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|Those last few weeks of term before the Meet, I didnít know whether I was coming or going. Training heated up to a redhot state, my emotions were all over the place - which Coach put down to the strain of preparation. I felt that I had betrayed him somehow, yet not. I still worshiped him, everything that he was, everything he had done for me, and he was just amazing. He honed my still-growing body (I had another four or five doses of him and dragonjuice) and now I could see that all the puppy fat had finally melted away and my body shone as if he had polished it like a sculptor - which he really had.
We wrestled like crazy, he taught me those new tricks he had promised. We joked, I was happy, he was happy - and yet my mind was still in that Rodney-focussed daze. We often saw each other and nodded or smiled sheepishly. Sometimes he looked at me, puzzled, as if he saw something odd about me, and a few times he tried to speak to me, but I put up a hand as if to say "Not yet!" hoping that I was giving both of us some hope and not just wrecking his. And yes, my delirious state of joy at the condition of my muscles kept me going through all that emotion. Somehow Coach had "grown me up" in more ways than one and I felt like his younger brother - and older than poor old suffering Rodney. Often I felt like a real heel when I saw him going around, clearly a different person, all that arrogance gone. On the very day before the Meet, I even remarked on it to Coach and asked if he really felt it was right to "knock the arrogance out of him" now that it had clearly gone anyway.
Coach was no fool, and Iím sure he knew something had happened between Rod and me and that it was getting to me. He knew, he had evidence that I had not "weakened" but I had never told him about that Sunday afternoon in the boathouse. It was my only "error of omission" but Iím sure he saw right through it. He dealt with it through mockery:
"Is little Cinderella worried about her Prince Charming? Is she afraid she wonít get her glass slipper back, then? Or that the poor boy might get hurt? What am I supposed to do about it, be your Fairy Godfather?"
I laughed and hit him - we wrestled a bit and no more was said on the subject. In fact he threw me a bag of stuff. "Think youíre about ready to wear these now - get out of those smelly old trunks and put them on!"
"Them" were a couple of pairs of lycra hotpants, some lowcut lycra tanks with string shoulders, and a few pairs of lycra thongs - with built-in cock-root supporters! I put on a tank and a thong and strutted about flexing in the mirror, feeling very horny indeed in my trophy suit, until he flung my sweats at me, telling me he wanted me to keep well-covered until the last possible moment before the fight. I was about to leave his sanctum when he pulled me to him by the delts and looked down (only a little) into my eyes.
"Youíve done well, kid - whatever happens to us both in the future, wherever we go, Iíll always remember this time weíve had together. Youíve done well! Yeah, and I havenít done badly either!"
He surely hadnít. A massive bearhug, then he pushed me away from him and turned away himself. More tears? Oh yes, he knew all right.
The day of the meet dawned. I felt so great. Coach had prepared me perfectly and I would be going onto that mat with the greatest confidence, were it not for my jumbled feelings about Rod. I knew I could cope with the match OK, but I also knew that this was the end of Rodís last term and he would probably be going back to the USA straight after - college and all that. And it was "all that" that was getting to me. I just had to put it out of my mind until after tonight. Not easy, but essential. All the muscle in the world couldnít
wash away the feelings of the mind. Or the heart.
Eight oíclock that night. It was finally here. Coach wouldnít let me into to the arena during all the other events: he kept me in the gym warming me up. We could hear all the announcements and cheers from where we were and that didnít help the nerves one bit! At last the light-heavies were on and he gave me the present of the term: a great terry robe, with his "Eternal Life" characters embroidered in big on the back and in small over the heart. One final pre-match bearhug and we walked over to the arena.
Somehow or other, Coach had fixed it so Rod still didnít know who his opponent was to be - it could have been anyone from any of the other Houses. But it was me. I was to be the Mystery Man who was daring to challenge the School champ. His jaw dropped a mile when I appeared at the other side of the great mat. I had to find a way to speak to him, at least for a moment. We were introduced to the public, then brought together in the middle for the refís homily. As we shook hands, I said "Donít let anything hold you back, Rod. Nothing, OK? I certainly wonít. Just pretend you hate me and give me all youíve got!"
The ref thought I was trying to psych Rod out and he ordered us back to our corners. Under orders from Coach, I let Rod disrobe first to enormous cheers from the audience. First of all, he ran round the arena waving a huge Stars and Stripes - some people, his claque, started to sing the tune and when Rodney disrobed and flexed there was a huge roar from the crowd. Then Rod, and everyone else probably, turned to look at me: I looked at Coach, he nodded. I let my Eternal Life robe drop. There was a sudden silence and a lot of indrawn breaths, then, as I hit a monstrous double bicep, there was an even greater roar as this incredible physique was unveiled. Mine. Now the crowd didnít know whom to root for: the boy-god they had known for years, or this boy-god who came out of nowhere?
I couldnít look at Rod until the bell rang for the first round. Then I looked and I could see he was furious. Shit! He obviously thought Coach had set him up and that I was part of Fischerís Revenge. At least I could smile, because I knew heíd have to let me have it now. Before I could recover myself he rushed at me with the roar of a bull and butted me in the stomach. I was just in time to flex my abs to avoid damage but the weight of his big physique knocked me flat on the back. The audience were delighted and let out a huge cheer.
As he lifted an angry leg to kick me in the ribs - or worse - I rolled over and seized it, sending him toppling. In a flash I was full length on top of him. His muscles struggled to get out from under, his pecs grinding into mine, his pelvis trying to shake off my abs, but I had both his hands pinned above his head and my knees locked against his waist. He was mine. I leaned close to his face and whispered "I know you want to fuck me now and beat me to a pulp but thatís just not going to happen. But remember what I told you - no holding back!" I neednít have worried - with one huge buck of his hips he unseated me
and tried to get my neck into a Nelson. But that wasnít going to happen either. I flipped him over my head and stood over the enraged American musclegod - beautiful in his rage - and Most Musculared right over him.
And so it went on. We sure gave the crowd value for money! If youíve ever watched the more daring wrestling videos - or even WWF before it became a vulgar brawl with metal chairs and no skill - youíll know just how sensual it is to watch two muscle hunks pitting their strength against each other, seeing one pumped up muscle sliding over another, flexing and bunching, bulging to the max, body against body, slipping in the sweat. So you might understand how exhilarating and mind-blowing it is to be one of those bodies, glorying in the power of pure muscle,
At any time I could have toppled Mr. America and ended the match with my superior strength, bigger muscle and greater weight. But that was not the plan. Coach wanted the arrogance knocked out of him, I wanted him to feel how our bodies responded to each other. So I let him have the first round. He was really pumped up at that and went through all the traditional actions, double bi with one foot in my abs, Winnerís lap round the arena to the delight of his faithful (and lusting) fans. Unfortunately for him, he took too much time doing all that and as the bell rang he was still at it and I was able to leap onto his back from behind and bring him down. Good fuck position. "Want that raincheck now, Rod? Come on then - take it!" "Iíll take it when I want it, you fuck!" he yelled as he scrambled to his feet and charged into a double bull-lock, both our heads down with arms round each otherís backs. Quads, calves and butts swelling as we pushed against each other. He tried to hook one of my knees with his foot, but I knew that one was coming, twisted him round and seized him round the waist with one arm, and the back of his neck with the other. My big bulge was mashing against his glutes and I gave him a few hard pelvic butts to remind him what was down there.
Good athlete he was, and he jumped up, twisting round and using my hold as leverage with one arm, he ripped at my crotch with the other hand, ripping the lycra! he locked his legs round my waist, crossed his ankles and squeezed unmercifully. Then he rammed one forearm down on the back of my neck and I fell, dragging him down with me. This time he was on top, sitting on my chest and about to ram his forearm down on my adamís apple. I just caught it in time. I pulled his face down to mine. "I love you, you mad Yankee! Donít you get it yet?" He relaxed everything for a moment and I took the advantage of pinning him in an impossible position. He had to submit. The bell rang. I yanked him on to his feet with one arm, so both our bis were ultra-flexed, like arm wrestlers. "You mean that, monster?" "You bet!" I turned my back and went to my corner, leaving him standing and gawping. Second fall to me.
I could see Coach in his seat - he was looking past me at Rod. I saw a sudden stiffening of his body and realized that Rod was ignoring the bell and charging my back. Before I could turn he was kneeling high up my back, one arm round my neck, the other waving in the air as he yelled "Yahoo!" The ref started to paw at him to get off but Coach rose and shouted "Fight on!" and some fool hit the bell. We started our Rodeo act, me bucking, him beating my ass and Yahooing over and over again, both of us galloping and roaring all over the ring. The crowd loved it until I grabbed one quad and unseated him. He fell on the mat with a loud bump which knocked the wind out of him and the crown roared its disapproval. I was on top of him in a flash. "Kiss me, Hardy!" I said and did just that. Cheers and boos. He grabbed a pec and a nip and twisted them both hard.
He grabbed the front of my ripped lycra and pulled himself to his feet. I grabbed his suit and round we spun like Don Quixote fighting the windmills. Ripping sounds all round. The crazy audience were treated to two great muscle guys whirling around, practically naked except for a few rags of lycra, sweat flying, shining muscles bulging all over the place, both trying to grab each otherís packets to complete the strip.
Coach stood to put an end to all this by yelling between his hands at us "One All! Fight on!" This galvanized us both into real wrestling again. Now the rage had gone it was just pure, sensual fun. We both knew that, however it might finish, something great was waiting for us at the end. This next fall had to be the decider and the audience knew it. The shouting rose to a new extreme of hysteria, egging us on from one muscle-clamped hold to another.
Should I let him win? Whatever I felt about him, or not, I couldnít do that for Coachís sake. We had a plan and I couldnít betray him. So I redoubled my energies and launched into Coachís surprise ending - the pinhold he had not taught Rod. My huge arms seized him round the waist, hoisted him up above my head in an Olympic clean-and- jerk lift, whirled him round several times like the guys on WWF, with him screaming to be put down before his spine broke while the grisly crowd screamed for blood. But instead of ramming his head on the floor (which has wrecked many a good wrestlerís neck for good - and even killed one) I hurled him down in an arc and caught his whole beautiful head between my quads so that his face was suffocated in my butt. I held him upside down by his knees like this while he writhed and wriggled and bucked and let out muffled yells, stifling in the power of my glutes. It was a very pretty muscular sight to see all those amazingly chiseled muscles writhing for their very existence and mine puffed p with triumph. The crowdís noise slowly died down as Rod slowly stopped writhing. By the time he was limp, they were completely still. So the sound of me letting him down on to the mat again was amplified by their appalled silence. He was out.
Once again, I knelt beside him and administered the kiss of life. He opened his eyes. "Did you really mean that?" "Yes, Sleeping Beauty, I did." I walked back to my seat as he slowly sat up. The crowd sank back in relief. Everyone sat down but Coach and the ref who eventually pulled himself together and walked over to raise the hand of the Winner of this extraordinary match. But before he could quite do that, Someone Else pulled him aside and raised my arm, getting me off the seat. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winner of this great match, Mr Mystery Man!".
THEN the crowd went mad, as Rodney put his other arm round my waist and started whooping again as he dragged me round the mat. Suddenly he booted me through he ropes on to the floor, shoved his head between my legs (again!) and hoisted me up on to his shoulders. To the cheers of the crowd he ran me round the entire arena in a winnerís lap - twice round, and then he stopped in front of Coach. He let me down to floor level.
"Good fight, guys!" said Coach. He grabbed my hand in a masonís grip and shook it warm ly.
"Can I get one of those?" said an uncharacteristically small voice beside me. Coach looked at his outstretched hand, then took it and shook it. At the same time, I put my spare arm round Rodís shoulders, and he round mine. Suddenly all three of us were shaken by an electric vibration running through the three of us. Like two poles electrically galvanized when switched into the Source. It was an incredible and supernaturally inspiring moment.
"Congratulations to you both!" he said, then turned and walked out of the building. I felt a moment of incredible sadness as I watched his back disappear. Rod said later that he felt he had to switch me back to normal, so he grabbed what was left of my lycra and ripped it all off - I did the same to him and we whooped our impressively naked muscle round the astonished arena, giving them the bonus appearance of two major dicks waving in the breeze, and thence out into the night, starkers.
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