Dominant Man

Nick Sparx vs Z-Man, Str8-Up Pro 1 (Cyberfights)

Dr L thought I might enjoy this fight, and seldom is the good doctor mistaken in these matters. This is no exception. Nick Sparx is a toothsome portion of beef with a dashing and expressive face. Z-Man is eternally 25, a miracle or a pact with the devil, you decide. Even better, Z is eight times the wrestling performer he was eight years ago. The action is feisty and mean, the way I like it.

The aluminum walls and murmuring ventilation add industrial-strength realness to the contest. Sparx bounds over the ropes just as Z-Man completes his stretch routine. The two talk some smack - Nick mocks Z's "so-called physique," and Z points to the mat and retorts, "I see me and you ... right here ... right now." "Sounds like a date with your girlfriend," Sparx shoots back, "I like this."

The setup is a showdown between sinewy, evenly matched straight guys, battling over territory and sexual privilege. Though smiling at first, Nick and Z get intense the moment they lock up. Life ain't easy on the stud farm. It's fun to imagine these bros are actually going at it to impress a girl. My pussy got wet the moment the two latched their arms together and pressed ear to ear.

Fighting over somebody you mutually want to fuck is right up there with fighting somebody you want to fuck. In my youth, this type of confrontation was common in schoolyards and on TV. In the '60s there were even songs about it, "My Boyfriend's Back" and "Johnny Get Angry," to name just two that made my anus clench up every time they played on the radio.

Z-Man and Sparx use the ring ropes to hurt each other. Three or four minutes into the fight, Z has his man in a side headlock and chokes him against the middle rope. Sparx pays him back a minute later. We're not even five minutes into the match, and we see the glimmer of sweat on Sparx's broad ruddy shoulders. Z gets Nick in a hot reverse bearhug, the heat owing to Z's hermetic grip on his opponent's ribs.

Later Sparx carries Z-Man on his shoulders to good effect, splendidly asserting his alpha-status. Crab holds, against-the-ropes gut punches, rear-clutch and chicken-wing combos, body slams, schoolboy pins, scissors, and cradles do double duty in inducing pain and spotlighting the wrestlers' well-defined muscle, climaxing with an arduous and exquisitely humiliating armbar.

Thanks, Dr L! You're a real pal.


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