Monday, April 3, 2017

My life as a nutcracker - part 7: My first time at the club (written by David Walker)

This is the seventh part of a wonderful, epic story written by our reader David Walker. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

Previous parts:

Part 1: I learn how to fight
Part 2: My official introduction to ball busting
Part 3: Vince? OMG!
Part 4: The games people play
Part 5: Practicing the moves, sort of

Part 6: Wear my work boots?

When we walked into the club, I saw god.  He was about the finest specimen of a man I’d ever seen.  He was 6 feet and a couple inches.  His skin was somewhere between really nice dark chocolate and coffee.  He glistened in sweat.  He rested against the top rope, naked, with a thick boner that had to be at least 10 inches long.  He could smack somebody in the face with that and knock them out.  The ref was giving a slow count to a mound of white flesh on the mat.  The mound grew a couple of knees and shakily rose to them.  The black Adonis walked over to the wobbly, barely conscious, semi-erect redneck and let fly a fury of fists.  He picked up the white glob by the chin and gave him an upper cut that knocked the spit out of his mouth and his legs out from under him.  The crowd was ecstatic, which I wouldn’t have expected.  Nary a racist cuss word was heard.

“I’m goin’ back to the locker room,” CJ announced, “see if Ray needs help relaxin’ after the match.”  He arched his eyebrows, smiled, and was off.

The mound of white flesh returned to its first position.  God did not wait for the ref to finish his count.  He lifted the redneck and literally threw him into a corner post.  I noticed the ol’ boy was still in his briefs.  With both arms draped over the ropes, he got two chops on his chest.  The crowd started chanting “Raymond!  Raymond!”  I guessed that was the black warrior’s name.  I’d seen the near-comatose white guy around town but didn’t really know him.  No idea who the black guy was.  The good ol’ boy had been hurled through the air and landed with a thud.  Raymond walked over, slammed his body down on the white guy and got the pin.  He got up, cock bobbing like crazy, walked over and picked up some cloth off the mat and walked back to the locker room.

“CJ’s gonna have his work cut out for him,” Jackson said.

“You said a mouthful,” Seth said and they both laughed.  I wanted to go check out the locker room for, you know, future reference.  OK, to see what CJ had in mind to help Raymond “relax.”  What I really wanted to know was how and why Raymond was stripped in the ring and what got him so incredibly hard.

“Hey, faggot,” I heard a familiar voice say.  “Yeah, you, faggot.  You here to suck some real man cock?”  Oh, good.  It was Corey, my very own personal real life bully.

“I thought that’s what you and your friend were here for,” I heard Seth say.  Oh, shit.

“You stay outta this,” Corey commanded.  Seth tends not to take commands from punks.

“Why don’t you just go back to your beers and jerk off under the table?” Seth suggested.

“Why don’t you kiss my ass?” Corey sounded angry.

“Isn’t that your friend’s job?” Seth shot back.  Go Seth.

Corey retorted, “Shut up, faggot.”  Corey wasn’t known for his creative responses.  His friend, who was one of his hangers-on in school, did not look comfortable.

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up?” asked…Vince?  I thought he was in the locker room getting ready for his match.  Vince pointed at me.  “You do remember how he got even with you, don’t you?”  Corey’s friend winced a little.  “You want some more?  Because we can both remind you.”

“What the fuck are you stickin’ up for that candy-ass faggot for?” Corey yelled.

“We got a problem here?” asked a big, beefy complete stranger.  “Maybe you should just go back to your table, Micro Dick.”

We all had to laugh at “Micro Dick.”  I guess the guy was a bouncer or maybe he just wanted to stop a fight outside the ring.

“You’re dead, faggot,” a flustered Corey spat at me, finger pointing.  “This ain’t over, not by a long shot.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” I said.

“‘Micro Dick?’ Where the fuck did that come from, Charlie?” Seth asked the guy, laughing like crazy.  Jackson and Vince were laughing like crazy, too.  I was surprised by how calm I felt.

“Looking at him and that other punk, it just kinda came to mind,” Charlie explained.

“This is my brother,” Seth explained.

“I thought as much.  You two look pretty much alike.  You got a name, son?”

“Nut cracker,” Seth said.  Charlie looked at my junk and nodded.  “He’s thinking about fighting here,” Seth added.

“Yeah?  Well, I think you got your first fight lined up, if he ain’t too scared,” Charlie chuckled.  “Course, he’s not allowed to fight here.  Got throwed out over the summer.  I’m the pope here, so I can make exceptions.  I’m surprised I even let the little shit in the place to watch.”  He looked at Vince.  “Hey.  You got match now, don’t you?  Maybe you should get your pretty, young ass over there.”

Both Vince and Charlie left.

Nearly everyone had been standing by the end of Raymond’s fight, but they were in their seats again.  While Seth and Jackson went looking for seats, it dawned on me why Corey didn’t make me nervous or upset:  I knew how to fight him.  I knew how to physically knock the shit out of him.  I may not win, but I wouldn’t be fighting out of fear.  I’d started to know what I was doing.  Fuck!  I had developed confidence.  I maybe could fight before, but I usually wound up as a punching bag.  That’s less likely to happen now, I figured.  I literally had a fighting chance.  Shee-yit.  How about that?


The club had a couple general rules.  You knew who you were scheduled to fight at least two days before your match.  Matches were between guys around the same age, except the younger guy could ask to fight someone older.  You could wear pretty much whatever you wanted into the ring; they never said what you could wear leaving the ring, so I guess that depended on the outcome.  You could not file an assault charge or sue the club if you were injured, but you could get kicked out and be forced to pay the guy’s medical bills.  The ref was there to count pins and submissions or to break holds, if that had been decided by the fighters beforehand.  Catch as catch can, anything goes wrasslin’, only with ropes and a drinking crowd.  And probably none of it was legal.


My boots felt heavy.  I had to work earlier, so I’d had them on since morning.  I sat down as Vince was announced and stepped into the ring.  He looked really good in there, this ginger guy in his blue Speedo (very) briefs…showed off his crotch really nice.  Scott something was introduced and stepped into the ring.  There wasn’t a lot of reaction for either man.  A lot of guys were at the bar or walkin’ out the men’s room, some of them rubbin’ their crotches.  It was probably downtime after god’s hot performance.  Speaking of whom, I wondered how CJ was doing.

Vince and Scott tied up right after the bell rang.  They kind of felt each other out, shoving, pushing, and then Vince spun Scott into a headlock.  A good one.  You could tell he had a good grip on it.  After a couple tries, Scott pushed him off.  They locked up again and Scott shoved Vince into a corner.  He changed his position and leaned into Vince, pushed Vince’s head back and was about to give Vince a chop, but Vince gave Scott a quick, hard fist to his gut.  That backed Scott away and Vince got his arms around Scott’s waist.

It was a pretty even match.  Scott didn’t seem interested in a strip fight.  He liked to get Vince into a corner and start slugging.  It didn’t take much wind out of Vince, though.  Vince tried to work on an arm.  He picked Scott up and then slammed him hard to the mat and scissored Scott’s head perfectly.  He had complete control over Scott.  He landed a couple of jabs into Scott’s gut.  Scott had no way to defend himself.  Vince let him wiggle and squirm.  Scott got his arms out and just that quick, Vince grabbed hold of one, let go of the head scissors, stood up, wrapped his legs around it and fell to the mat.  You could tell it hurt Scott.  Vince got so he could pull that arm.  He’d grabbed the wrist and leaned back, kind of let up and then jerked back even harder.  Scott tried to do something like reach over to punch Vince’s leg and Vince jerked his arm hard, pulled it, moved in and pulled back hard, like Scott’s shoulder would pop.  Even better, he kept one hand around Scott’s wrist and drove a couple punches into Scott’s arm.  Scott got out of it by standing.  Vince had to break the hold because his back was on the mat and the ref started his count.

“You fuckin’ sonuvabitch,” I could hear Scott yell.

Scott looked like he was going to fall on Vince with his elbow, but Vince rolled out of the way fast.  When Scott hit the mat, there was no body to land on.  And the stupid thing was the Scott used his sore arm to try to land on Vince.  You could tell it hurt.  You could tell Vince noticed it, too.

Jackson, Seth, and I cheered every move Vince made.  He got distracted by something, though, like somebody screaming shit, just enough that Scott grabbed hold and sent Vince flying into a corner.  He landed with a thud and Scott landed a tackle square into Vince’s midsection.  Now I remembered.  Scott played football at school.  Scott, Corey’s other lieutenant.

After the tackle, he slugged Vince a good one, gave him a solid uppercut, grabbed an arm, and sent Vince running across the ring and smack into the opposite corner.  He stood there as Scott ran toward him to hook a clothesline to the neck.  Vince was kind of dazed.  We were yelling like crazy.  Other people were, too…both guys had their fans.  Vince kept standing as Scott pounded some punches just above Vince’s waist, like he was telling Vince what was going to happen.

“In the nuts!  Punch him in the nuts!”  Fuck.  It was Corey yelling.

Instead, Scott pulled Vince into center ring, spun, and sent his heel into Vince’s gut.  Vince staggered.  Scott pulled him up and hurled Vince into a corner.  He got into tackle position again.  Vince had enough sense to know where he was and to see what Scott was about to do.  Just before Scott made contact, Vince spun out of the way and Scott rammed his shoulder…the shoulder on that arm…into the metal post.  Lots of cheers for Vince.  He stood a little away from the corner.  Scott was definitely in pain.  As he stood, Vince grabbed his head and slammed it into the turnbuckle.  Scott looked stunned.  Vince did it again, then grabbed Scott’s head and drove his forehead even harder into the turn buckle.  Vince grabbed Scott’s arm, placed Scott’s armpit over the rope, and climbed up to the second rope, linked his hands together, jumped down to the mat with a force that made Scott yell.

“Shit!  You motherfucker!” Scott screamed.

“His balls!  Grab his balls!” Corey shouted again.

Instead, Vince grabbed Scott’s arm, repeated the fist jump, and then flung Scott into the ropes.  He looped Scott’s arm over the top rope and did it again:  middle rope, jump, locked fists, and a satisfactory yell from Scott.  Scott knew he needed to get away.  He staggered along the ropes, holding his arm.  Vince followed close behind.  Scott turned around, a little sluggishly, and grabbed Vince’s package with a halfhearted claw, let go, and socked his fist into Vince’s balls.  He and the crowd realized that Vince hadn’t so much as winced.  Scott did it again.  Again, Vince just stared at him.  I knew Vince would be hard by now.  Scott, who was wearing short gym shorts, was as well.  Vince’s package looked a lot more inviting and businesslike.

Vince pushed Scott into the corner and made a fist.  Scott begged Vince not to slug him.  I know how hard Vince can cream your nuts; he went really easy on Scott, but Scott still fell to the mat.  Vince gave him a second and then grabbed the arm, looped it on the middle rope, and pulled and tugged and yanked and punched.  Scott was obviously in pain.  Vince stopped with the arm.  He forced Scott up by pulling his hair and gave Scott a chop just above a nipple.  Everyone heard it and everyone could hear Scott yell as his body jerked back.  The sound was solid; Scott’s groan, perfect.  Vince chopped him again and again, same area, drew his arm back, and drove his knuckles right into Scott’s nip.  I thought I was going to cum.  Seth and I were both on our feet, screamin’ like crazy.

Vince grabbed Scott and pulled him into a headlock, walked to center ring, jumped up a little and drove Scott’s face hard into the mat.  He rolled Scott over and got a two count before Scott struggled to throw Vince off.  Scott sat on the mat.  Vince got up and gave him a good, hard kick between the shoulders blades.  He grabbed Scott’s arm again and pulled it, yanked it until Scott got up.  Using that arm, he flung Scott into the ropes.  Scott bounced off and was greeted with a clothesline that took him down with a thud.  Vince got the pin.  I couldn’t tell if Scott gave up or if he was kinda knocked out, but it didn’t matter.  A tired, heavy-breathing, sweaty redhead stood up and had his hand raised by the ref.  He flashed a tired smile, the crowd cheered, and I think appreciated the package Vince was packing.

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