The Dump
Here's another story I cowrote with an online friend and reader of Ringside, who wishes to remain anonymous. Broken into segments, the story will probably take just over two weeks to unfold. I've made some corrections, mostly for consistency and concision. Other changes were made, too, for personal reasons and possible legal considerations. Hope you enjoy.
***
It’s mid-week, hump day, Wednesday night, and things are slow at The Dump.
No fights scheduled tonight because the crowd is too small to pay the basic purse. So Management improvises: the fighters will pose off, then arm-wrestle. The winner of the match continues till he’s beaten. This way the fighters get a chance to earn a few bucks as they pose, as well as build up a fan base among the customers. Besides, it will help drink sales, and money is the owner’s main interest.
Greg Lynch, a six-foot tall, dark-haired stud weighing 193 pounds, wins the first match. Lynch pins the arm of bright-faced young college wrestler Bryan.
Next he faces the power of Doug Lucas, a bulky ring wrestler with a temper. Lynch and Lucas lock up on the bar; their clash seesaws back and forth as they struggle for a pin. Then Lynch slams Lucas down with such power he breaks two bones in Lucas’s right hand. Lucas is ushered off, fuming.
The management chooses the next opponent at random. The crowd groans when they hear the speakers announce ‘Tom Feister.”
“Fister,” as he likes to be called, is a six-foot-one, 197-pound stud with long blond hair. His body is hard and built. He looks more like a bodybuilder than a fighter. At The Dump, Fister is known for his attitude—and penchant for grandstanding.
Fister walks across the bar and stands next to Lynch. He shakes out his thigh muscles before tightening them to show off his quads. His calf muscle flares out, diamond shaped in the back. Lynch matches the blond fighter for overall size but is nowhere near as ripped. Greg flexes his leg too but good-naturedly concedes that Fister’s is the better developed.
Greg lifts both arms in a double-bicep pose. Tom leans in as if needing to get close to see the muscles. As Lynch holds the pose, Fister looks over his arm and squeezes his bulging bicep. He then shoves his own arm in Doug's face, pointing up his peaked muscle, drolly asking the champ, “Is this the look you were hoping for?”
Fister’s arm is criss-crossed with veins as he holds his arm under Lynch’s nose. Sweat runs from the blond-brown tuft of hair hid deep in the corner of Fister’s armpit. Fister raises both arms overhead as the crowd cheers his physique. Lynch places his hands on his hips, going into a lat spread in response. Fister slaps Lynch’s abs with the back of his hand. His hands move to his hips as his back flares out, showing off his lat spread.
Lynch’s lip curls as he watches Fister preen and gloat.
(To be continued)
***
It’s mid-week, hump day, Wednesday night, and things are slow at The Dump.
No fights scheduled tonight because the crowd is too small to pay the basic purse. So Management improvises: the fighters will pose off, then arm-wrestle. The winner of the match continues till he’s beaten. This way the fighters get a chance to earn a few bucks as they pose, as well as build up a fan base among the customers. Besides, it will help drink sales, and money is the owner’s main interest.
Greg Lynch, a six-foot tall, dark-haired stud weighing 193 pounds, wins the first match. Lynch pins the arm of bright-faced young college wrestler Bryan.
Next he faces the power of Doug Lucas, a bulky ring wrestler with a temper. Lynch and Lucas lock up on the bar; their clash seesaws back and forth as they struggle for a pin. Then Lynch slams Lucas down with such power he breaks two bones in Lucas’s right hand. Lucas is ushered off, fuming.
The management chooses the next opponent at random. The crowd groans when they hear the speakers announce ‘Tom Feister.”
“Fister,” as he likes to be called, is a six-foot-one, 197-pound stud with long blond hair. His body is hard and built. He looks more like a bodybuilder than a fighter. At The Dump, Fister is known for his attitude—and penchant for grandstanding.
Fister walks across the bar and stands next to Lynch. He shakes out his thigh muscles before tightening them to show off his quads. His calf muscle flares out, diamond shaped in the back. Lynch matches the blond fighter for overall size but is nowhere near as ripped. Greg flexes his leg too but good-naturedly concedes that Fister’s is the better developed.
Greg lifts both arms in a double-bicep pose. Tom leans in as if needing to get close to see the muscles. As Lynch holds the pose, Fister looks over his arm and squeezes his bulging bicep. He then shoves his own arm in Doug's face, pointing up his peaked muscle, drolly asking the champ, “Is this the look you were hoping for?”
Fister’s arm is criss-crossed with veins as he holds his arm under Lynch’s nose. Sweat runs from the blond-brown tuft of hair hid deep in the corner of Fister’s armpit. Fister raises both arms overhead as the crowd cheers his physique. Lynch places his hands on his hips, going into a lat spread in response. Fister slaps Lynch’s abs with the back of his hand. His hands move to his hips as his back flares out, showing off his lat spread.
Lynch’s lip curls as he watches Fister preen and gloat.
(To be continued)
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