The Philadelphia Hotel Room Brawl

"Two hundred pounds of real man right here," says Max. He flexes his bicep in a video challenge, shot on a Philadelphia street at night. Krush the Wrestler, in the City of Brotherly Love on business, is on Max's home turf, and Max won't let him get away without a fight. He even waves a hundred bucks under Krush's nose, wagering that he can kick Krush's ass. How can Krush resist?

Not expecting to wrestle anybody over the weekend, Krush is caught unprepared, of course. He pulls together a makeshift fight space in his hotel room, with comforters for wrestling mats. Happily, Krush always wears a singlet under his business suit and goes nowhere without a cameraman. This guy is ready for anything!

I get a giddy feeling every time some dude puffs his chest out, puts his eyeballs dead level with Krush's, and dares him to knock the chip off his shoulder. Doomed macho posturing like this never fails to prickle the hairs on my balls and send a shiver up my spine. It makes my prostate start singing "Another One Bites the Dust," and, believe it or not, my prostate sounds exactly like Freddie Mercury, especially on the low notes. (I get this same feeling every time I see Dean Winters' bruised and bandaged face in an Allstate ad.)

The two men lock up, and Krush shoves him back against the upholstered headboard built into the wall and sinks his nine-pound fist into Max's gut. A quick knee jab to the bottom rib, and he headlocks Max, who looks like he doesn't know what hit him. He drags Max down to the floor, straddles the challenger's belly, and fires his fist into his chest. Max moans, while the reverberations from the blow quiver through his nervous system, head to toe. 

Krush silences him with a front choke, and two strapping bodies start rolling over the ersatz mat. Max lands on top and snaps a headlock on Krush. He can't hold it for long, though, because Krush's muscular legs sneak up on him from behind and scissor him back and down. He arches his back, writhing, and Krush slams his fist to the man's exposed ribs.

Max is on his knees. Krush has got the man's face down on the bedsheets, his thick thighs mashing his ears together. Max's nose gets wiped across the floor, while Krush punches him in the back. "Say something?" Krush inquires nonchalantly, his semi-stiff cock massaging the back of the kid's neck. Max won't give up, so Krush pulls the guy's left arm up snug against his shoulder blades. The man quivers like a shocked monkey and taps out.

Personally I can't think of a better way to lose $100, but then I'm a bit of a masochist. Right now I'm wishing the same for good old optimistic Max. We're just three minutes into the video, and my dick is a fork. The meter says we've got 18 more minutes coming to us. It's not just a question of whether Max can stand it. I'm worried about my Ralph Lauren's, so maybe it's time to slip them off. For a little bit, just until things settle down.

I've got to say this much for Max: he's ready for Round 2 before Krush's thigh prints have faded from the side of his head. Max goes offense this time, dragging Krush down like a clawed antelope and sticking his crotch right up to the Wrestler's chin. He calls for a tapout, naively believing a schoolboy pin's going to make Krush submit. (Here is a young man who's done a lot of pretend wrestling during his quiet times alone.) Max starts slugging Krush in the chest. You can hear the knuckle slams, like a hammer against a side of beef. It's almost as if Krush is humoring the upstart, just biding his time before he rips this boy wide open.

For me, this was the most fun of Krush's recent matches on Krushco. Fun from beginning to end, smartly edited, with good clear and steady camerawork on somebody's part. The Wrestler has faced tougher competition, but Max is as game as anybody I've seen take the mat with Krush. And just when you think this battle is finished, it starts all over, neither man ready to say "enough is enough" when the fight's been as good as this.


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