No Mercy!
Zip Zarella vs Elite Eliot, Grudge Match V (BG East)
I do love a grudge match. Though they number only five, the Grudge Match series has a distinguished history at BG East, spanning almost a hundred catalogs, fueled by old high-school feuds, sibling rivalry, spats over top billing, and, most recently, a clash of the titans.
This one is the juiciest of them all. It stems from February's Wrestling with Pride event, in which Zarella and Eliot came to hard blows. Truth be told, my decision to go to the event had been 75-percent based on their names on the card. This match is superior even to the one I saw live, in no small part because the camera allows easier and unobstructed access to the hair-pulling and choking, which have an aphrodisiac effect on me.
This one is the juiciest of them all. It stems from February's Wrestling with Pride event, in which Zarella and Eliot came to hard blows. Truth be told, my decision to go to the event had been 75-percent based on their names on the card. This match is superior even to the one I saw live, in no small part because the camera allows easier and unobstructed access to the hair-pulling and choking, which have an aphrodisiac effect on me.
Elite and Zarella are well matched because they pose a strong contrast to each other. Elite is a down-to-earth technician, while Zip, a self-proclaimed "pretty boy," is drawn to razzle-dazzle - note the shocking-pink trunks. Elite is built trim as a saber, while Zarella is appetizingly meaty. Then there's Elite's Dad haircut versus Zip's wavy locks, which, happily for me, get a fair share of Eliot's attention, by which I mean yanking.
Here are the basic elements that give my cock the lift it needs from time to time:
First, the decadent pretty boy versus the upright all-American sportsman. My pal Dr L occasionally chides me for bringing up the subject of sin and guilt in our email conversations. They're both leftovers from my bible-believing fundamentalist upbringing, discarded decades ago, but they, like justice (another thing I no longer fully believe in, except as a lovely notion), are woven into my sadomasochistic bent.* Punishment puts starch in my crotch in ways that plain old competition for trophies and belts does not. So Zarella strikes me as the kind of self-conceited dandy who probably needs his ass handed to him, while Eliot is the straight-arrow buck who's up for doing the honors.
Second, comeuppance. The hoisting of villains on their own petards is another way to starch my crotch. In a moment of triumph, Zip proclaims, "I am the pretty boy here." "Not for long," Eliot replies and forthwith turns the tables on the guy, paying Zarella back with exactly the series of holds his opponent had used against him. As I just noted, justice is not something that plays a role in the real world as I know it, but I love it in my fantasies. Even better, Eliot seems to enjoy the irony of Zip's suffering from the dirty tricks he had so recently been playing. The foreign objects - a mophead, a steel chain, and a plastic tube - that Zarella introduces into the fight to hurt and humiliate Eliot eventually are turned against the colorful heel.
Third, give and take. Justice is served by turns in this match, but no sooner does justice appear to prevail than the ingenious Zarella introduces a new stratagem for defeating the ever-righteous Eliot. I may not believe in justice, but I do believe in fortune - and there's no telling where justice's wheel will stop. Each man spends more or less equal time on top of the other. In the process, both antagonists are wearing down. In the end, it's a matter of pure chance who gets the lucky break that ultimately decides the match. What I like about give and take in the wrestling ring is that if I don't like the way a match turns out, I can always rewind and stop the contest whenever I need to for my favorite to win.
Last but not least, the brass tacks. The essentials of wrestling - as I perceive it - is body contact, clenching, heaving body contact. This match presents sufficient imagery of crotch-to-crotch and crotch-to-ass pressing, rubbing, and thrusting to ensure its usefulness in those instances when my erotic imagination fails me. The 34-minute video provides a treasure trove of holds and poses that "do the trick" for me, and should I need to refresh my memory, this is a match I will rely on for the visuals and audio that matter most to me. (In a perfect world, there would be more sweat, but neither the world nor this match is perfect.)
Visit BG East here.
* I've often wondered how much a sadist I am versus a masochist. I have both tendencies. I tend to think they're always connected somehow, hence the single word sadomasochism. Only recently, while studying the builds of ex-GI's I work with, did I realize that guys who look like I could fight them and win bring up my sadistic side, while guys who look like they could tear me apart excite my masochism. It's as simple as that. I like fights and enjoy either side of the equation. Of course, time and nature being what they are, the older I get, the more of a masochist I've become.
Here are the basic elements that give my cock the lift it needs from time to time:
First, the decadent pretty boy versus the upright all-American sportsman. My pal Dr L occasionally chides me for bringing up the subject of sin and guilt in our email conversations. They're both leftovers from my bible-believing fundamentalist upbringing, discarded decades ago, but they, like justice (another thing I no longer fully believe in, except as a lovely notion), are woven into my sadomasochistic bent.* Punishment puts starch in my crotch in ways that plain old competition for trophies and belts does not. So Zarella strikes me as the kind of self-conceited dandy who probably needs his ass handed to him, while Eliot is the straight-arrow buck who's up for doing the honors.
Second, comeuppance. The hoisting of villains on their own petards is another way to starch my crotch. In a moment of triumph, Zip proclaims, "I am the pretty boy here." "Not for long," Eliot replies and forthwith turns the tables on the guy, paying Zarella back with exactly the series of holds his opponent had used against him. As I just noted, justice is not something that plays a role in the real world as I know it, but I love it in my fantasies. Even better, Eliot seems to enjoy the irony of Zip's suffering from the dirty tricks he had so recently been playing. The foreign objects - a mophead, a steel chain, and a plastic tube - that Zarella introduces into the fight to hurt and humiliate Eliot eventually are turned against the colorful heel.
Third, give and take. Justice is served by turns in this match, but no sooner does justice appear to prevail than the ingenious Zarella introduces a new stratagem for defeating the ever-righteous Eliot. I may not believe in justice, but I do believe in fortune - and there's no telling where justice's wheel will stop. Each man spends more or less equal time on top of the other. In the process, both antagonists are wearing down. In the end, it's a matter of pure chance who gets the lucky break that ultimately decides the match. What I like about give and take in the wrestling ring is that if I don't like the way a match turns out, I can always rewind and stop the contest whenever I need to for my favorite to win.
Last but not least, the brass tacks. The essentials of wrestling - as I perceive it - is body contact, clenching, heaving body contact. This match presents sufficient imagery of crotch-to-crotch and crotch-to-ass pressing, rubbing, and thrusting to ensure its usefulness in those instances when my erotic imagination fails me. The 34-minute video provides a treasure trove of holds and poses that "do the trick" for me, and should I need to refresh my memory, this is a match I will rely on for the visuals and audio that matter most to me. (In a perfect world, there would be more sweat, but neither the world nor this match is perfect.)
Visit BG East here.
* I've often wondered how much a sadist I am versus a masochist. I have both tendencies. I tend to think they're always connected somehow, hence the single word sadomasochism. Only recently, while studying the builds of ex-GI's I work with, did I realize that guys who look like I could fight them and win bring up my sadistic side, while guys who look like they could tear me apart excite my masochism. It's as simple as that. I like fights and enjoy either side of the equation. Of course, time and nature being what they are, the older I get, the more of a masochist I've become.
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