Smell the Fear










Kayden Keller vs Ace Aarons, Ruff 'n' Raunchy 7 (BG East)

Something in the cocky war of words at the start of this match caught my ear. Ace says, "You the one who thinks he runs this ring, right?" He glares steadily into Kayden's eyes. The man's ready to brawl, so he cuts through the swagger and the pretense that these two guys have never met. Dude is ready to bust the overblown heel's balls. He leans in, sniffing Kayden's bare chest, and says, "I can smell the fear."

Keller pushes Aarons to a turnbuckle with a couple of punches, one to the gut and one coming down on the chest. He kicks Ace in the gut and delivers a second wide punch to the sternum. He moves Ace to an adjacent corner and stomps the man's belly and chest. "What d'ya think now, huh?" says Keller, breathing heavily. "I think a coupla things right now," says Ace, working his sexy baritone voice. He clamps hands to Kayden's throat, coolly looks on as Kayden's sweat runs ice-cold, and then slams him on his back.

For the next six minutes, this is Ace Aarons' ring. Then, Kayden turns the tables on him. He has Ace's knees spread wide on the mat, but Ace grabs him by the throat, gets his face up against Keller's, and says, "I can take a lot more punishment than you." He almost spits the words. For another nine minutes, he abuses the big guy, who swipes back but not often or hard enough to make a difference. Kayden drives his fist deep into Ace's gut. The pain is enormous, but Aarons recovers. "Thought you had me, didn't you?" Keller wags his finger under Ace's nose, as if about to reverse. But to his surprise, he's Ace's playtoy, and Ace isn't done playing.

The back-and-forth strikes fill up the remainder of the match.  I'm not going to tell you who triumphs. Here's a clue, though. The match ends amid a manmade August swelter. Lips lock, kisses intertwine with husky declarations of victory and lust. One guy blows a kiss in the other guy's face, then locks lips for real. The two bodies seem to melt to the ring floor. A few snaps to the neck, and the loser is nothing more than a prop for the victor to play with.


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