fires his right fist right into the Latin lover's nose, which pops open in a spurt of blood. A bright red rivulet runs down Bova's chin and speckles his black chest hair. Walker hauls him up and pushes him to the turnbuckle, his hard hard glistening body pinning him to the corner. "The difference between you and me, Guido," Walker hisses into his opponent's ear, "is I'm gonna walk away from all this still pretty."