All I Want for Christmas Is Drew 2

Drew Harper vs Joey Nux, X-Mas 2021 (Part 2), Wrestler4Hire

I am fixated on one specific segment of this match, a continuation of the Wrestler4Hire holiday special begun three weeks ago. Joey Nux chloroforms Drew Harper, dresses the unconscious hunk in a diaper, and puts a baby bottle in his mouth. Here's the question I have: Would I ever dream of fighting Drew Harper in diapers? (Depends.) Bad pun, but my answer would be yes, hell yes, only the thought would never have entered my mind until now. With the thought now planted firmly in my brain - and feeling a stiffy coming  - I wonder why somebody didn't think up such a match before now.

Of course, in the context of the match, Harper's diaper is a joke. The camera catches Drew's humiliation, of which he is yet unaware. When he comes to, he can't believe Joey did this to him, but he is in no hurry to lose the didie either. Instead, he rips open his next Christmas present, tearing through the cardboard box with his bare hands (I can do that, too, but it's better with Drew's treasure trail in view) and pulls out a pair of red boxing gloves. He puts them on and starts testing how much pressure Joey's amazing abs can stand.  This brand-new bit of kink is now taking control of my mind and body. Ripples of polymorphous perversion tickle me from ears to toes even as I type this paragraph*.

Spoiler Warning ...

Right now, all that I can think about is boxing and wrestling Drew Harper in diapers. Drew is perfect for this odd fantasy. He's muscular, earnest, big boned, boyishly handsome. He pays Joey Nux back for a string of humiliations, beginning in the first part of this holiday match. Overly confident, Nux welcomes the jabs, but there's more muscle behind Harper's punches than he reckoned. In the end, Drew hogties him and gives him a big whiff of chloroform. My description is spotty and covers less than half of what this match is about. You need to see both parts of the match. Crushes on Joey and/or Drew may follow. And that's not a bad thing.

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*Flashback to Christmas, 1958 or 1959. My dad and his brother give baby boxing gloves to me and my cousin. Outside in the cold they and some male friends of theirs circle me and my cousin, both now shirtless and in saggy britches, feeling the bite of Minnesota** in December. At their command, we "box." Neither of us seems to understand this game, but we do box. The men want us to punch harder, and we do. Neither of us is strong enough to hurt the other guy, though. We punch at the shoulders and the chest. Then we punch each other on the face and start to cry, not because of the pain of it, just surprised and confused about what is expected of us. A few more hooks, and the adults stop the performance.

** or Wisconsin or North Dakota - my memories of early childhood often lack maps.