Scrapbook Chronicles: Wrestling with Desire
|Eric sat in a far corner of the bleachers, away from the throng of other spectators. He perused the notes he'd scribbled in his memorandum. In cases where he might be amidst masses of people, he thought it best to leave the laptop at the hotel. And here in Chicago at the McBride University Gymnasium, there were 200 plus people by his estimation. Lets see, not much to go on, really:
No photos of any kind. In fact, a rather conspicuous lack of them. Not even a yearbook photo after Fifth Grade. Only a name, Zaine Merchante, and a list of his accolaides. Too many to name.
The rumor mill was rife with wild tales as usual, though. One alleged witness remarked that he seemed to get stronger the longer a match went on, rather than tiring. If he didn't beat his opponent with sheer strength and technical skill, he wrestled them into exhaustion. Another remarked on his "amazing physique". And one story in particular was most entertaining. It claimed that upon seeing Zaine Merchante, his opponent had pissed himself, and refused to wrestle the behemoth, costing his school the tied meet. It was rumors such as these that brought Eric to Illinois. __________________________________________________ _____
Eric watched the current match with great interest. It was the 198 lb. Light Heavyweight Division match. The visiting school's rep in florid purple and green appeared to be a young man of Asian herritage whose technique was based on speed and finesse. The home schooler in bright red and yellow was a slightly beefier Italian-looking athlete whose moves were built around power and strength. Pretty evenly matched, they'd been going at it for awhile.
Eric loved to watch amateur wrestling. More accurately, he loved to watch wrestlers. The near bulky chests shoulders and arms, the rippled abs, the thick powerful legs, and almost always a perfectly rounded firm set of glutes. They seemed to be a unique combination of strength, speed, and agility all lovingly wrapped in a singlet. In his eyes, only gymnasts stood on a par with them. But that was a subject for a different time.
The ref counted a pinfall in the home schooler's favor. The two combatants shook hands in sportsman-like fashion and the victor's hand was raised in triumph. It was a good match. But it wasn't what he was here to see. He was here to find and meet Zaine Merchante. The next and final match was his. But he had yet to catch a glimpse of his quarry. Well, there would be a break before the Heavyweight Division match. Eric decided to get some refrshment.
He walked down the corridor to the commisary table that had been set up as a makeshift snack stand near the locker rooms. The student manning the concession was a tall, gangly student with a mop of curly blonde hair and glasses. Probably a Freshman or Sophomore, he didn't look happy to be here.
Eric looked over the meager selection of snacks. "I'll have a bottled water, annnnd...a bag of peanuts."
The student uncerimoniously plopped the selections down, "That'll be 5 bucks", he monotoned. He sounded like the kind of student that spent more time high than studying.
Eric looked up in shock. "Five bucks!? That's insane."
"I don't make the prices, dude", he shrugged.
Eric looked into his wallet. All big bills. "Can you break a 20....?"
"Man, do I look like an ATM? What're you smokin'?"
The kid's attitiude was souring Eric's mood. "Funny. I was just wondering the same thing about you."
This seemed to provoke a less blase response, "Look, ya want'em or not....?"
Eric sneered, Think I'll pass."
As Eric began to turn, a five dollar bill floated onto the table and a voice came from behind. "I got it covered, man."
Eric almost lost his footing as he nearly collided with someone standing behind him. Regaining his footing, he looked into the face of the voice's owner. And what face. The eyes caught his attention first, and almost radiant purple. He'd never known anyone with naturally purple eyes. But they didn't have the fake look of contact-induced color. His hair was jet black, gelled into a short spiky coif of the current fashion with neatly trimmed sideburns. The face was chiselled with thick masculine lips, and high cheekbones. His cleft chin was marked by a soul patch, and his shapely nose appeared to have been broken at least once. A diamond stud earing glinted in his left lobe. The face of this stranger seemed familiar somehow.
He repeated his statement to Eric's stunned and speechless expression. "I got it, bro. They jack the prices up at these things. Helps raise money for the teams." He turned a sculpted profile to Eric as he spoke to the concessioner. "And while you're at it, gimme a water too...."
Eric took the moment's distraction to look over the body this handsome face was attached to. He was tall, standing at Eric's height. He wore an oversized sweatshirt emblazoned with the Chicago Bears' logo, suggesting he was an area native, and baggy jeans. But Eric's trained eye could see that this boy was well built. The obviously concealing shirt couldn't hide the width of his broad shoulders, the thick collum of his neck, nor the high ridge of his traps as they sloped up to meet it. As well, the excessively baggy jeans, which hung low on narrow hips and waist, were cinched by a braided leather belt with a great deal of slack rethreaded through the front belt loops.
Eric realized he'd stopped talking and quickly snapped his eyes back up from his not-so-discreet admiration. Too late. The guy was looking at him with a knowing smile, and Eric felt his ears burn as he blushed. He really needed to work on discretion. Well, at least he didn't seem unhappy about it.
Eric looked at his feet as he stumbled over his words. "Uhhhm, thanks. I- I can afford it. I just don't have any small bills."
Still smiling, the beautiful stranger held out the water and peanuts Eric had selected. "Don't sweat it, bro. No worries. 'Sonly five bucks. " His voice was a soft baritone that put Eric instantly at ease. Eric now noticed a scent wafting from the stranger. COlogne of some sort. Gravity, maybe?
Eric took his refreshments which looked oddly small in the large long fingered hands of the young man. "Thanks. Uhhhhm...." What was wrong with him. He was behaving like a horny teenager.
The stranger chose to break the ice. "So, you from around here?"
"Oh, no. I'm just passing through."
"Ah. Vacation, then..."
"No. Well, sort of."
"Annnnd, you decided to attend a collegiate wrestling match on.....a whim?" His tone was teasing. "You must be a big fan."
That was true enough. "I'm here to meet someone....on business." How lame did that sound?
The guy shook his head as if in affirmation, "Oh, cool. Odd, but cool. You some kind of talent scout then?"
Eric was getting uncomfortable again. "Not quite." He was really nice. But there was something, some undeniable charisma, about this young stud. "I....actually prefer not to discuss it....with strangers." He winced, scolding himself for what sounded like a callous statement after he'd just shown such uncommon generosity. But the guy only shrugged.
"That's cool. I tend to be a bit nosey. Sorry'bout that."
Eric was instantly put at ease once again. "Well, I better get back. I don't wanna miss the last match."
This seemed to catch his attention ever so slightly. "Okay. Well, nice talkin' to ya. Maybe I'll see ya around."
"Yeah, maybe. Thanks again."
"Hey, no problem. Enjoy the match."
Eric turned and walked back toward the gym around the corner. Now there was a guy he could easily fall for. He had it all! But he wasn't here to meet some random guy. Alas, dedication often was its own reward. But once in a while, every so often, it was a curse. Maybe after he met the elusive Mr. Merchante, he'd hang around Chicago a bit longer and look this guy up. He stopped in his tracks, realizing that would be difficult without knowing his name at least.
Eric walked quickly back around the corner, not wanting to appear overeager. "Hey, by the way, My name's Eric...."
The gorgeous stranger had vanished. Too late, Eric thought. But where had he gone. He looked at the guy behind the snack table. He didn't strike Eric as the person to ask. Eric went back to the gymnasium a bit disappointed. __________________________________________________ _____
Eric resumed his seat on the bleachers just as the student emcee's voice came over the PA system.
"Ladies, gentlemenm and students, welcome to the final match of the evening. This match is in the 220 to 280 lb. Super Heavyweight Division...."
What....!? Super Heavyweight....?
"....From Cillian Community College, at a weight of 250 lbs., Bradley Sommers."
The spectators in the opposite bleachers stood and gave a deafening cheer for their champion. A young man stood and walked to the center of the mat. He was big. Eric guessed from his seat that Bradley was only a few inches shorter than he himself, with a shaved head under his protective headpiece. He was wide, and massively built. His shoulders and arms bulged with bloated, veiny muscle. The straps of his purple and green singlet were stretched slightly by his large, squared pecs, and the legs were like a second skin around his thighs. He stood at the circle in the center of the mat. His posture appeared confident at first. But Eric could see that he at least apprehensive aabout his opponent.
The emcee went on, "....And, representing McBride University in the Super Heavyweight Division, at a weight of 280 lbs., Zaine Merchante!"
Eric craned his neck to see as the McBride side of the gymnasium went wild, then froze as he saw someone stand from the team seats and walk toward the mat. Here he was. And from what he saw as the figure approached the center ring amongst the cheers in his honor, he was not disappointed.
Eric could see that he was a few inches taller than Sommers. But his height was the least of it. His shoulders jutted out from either side of his neck by nearly a foot, and were literally packed with muscle. His delts and traps bunched against one another as he strode slowly toward the center of the mat. The near overdeveloped horseshoe shape of his tris exploded outward from the back of his arms as they swung in rythm with his strides. The contours of his torso were extreme as his enormous lats and back muscles rippled while he walked and showed plainly through the elastic fabric of his red and yellow singlet. The girth of his torso narrowed into an almost drastic V-shape down to a waist and hips that couldn't have measured more than 30 inches, and a set of glutes that was oddly small but rounded. He reached the starting circle, and turned to face Sommers, giving Eric a view of his front. If the posterior view was immacualte, the front was godly.
It was plain to see that the singlet was too small for this behemoth of an athlete. His pecs were massive mountains of muscle, rounded and full to the point where the straps of the singlet were stretched and his nickle-sized nips were peeking out on either side. His bis and delts pushed against eachother as he flexed his arms to loosen up and an eight-pack showed itself plainly through the fabric as it led downward. The legs of the singlet were taut, and rode up a bit, forced by humongoug quads. It was plain to see, as well, that he was wearing a cup because it was pushed out and showed through the red fabric plainly by what must be a gargantuan cock and balls!
Eric's tore his eyes away long enough to view the face of this giant. His heart jumped to his throat. It was him! The beautiful stranger he'd met at the snack table was him....Zaine Merchante....
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