This Stuff Practically Sells Itself! (Review of Trent Diesel vs DJ)
Naked Kombat keeps delivering. Man oh man, does it!
DJ, 5'10", 165#, is justifiably cocky over his high-win record and high-school wrestling experience. He totally won me over in a couple of his previous matches. He's lean, scrappy, and sexually aggressive. He manages to look cute, tough, and smart, all at the same time. He crosses a line perhaps when he calls newcomer Trent Diesel, 6'0", 175#, a "trailer-trash version of Ken doll."
Although this is Diesel's first time on NK's mats, he brings martial arts experience and enough attitude to stand up to DJ's trash talk, calling the only slightly smaller, curly-haired opponent a "deformed circus midget with a Brillo pad on his head." Fighting words. After he beats DJ, Trent boasts to us viewers, he's going to "fuck him hard and ... spray my load all over his face."
(I now officially retract a remark in a previous post in which I downplayed the importance of talking shit before a match. What was I thinking? If John Cena promised to fuck John Morrison hard and spray some skinhead load all over his face, I would be a die-hard WWE fan today.)
As crazy as I am for DJ, I am for the tall chiseled Diesel in this fight. It's probably the hairy-chested Midwestern Nordic thing with me, or maybe just my insatiable hunger for something (and somebody) new. But the fight's close from the start: the first heated round finds the two tough guys trading places every 30 seconds, one dominating and then the other. Lots of slapping and dick tugging in this round, too, as NK adds stuff like peeling down an opponent's briefs and inserting fingers into the butt hole as points-earning moves (NCWA, take note). The first round ends in a 15-15 tie.
The men are so heated up and ready to fly into each other that round two (the jockstrap round) gets off to a rocky start. DJ aims a low blow and nails Diesel's nads, leaving him face down, a quivering piece of jelly, on the mat. The ref steps in and calls time out. When the fight resumes, you can tell Diesel's ready to make DJ pay, and a momentary glimmer of fear flashes in DJ's unrepentant eyes. The fight moves on from tough, gritty competition to raw, grueling brutality as the men choke, slam, and bash each other. It's not hard to imagine that more than just a touch of real hatred has entered into the competition at this point. By the end of round three (the nude round), the two men are winded, glistening with sweat, their eyes barely capable of focus. And the final count is close, really close: 45-48, and, in a surprising show of unsportsmanlike frustration, the loser lets out a derisive hiss at the judge's decision.
Given NK's rules, the judge's decision means the winner gets to fuck the loser as much and in as many ways as he can squeeze into the 10-minute "round." This basically means it's homestyle bitch-making time! Without spoiling anything, let me just say that the loser does not lose his surliness after the intense previous matches and has to be told three times to spread his butt cheeks for the victor, and the victor, grimly satisfied to use sex as a weapon, makes sure the loser feels every gram of humiliation and discomfort--and, just a hint here, it involves a thick black rat-tailed butt plug. Ouch. Niiice.