Part Three - Dick's Retirement
To this day, it amazes me how easily everything fell into place for us. The second property we saw was the one we bought and although the main house required a bit of fixing up, the outbuildings were just what we needed, especially the barn. It was no more than 10 years old and, once insulated, could house everything necessary for the training facility. There was enough height to construct a second floor. The top would be for instruction, with practice mats and separate rooms for free weights, stretching and conditioning; while the ground floor would be for housing and showers, plus a dining and recreation hall. There also was a nice-sized pond 75 yards from the facility for fishing and supervised swimming, while the entire complex sat on 50 acres less than a mile from the nearest highway.
When the movers arrived with the tractor trailer containing our possessions, Dick got a phone call from the agent in Chicago, informing him there was a buyer for his house. Three days later, we had a buyer for mine and all properties closed nice and tight both in Chicago and Oklahoma.
My new job was to maintain the finances and find students for the classes, while Dick bought necessary equipment and worked with the contractors he hired to redesign the barn.
Our goal was to get the business facility prepared first, then work on the house at a leisurely pace. This was to be a June to August summer camp, two-week course with kids grouped according to age or weight, depending on whether they were age 6 to 11 or 12 to 18. Dick would teach them free-style and Greco-Roman techniques, while the emphasis would be to prepare them for high school and collegiate wrestling, both mentally and physically.
I was to be the official preparer and server of meals, cleaner of toilets and showers, and director of discipline and recreation. I anticipated this to be much more strenuous than his function, but no matter, because I was no longer salaried. Dick had made me a full partner in our enterprise and we pooled all our resources into one pot.
We closed on the property in November, which gave us about six months to complete the construction, then I could make pictures for flyers to send out. Because of his reputation, I had no problem making contacts. Almost every junior and high school wrestling coach I contacted knew who he was and some remembered competing against or watching him in the college days. Even the elementary school officials had heard of him. Most of my telephone calls were answered with, "Dick Hodges? Sure, send the flyer and I'll post it."
By the end of April, our barn remodeling was almost finished and all classes for June were booked, with more requests for information still coming in. I could now devote more time to the house, while still handling any phone calls or other business regarding the camp.
As for the home life, it was sweet. Dick would usually hang around until noon, at which time he would putter in the training facility, adding little extras as he saw the need and using the weight room to keep his body in shape. This, of course, pleased me immensely.
There was one item he didn't consider, but I enlightened him on it. "Ok, Dick, you got insurance for the property, now you better cover our ass."
"Explain."
"What if a kid gets injured or there's an accident? We don't want any lawsuits. Better go to Tulsa and talk to an attorney about insurance for that."
"God damn, you're clever. I'll reward you when I get back."
"How about a reward now and when you get back?"
He was such a pushover, I could talk him into anything. One of my first priorities when we first moved in was to get the master bedroom situated, so that when he came into the house we'd have something to do after dinner. Just before Christmas time Dick told me he was unsatisfied with his old bed and asked me to look for a king size, preferably with four corner posts, and it was only after I found one and had it set up did I learn about his desired position to receive the next blow-job. It was the first Christmas eve of our new life together.
He presented to me four ropes with four nicely looped slip knots at one end. After his hands and feet were inside the loops, it was my duty to pull the ropes until the loops effectively secured the wrists and ankles, then tie each of the open ends of rope to the four corner posts. So, he was bound in a spread eagle position, and as you might have suspected, he also had draped himself over the top of two stacked pillows - representing Killer Manjaro.
Yes, Dick Hodges desired to relive the night of our first encounter, but in the much more comfortable and private confines of our bedroom. Perhaps it was therapy for both of us - a way of saying "thanks" to the bastards that humiliated us back in Chicago.
"Think they hurt me, Jimmy?"
"They did then. What about now?"
"Feels good, now. They did us a favor."
Right or wrong, what they forced us to do in public led us to repeat the act for our own enjoyment. He received the first of these in mostly the same manner as had happened in the ring, with me first burying my face into and then licking his belly, followed by an expertly-executed dick sucking.
Christmas morning, he woke me up to go through it again, but this time asked me to look for hot spots.
"Where do you want me to start?"
"Jimmy, I'm a tough son of a bitch. You take all the time you need and explore all of it."
A Christmas gift from the gods - Dick Hodges laid there bound over those pillows, while I put my tongue and lips all over him. And just as he suggested, I took my own sweet time. Big, beefy, thick and powerful, this 100 percent ruggedly beautiful male masterpiece basked in a timeless marathon of intense body worship. I found many, many hot spots and stored them for reference into my library of knowledge about the male physique - in particular, one Dick Hodges.
What was my favorite spot? All of it. He was my ideal of masculinity, just as he should be for you, so I won't ruin your fantasy with my reality. I lavished my praise onto every inch of skin from the fingers to the toes, inhaling the heavenly tastes and aromas of the ultimate man, until I again returned to kneel before his helplessly bouncing pecker. Merry Christmas, Mr. Hodges.
After I untied him, we wasted some time with a bit of snoozing and mutual cuddling, then Dick resumed his role as a dominant male and we proceeded to break in our new bed for the remainder of the day. This became our household Christmas tradition. Only on that evening would the ropes come out, and the 364-day anticipation helped us to maintain a very healthy relationship. Any time we had little spats or one or the other of us was in a bad mood, either he or I would say, "Christmas is coming soon," and even if it was only February, just the thought of what was to come made us smile.
On our first New Year's eve together, he asked for a little variation.
"Here, remember this?" He tossed me a bottle of olive oil. "Time for you to rub me down the way you used to, Jimmy."
Again, we returned to the days of his professional career, as he lay on his belly to receive my deep-muscle massage. It had been nearly three months since I had dug my fingers into him and somehow the skin felt different - smoother, more vital. No longer subjected to abuse in the ring, Dick's flesh seemed to take on a youthful glow, while the olive oil gave it a bronzed sheen, as though he were a mighty Greek warrior.
I penetrated every inch, from the back of the neck, hands and forearms to the calves, ankles and soles of feet. Then, he turned over and I saturated side two. Once I had finished the rub down, I applied the oil to his testicles and semi-erect penis. As he lay sprawled with eyes closed, I manually brought him to full erection, then mounted him. Now, he became a Greek god. His other-worldly power rushed to concentrate itself into his penis, causing my innards to first surrender, then counter-attack. The muscles crushed his cock, as I slowly raised my buttocks off his pelvis several inches, then slammed back down to sit on him, squeezing with all my strength. My rhythm was just the right pace and I could tell from experience that he was about to fire, when suddenly he opened the eyes and raised up to rest on his elbows.
"Turn around."
He laid back down flat and with a little difficulty, I closed his dick tightly in my vise, supported myself with palms on the mattress and turned to the left, swinging the right leg over him. After one more turn, the left leg lifted over his thighs and I sat with my back towards him, still crushing the tool inside me. Dick raised up, locked me into a full nelson and slowly brought my torso to lay atop his.
"How does it feel? Want me to break your back?"
"Do what you gotta do," I clinched my butt cheeks tight. "I'm still gonna torture your cock."
"Don't move your arms."
He released the nelson and I held position, still squeezing with my rectal innards. I saw his arms move on either side of me and he scraped oil from his thighs and flanks, then transferred the thick liquid onto my chest and stomach.
"Lay your legs flat outside of mine."
As I did, Dick intensified the deep oiled rub onto my stretched torso, pressing his thick and scratchy palms and fingers into my skin. Time and again he removed oil from his body and coated me, as I continued to relentlessly crush his throbbing pole. Then, I felt utopia. He cupped my cock into his oiled hand and stroked me, which caused my entire body to twitch. I arched my back and felt his hot, heavy breath burning my ear, while both his dick and mine surged with increased strength. I crushed his and he stroked mine, until my balls shrunk to the size of peanuts and jettisoned their seed onto my chest and stomach. Writhing and contorting in uncontrolled ecstasy, my inside muscles flexed and spasmed in conjunction with my orgasm, which further stimulated his impaling cock. My contractions subsided and he slowed the manual strokes, then squeezed out whatever was left in my shaft. That's when I heard a pitiful moan and felt his body undulate beneath me, as he flooded my insides with his own semen, urged on by my relentlessly crushing and flexing rectum.
We both laid there for quite some time, silently panting for breath, until his fading unit slipped past the rim of my asshole.
"Turn over."
I did as asked and we laid chest to chest, squishing that olive oil between us. He wrapped his arms around me and gently squeezed. "Next week, you're taking me to Tulsa."
"Ok. Why?"
"I'm flying to Chicago."
"Ok. Why?"
"Kyle's coming. His mom and dad, too."
I raised up to quiz him further. "What for? The barn isn't ready."
"Upstairs is. Enough to get him started, anyway."
"Where are they gonna stay?"
"There's plenty of room in this house."
I started to protest, because the house was nowhere near ready for guests, unless they wanted to sleep surrounded by walls with peeling wallpaper and bathe in rusty tubs with leaky faucets and walk on floors that sounded near collapse. Instead, I kissed him. Kyle was coming. What else mattered?
"Well, Mr. Hodges, I hope you're happy now that we've ruined my favorite sheets."
"Yeah, better get some new ones. Next time we'll use the conditioning room."
"Or put a plastic cover on the bed."
"I ain't laying on plastic. Gives me the creeps."
Another holiday ritual was born: purchase new sheets for the bed.
The Bixby's were good people and fully forgave us our dilapidated house. The parents and I played many games of three-handed cribbage, while their son began his first lessons in doing it the Dick Hodges way, both in wrestling and in life. The boy who gave him the incentive to "keep fightin' 'em" - to explore and accept his new career, turned out to be one of Dick's prized pupils. He attended the camps free of charge each year, becoming one of the top amateur wrestlers first in high school, then the University of Illinois and the Olympics.
Our narrator in the other story said that Dick Hodges faded into history, which is true, but that history is very much alive. Thanks mainly to the internet, Dick and those like him - real men, real athletes who were cast out of the world of professional wrestling are once again known and appreciated for their contributions and accomplishments.
There are countless web sites devoted to them and many of these "old timers" who are still alive now are in demand for speeches and even seminars on wrestling techniques and the history of the sport.
I'm not bitter about what happened to pro wrestling. It changed along with society. Our culture demanded more drama, comedy and sex at an accelerated pace. Besides, all is not lost. Pro wrestling can be entertaining as hell, plus with men like Olympic medalist Kurt Angle and the offspring of legends from Dick's time (like Randy Orton, son of Bob, grandson of Bob, Sr.), the traditions begun by earlier generations continue.
I look at it this way: that night, Dick Hodges was taken from professional wrestling and given to me. Without that incident, who knows what would have been left of him when he retired? Every time a pro wrestler enters the ring, his body deteriorates a little more, not to mention that one wrong move can result in permanent damage to neck or spine or any number of vital parts. Dick was given to me with a body still vibrant and full of life, which has been allowed to age naturally and remain a dominant force.
Another statement made by that narrator claims that I was with Dick until the end, which is also true. But the end has not yet come. He still teaches the summer camps and wrestles with me the other nine months of the year. Dick and Jimmy are still together, partners for life, the hero and his ring boy.
the end
Part Two - Dick's Homecoming
"Any mail today, Jimmy?"
Sadly, there was. It was the third consecutive day he had asked and I could no longer keep lying to him.
"Hobson at the Tribune would like to write an article about the match - you know, from your perspective."
"Nah, to hell with him. There's nothing to say about it anyway. No letters from the fans?"
I had already filtered out the ones that included threats on his life, but reluctantly, I handed him the ones that were merely sarcastic and hateful. "It's all negative shit, Dick."
He read them, one by one, sometimes laughing, sometimes shaking his head in disbelief. After going through half a dozen, he handed both these and the remaining unread letters back to me.
"Well, I get the gist of it. Guess they don't want to see the likes of me in the ring again."
"Only losers write threats they don't have to back up. You know that."
"Yeah, well, fuck 'em. They don't know anything about it."
"That's right, they don't."
He put on an effective facade, but I could tell those vicious words had hurt him again - just as they would anybody who once had enjoyed a celebrity status. One letter had been withheld from him and now I put it in his hand.
"Here, try this one."
He opened and read the neatly hand-printed message:
Dear Mr Hodges,
It was bad what they did to you. I want to be like you when I grow up. My dad said I can try out for the wrestling team when I am old enough. I wish you could show me how to wrestle. Nobody is as good as you. It makes me sad that you are sick.
Your pal,
Kyle Bixby
With a stern expression, he carefully folded the paper, returned it to the envelope and handed it to me, "Keep this, Jimmy. Don't ever lose it. That letter is our future."
Before I could analyze what that meant, Dick's lead doctor entered the room. He looked over the charts and vitals, then told Mr. Hodges that he could go home in the morning. After giving him a list of instructions and prescriptions that would be needed to complete the healing process, the good doctor left the room.
"Thank god, I'm so sick of this place I could put my fist through a wall."
"Rearing to go, are ya'?"
"Better believe it. Are you gonna get me off tonight?"
"No problem." Of course I was, just as I had done for the past nine. "I suppose you know this is Saturday."
"Yeah, my two week anniversary."
"You wanna watch tonight's broadcast?"
He gazed out the window for a few seconds, then turned to stare me down. "No, Jimmy, I don't think I will - don't give a shit what's going on there. It'll only make me want to kill somebody - and we can't have that, can we?"
"No, we can't. Besides, I'd want to help you and we'd both end up in jail."
I hadn't even mentioned it to him on the one week anniversary, but instead had made a reason to leave for awhile so I could find a nearby tavern where the broadcast was displayed on their television set. As I suspected, the three assassins were pummeling a couple of guys I'd never seen before, probably some suckers they'd called in from the hinterlands. I hoped these jobbers had demanded a tidy sum of money, because they were getting the holy shit beat out of them, while the fans in the arena were going bonkers.
Sunday morning I drove Dick to his house. There was no celebration - no one there to greet him. He had no family, unless you could call a one-night-stand, unknown father and an alcoholic mother his family. Wrestling was his ticket out of that miserable childhood, as he excelled in the sport during both junior and senior high school, then parlayed his skills into a full scholarship to Oklahoma State University.
For two weeks, he had lived in that hospital bed with no visitors - not the wrestlers, not the fans, not even the promoter, which to me was beyond belief. How much money had Dick Hodges made for this man? Surely enough to warrant a phone call or letter, but neither of us had heard anything from him since the night of the mugging. He was about to hear from one of us.
"Tomorrow morning, I'm gonna pay a visit to my old boss."
"Slater?"
"Yep."
"What are you gonna do to him?"
He laughed at this. "Physically, nothing. I'm gonna hit him in his pocketbook."
"How so?"
"We're cashing in, Jimmy. He's paying my hospital bill, buying out my contract. I'm selling this house and you're selling yours. We're going home."
I wish I could have been with him in that man's office, just to hear what was said and how it was done, but the end result is that Dick came home with a huge wad of cash, and true to his word we put both houses on the market.
Two items of importance took place before we moved back to Oklahoma. One was an exploratory trip to make things ready for our return. Dick had decided that the Lake Eufala area was the best place to be, so we met with a real estate agent in nearby Tulsa to put the plan into motion.
"Give him that letter, Jimmy."
I handed the agent an envelope from one Kyle Bixby, smiling as the agent opened and read the words.
Dick explained it to him. "I'm opening a training camp for youngsters. The place will need 30 to 50 acres with a livable house. I'd like to have water, either a pond, stream or access to one of the lakes. These are phone numbers where you can reach me. Find at least three possible locations and call us." He handed the letter back to me for safekeeping. "We'll be back when you're ready to show."
The agent went to work on our project, while Dick and I returned to Chicago. First thing he did when we got home was to write a letter to that boy and show it to me.
Dear Kyle,
This is your pal, Dick Hodges. Your letter sure made my day. In fact, thanks to fellas like you writing to cheer me up, I'm not sick anymore.
I'm glad you want to be a wrestler. Because of wrestling, I was able to go to college and meet lots of really great people.
You'll be hearing from me again real soon, because if things work out for me, I'm going to teach you and other young fellas how to do it the Dick Hodges way.
Yours truly,
Dick Hodges
"Sign it and send it, Dick. That'll make the kid's day."
"Hope so. I gotta hunch about who he is."
He explained to me the moment in the ring when he was about to give up.
"I turned my head and saw this man holding a boy in his arms. Everyone around was screaming for Manjaro and them to finish me, but this boy was crying. I do believe his lips were telling me to keep fighting, so that's what I did."
I had to look away for a second in order to maintain my composure and somehow managed to do so, "Whether it's him or not, it's one hell of a story."
"Sure is. I gotta make sure kids like him know what wrestling's all about. It ain't about beating people up."
There is no doubt in my mind that Kyle Bixby's letter saved Dick from a dreary future. It gave him not only a new purpose and optimism, but also (and perhaps even more important) it prevented him from hating - from staying bitter about what had happened to him. Living with resentment can age a man quickly and eat at his insides, just as surely as a stomp to the belly can rupture them.
With that said, let's return to the previous Sunday, because the second item of note was the homecoming celebration for Dick Hodges. Oh, it wasn't anything fancy, but it was quite memorable. Within minutes of entering his house, both of us had stripped down and pulled the coverings off of his bed. I soon found myself smothered under a mass of muscle and fur, looking up to his steel-blue eyes.
"Hell, Jimmy, how come we never thought of this before?"
"Guess we never had time to think about it before." I planted my palms onto the small of his back and coaxed him to massage our hardened dicks, as they were crushed between our bellies. He slowly thrust his body forward and the friction of fur and hard skin nearly made me spasm right then and there, but Dick had other plans.
"Jimmy, can I get in you?"
"You mean my ass?"
"Yeah, I've been thinking about it for days."
Hard to believe, but this thought had never entered my head. I was perfectly satisfied sucking him off and masturbating myself later, but all I really wanted was to please him, so of course I said, "We can try. This is all new to me."
"Me, too."
There was nothing erotic about our first attempt at intercourse. In fact, it was nearly a comedy of errors, starting with the lubricant. First, we tried spit, but by the time he had his dick hard enough to take a stab, the spit was dried up and so was his mouth. With my legs draped over his shoulders, Dick stood on his knees jacking like a madman, only to find my virgin asshole wouldn't budge an inch.
Frankly, I was scared to death, but finally, we decided to use a bottle of lotion, and at my suggestion he put some on the rim of my rectum with his fingers, then opened me up with first one, then two of his thick digits.
It was a start, but after he had his cock slicked up and ready to go, he was shaken by a howling shriek of agony, as the bulging head of his organ plowed past my rim.
Immediately, he pulled out. "Oh, shit. I didn't mean to..."
"Don't worry about it. It's not your fault. Just give me some time."
He looked down at me like a faithful hound who knew he had done something wrong, but then I broke into laughter and so did he.
"Hey, Dick, maybe I should have gone to the library to get a book on this."
"Yeah, why didn't you? What the hell am I paying you for?"
"Guess I forgot to read about Dick's dick."
"Besides that, you've had two weeks with nothing else to do. I oughtta terminate your paycheck."
He let go my legs and faked throwing a punch into my gut, then I returned the favor. Soon we clinched into a pretend wrestling match, smearing lotion all over ourselves and the sheets, until I found myself once again crushed under his heavenly chest. He pecked my forehead and cheeks with dry kisses, then our lips came together and his tongue found it's way to mine.
Dick started making love to me like he was a man and I was a woman, slowly sliding his body down, leaving kisses on my neck, then chest, then stomach. Neither of us spoke, as he once again reared up on his knees and draped my legs over his shoulders. After relubing, he gently pressed inside me and waited for my acceptance, then slowly came forward inches at a time.
It was all so simple, once we stopped thinking and started feeling. I was broken in with merciful strokes, until I not only received his peter, but also participated in its stimulation. Unconsciously, I contracted the muscles of my rectum each time he achieved maximum penetration, while he expertly turned and twisted his hips, spearing me from left, right, above and below.
We were no longer rookies. My man's glorious cock was thoroughly satisfied, as he filled me with a dominating masculinity only he could give. And for the first time since our discovery, he masturbated me, drawing a line of lotion on my raging erection, then stroking me in the rough palm of his hand and fingers. All the while, his penis remained buried to the deepest part of my rectum, which brought me a nearly-instantaneous orgasm.
Make no mistake, we certainly were not professionals, but the first opponent had been defeated. Fear was no longer part of the equation, because from this point forward, we learned by exploration - by doing what felt natural to us.
His homecoming was a huge success, and after we returned from that trip to Tulsa, we had many days with many hours to further acquaint ourselves with this new sport. Dick approached it in the same manner he had wrestling: with 100 percent dedication, enthusiasm, respect and training.
He felt compelled to practice with me anywhere from two to four times per day, as he experimented with almost every position imaginable. Yes, in time he did decide to suck my dick and yes, we both became proficient at this exercise. No, he did not desire to be fucked and I would not have done so had he asked. Such an act would not be appropriate for a hero, and for me he could be nothing else.
________________________________________
next part in a week
is a companion piece to the Man of Black and White. These were written in 2008, and are background stories for what led to 2010's A True Ring, one of five tales in the Jardonn book, Suspicious Diagnosis.
THE RING BOY
by Jardonn
Part One - Dick's Recovery
Dick Hodges was a dying breed. He was a wrestler in the purest sense of the word, but the "sport" of professional wrestling had disappeared before his very eyes. To me, he was the ultimate athlete and possessor of the most perfectly designed structure ever to house the soul of a man, although had you looked at him after his final match - the one that ended his career, you would not have agreed with me.
I was witness to the atrocities perpetrated against him. I, along with hundreds of others, saw one man suffer at the hands of two - then three, then an entire gang, as the referee and other officials stood by and allowed the destruction of Dick Hodges to continue uninterrupted. He was a man of integrity - a man who played by the rules, and in order to defend these principles, he had fought them to the bitter end. Despite the overwhelming odds, this man summoned every ounce of strength time and again in his struggle to break free and defeat them, until finally, his tortured body could take no more. It took nearly three hours before they could finally pin him for the three count and in this time he suffered like no man should ever be made to suffer.
Lord, how they beat him - with fists and forearms, with stomping and kicking boots, with illegal devices and metal chairs that opened his skin until blood flowed, and worst of all, with 400 pound belly flops. These caused unholy damage to his internal organs, but as if the beatings weren't enough, he also was stripped naked and degraded before every person packed inside the arena. Granted, it is hard to imagine something so vile could have taken place in a public forum such as this, but the worst was yet to come.
This is the place in the story where I became a part of the tragedy. I was his ringside assistant and although I had done everything in my power to help him escape this massacre, a man of 170 pounds is rather useless against monsters nearly twice his size and weight. Each of my feeble attempts to interrupt their assault upon my outnumbered friend was easily swatted down, as though I were a mere fly - a meaningless buzz of annoyance. My final try at stopping them resulted in me being crushed and trapped in a corner turnbuckle by one of the hulks, as I stood helplessly watching the others remove his boots, socks, wrestling trunks and jock strap.
Once he was prepared, they brought me forward with my hands held behind the back and head guided by a huge paw grasping onto a clump of my hair. They forced me to kneel between the thighs of their victim, who was hideously bound with wrists and ankles tightly pulled in four opposing directions and secured in the grasps of four men. Adding to his agony, the body was draped over the top of a 400 pound mountain of a man named Killer Manjaro (he also being the instigator of the belly flops), as they both lay horizontal in the center of the ring, one atop the other.
So, with the target cruelly displayed in a naked, spread-eagle posture, chest thrust high into the air and belly mercilessly flattened, my face was forced down onto that belly so hard that I could barely breath. Then, they raised my head just a bit and ordered me to put my tongue to him. As I did, Dick looked up to confirm it was I who was forced to desecrate his helpless body, and once he saw this he let out a mighty groan of anguish, then collapsed his head back down out of my sight.
I tasted his manly sweat, his incredible strength and even his tormenting pain, as my tongue delicately massaged the skin and further saturated the belly hairs. This part of his body had taken a horrendous amount of punishment - punches, foot stomps and even the abdominal claw - yet, I could still feel the solid muscle underneath, stretched and flexed to defend his innards. The unyielding power of the man brought sensations to me never known before, but just as I was beginning to lose myself in this undefined stimulation, my head was brutally yanked upwards and shifted to his crotch, where my nose was soon buried into the briny smell of his masculine pubic hairs. With my lips pressed against the flaccid penis, they mockingly turned my head side to side, forcing my nose to inhale the smell of a beaten man. In the distance, I heard taunting words, as the other wrestlers ordered me to suck the man's dick.
They pressed my face down harder and harder onto his pelvis, so I took the organ into my mouth, mainly for fear of crushing the precious gonads beneath it. Once his tool was engulfed, another newfound sensation overwhelmed me. It was as though every character trait, every powerful muscle and every facet of what made him a man had been concentrated into this singular body part. The essence of Dick Hodges was buried inside my mouth and I began to worship him with an enthusiasm worthy of the years of pent up yearning I had kept hidden inside.
All this time, I thought I had admired him as the supreme athlete - as the bastion of the sport I loved, but my affection for him was much deeper than this. Not until his mighty phallus was under my control did I realize what he truly meant to me. Because of this, I was oblivious to everything else surrounding me - the taunting wrestlers, the screaming crowd, the cruelly complacent referee and other officials - they all disappeared, leaving only myself and Dick Hodges in the center of that ring. As his cock began reacting to my touch, I sensed that Dick also was losing himself in our newfound connection. His penis grew to full strength and seemed to reverberate with a masculine power befitting the man himself. He fulfilled my every desire of what a man should be and I accordingly praised his incredible cock with a gusto worthy of him.
My reward was an amazing explosion of manly semen, and even though it was my first experience at receiving such a gift, I greedily gulped and inhaled every single drop into my throat, then transferred it down to my gut. Reluctant for the moment to end, I continued slavishly servicing his tool even after its contractions had stopped, until I was ruthlessly pulled off of him and thrown over the top rope to crash on the floor below, which is the last I remember of that event.
When I awoke, the arena was empty - except for Dick Hodges. He laid prone in the center of the ring, still naked with chest up and limbs sprawled. I stood hypnotized, gazing at him. His eyes were closed, as the mighty chest would rise to inhale oxygen, then fall to the dual sounds of a wheeze and a moan. This was a tragic scene. What once was an amazingly skilled and perfectly tuned wrestling machine had been reduced to a battered, bloodied shell of a man. How badly he was injured I could not tell, but to think that nobody cared enough about him to find out sickened me beyond description. All the wrestlers he thought were friends, all the fans who once adored him, even those who didn't care one way or the other, all had left him there to rot - the carcass of wrestling's past, thoroughly stripped of everything and wasting away in the ring he called home.
The "Loser Leaves Town" match had ended and Dick Hodges had lost - right or wrong, fair or unfair, he had lost - not only the contest, but everything that mattered to him. There was one thing, however, that he had not lost - me. I was his ring boy and had been since the early days of his professional career in Enid, Oklahoma. From the moment I heard his name announced and he entered the ring for the first time, I knew this man was something special. Fresh out of college (where he had won the state championship for his weight class the past two years) and the 1960 Olympics (where he had medalled the silver), he reinforced my awe of him with a cat-like quickness, coupled with a naturally powerful strength that rendered his first opponent a quivering rag, begging for mercy.
Dick Hodges seldom won his matches by pinning a man, but rather by forcing him to submit to his expertly applied nelsons, scissors, joint locks and sleepers. He was poetry in motion and with each of his matches I had the pleasure to witness, my admiration for him grew by leaps and bounds, until I found myself wishing to somehow be a part of his world. Even though I had just graduated high school and planned to attend college myself in the fall, I wanted to follow him up his rapid ladder to success. Once I finally got to meet him in person, my knowledge of both the history and the science of wrestling convinced him that I could be an asset. We immediately connected in our conversations about the sport and when I made the suggestion that he should employ an assistant - namely me - he agreed.
My summer fling soon became an obsession and the plans for college were postponed. I found myself instead learning all about the male physique, so that I could help him keep his body in top-notch condition. I read every book and magazine article I could find in order to educate myself. My responsibilities went from securing his robe during the matches, to rubbing down his muscles both after and before events. Plus, I taught myself the inner workings of joints and ligaments, along with whatever sorts of salves, vitamins, oils and ointments worked best to keep him limber and feeling 100 percent. I also became a sort of buffer zone between him and his sometimes overly enthusiastic fans, screening his mail and those who wished to meet him in person. My knowledge grew, as did our friendship, while promoters moved him from Enid, to the Kansas City, Missouri circuit and then, finally, the Mecca of all professional wrestlers - Chicago, Illinois and the lucrative television market there.
Dick Hodges's mercurial rise to the top brought him one of the highest salaries in professional wrestling at that time, and true to his word, he now paid me the same percentage from these lucrative paychecks as he had from the paltry ones back in Enid. Regardless of his success, Dick Hodges had remained loyal to me and I in turn was devoted to him, so I stepped up and into the ring knowing full well that I was all he had left in this world. In one evening, everything we had worked so hard to achieve had come crashing down with a mighty thud. Kneeling beside him, I fought back tears that welled up from the sight of his bloodied face and pectorals, plus the quickly-forming bruises that painted his chest and belly.
"Hey, Dick," I clutched his jaw and gently shook his head. "Can you hear me? It's Jimmy."
His eyes opened and a minuscule smile of recognition appeared. "It's bad, Jimmy."
"Don't move. I'll be right back."
Quickly, I left the ring to retrieve his robe, then returned to gather the wrestling attire which had been stripped from him and scattered about the mat. After bundling everything inside the robe, I again knelt beside him.
"Do you think you can sit up?"
"I'll try."
He brought the arms forward and placed the palms of his hands onto the mat, then with my help, he flexed the pulverized belly muscles and rose to sit upright. After a few minutes, I had him on his feet and we began the long trek to the locker room.
"Forget that shit, Jimmy. Leave it here. I won't be needing it."
Sadly, I dropped the bundled equipment and used all my strength to support him. With one arm draped over my shoulder, this broken man staggered down the steps to the arena floor, then up the aisle to where his clothes awaited.
After I dressed him, we left the arena for the final time and Dick Hodges was driven to the hospital, where he would remain until the doctors gave their approval for his release.
I stayed with him nearly 24 hours a day, sleeping on a cot right there in his room. Turns out that he was just as tough on the inside as on the out, because even though the pictures showed bruises to his spleen, stomach and one kidney, there was no serious internal damage that couldn't be mended with time. The external blood had come from cuts to his forehead and chest, while most of the blood that had spewed from his mouth with each crushing belly flop and stomp to his gut had come from cuts made by his own teeth - the result of fists and boots delivered to the man's jaw.
The first two days were the hardest, as the cuts were bandaged and fluids used to help filter out the internal bleeding. He urinated red countless times in the bottles provided and since I was usually the one to position those bottles for him, my optimism increased as each evacuation produced less red and more yellow. He slept through most of this both night and day, while I sat silently reflecting on what had happened to him and wondering what the future might bring. As for my cot, I found it nearly impossible to sleep there - not so much from the discomfort, but because I couldn't force my brain to shut down.
A singular thought - a curiosity - kept spinning inside: what would be said about the event in the ring? How would the oral service I was forced to inflict upon him affect our friendship? Would it be ignored, as though it never happened and the sensations never took place? Or would he see me from a perspective of hatred - as a reminder of the humiliation he must have felt? Very few words had been spoken between us, but of course he was heavily sedated, drifting in and out of sleep during these first days. Then, on the sixth night, he stirred me from my cot.
"Jimmy?"
Already wide awake, I immediately responded, "I'm here, Dick."
"Come here."
I stepped to his bedside. The dim light from the exterior window cast a pale shadow upon him and I could see that he had lifted the hospital gown to expose his full-on erection. Without a word, I placed my hand on his engorged cock and lightly squeezed, which produced a slight moan of acceptance - the signal to move forward.
The door was already closed and I checked my watch to find that it would be another 20 minutes before the next scheduled nurse visit, so without hesitation I leaned down and took his organ into my mouth.
I heard him whisper, "Don't ever leave me, Jimmy," and with what seemed no more than a dozen strokes, he produced an even and steady flow of semen, tinged with the slight taste of blood. I eagerly ingested every drop.
After releasing him from my mouth, I wet a washcloth to remove the spit, then covered his genitals once more underneath the gown. "I'm not going anywhere. You'll have to chase me away."
The mending of Dick Hodges had taken a major step forward, as had our friendship.
________________________________________
next part next weekend
Aftermath
There was no applause or cheering when the torture of Dick Hodges was finally ended. The three brutes did not solicit the crowd's approval or derision. They merely exited the ring and headed for the locker room, followed closely by the worthless referee and MC. Whatever arrangements had been made, whether monetary or simply mutual agreement, their goal had been achieved. Dick Hodges was no more. Professional wrestling as a legitimate, sporting contest was no more.
As the fans slowly filtered out of the arena, those close enough threw their paper cups and other trash at their former hero, who still laid motionless on his back in the center of the ring. The remnants of wrestling's past was now stripped, humiliated and defeated before them, but they seemed satisfied with this result. Wrestling had become a new and exciting entertainment for them. Now everyone knew the matches would be pre-scripted, while the drama would come from bold and exciting new ways to see men beaten senseless. The old guard, true wrestling fans were gone forever, to be replaced by a more youthful, thrill-seeking crowd who yearned for passion plays of violence and brutality - people who had tasted blood and savored it.
The owner received a phone call from the MC, filling him in on the events of the evening. Initially, he was angry about what had transpired in his absence, but soon got a second phone call that changed his mood. It was from the TV producer. They had been flooded with calls from people who wanted to know how the match had ended and soon all of Chicago, plus the other cities where the broadcast had been seen, were abuzz about the wrestling game. When the overnight ratings came in, the results were through the roof and so subsequently, a new formula was inserted for the TV broadcasts.
Each week a new group of patsies was sacrificed for slaughter in the ring. The bad guys were now good guys, inventing ever more innovative methods to beat down, humiliate and destroy their opponents week after week. It was as though the ancient gladiatorial games had been reborn, but now it was called wrestling. The arena was sold out every night weeks in advance and television stations all over the world clamored to pick up rights to the broadcasts. The owner became a very wealthy man.
The "Loser Leaves Town Challenge Match" was a watershed moment in the history of professional wrestling. Because of this match, many years later Steve Austin would be displayed in a staged crucifixion to promote a pay-per-view event. Because of this match, Val Venus would be attacked in the locker room by a gang of men, then suspended by the wrists, stripped naked and terrorized, as his penis (pixeled out, of course) was sliced off with a sword in another mock scene of absurd theater. Because of this match, Bret Hart would not only be taken away on a stretcher, but attacked again by the same man who had injured him in the first place - this time in the ambulance taking him to the hospital.
That night, nobody could have predicted how professional wrestling would evolve into what it is today - a scripted, lavishly produced entertainment of drama, sex and comedy, which can take place in the ring or any number of places outside the ring or even outside the building where the event is held - but Dick Hodges' last stand set the foundation for all of it. The crowd's reaction and subsequent enthusiasm told the promoters all they needed to know and a multi-million dollar industry was born.
When poor Jimmy was finally able to pull himself up to the ring floor what he saw was a pitiful sight. His idol's naked body was battered, bruised and bloodied. Somehow, Jimmy was mesmerized by this. The poor man had been ruthlessly beaten for over two hours, stripped of his clothing and dignity, forced to have orgasm against his will in front of hundreds of people. Dick Hodges had lost everything - the fans he thought adored him, the wrestlers he thought were his friends, even Jimmy, his devoted assistant, all had participated in the total destruction and humiliation of this magnificent man. Now, his broken carcass lay limp - a shell of what once was.
And yet, Jimmy saw beauty in this tragic scene. His hero had endured unspeakable torture and degradation, but had never given in. They had beaten and drained him until his strength was gone, but his defiance had remained. Even though he lay naked, broken and abandoned in the center of the empty arena, in Jimmy's eyes, Dick Hodges was still magnificent. To him, Dick Hodges was the ultimate example of the human male - a man of principles and integrity, he had sacrificed his glorious, powerfully masculine body to these principles. Now, stripped of everything, Jimmy was all he had left in the world.
The ringside assistant began to gather his hero's clothes and bundle them inside the robe. As Hodges slowly regained strength, Jimmy helped him stagger naked to the empty locker room, where he lovingly dressed the man in his street attire and then they left the arena for the last time. Jimmy drove his friend to the hospital and stayed at the fallen man's bedside for every hour of his recovery period. No visitors came.
Dick Hodges faded into history with the likes of Dale Lewis and Patrick O'Connor, true wrestlers who were no longer wanted. Occasionally, he would pick up odd jobs around the country by tutoring high school students who wanted to learn the scientific art of wrestling, but Hodges himself never entered the ring again. Jimmy was with him until the end. Dick Hodges would forever be his hero and Jimmy would always be his ringside assistant.
The End
The time had come. These wrestlers would now prove what they already suspected.
Shirtless Jimmy's arms were held behind his back and he was brought towards the center of the ring. Forcing him to kneel between his hero's stretched thighs, they grabbed Jimmy by the hair and shoved his face into the tortured wrestler's belly. Then they ordered Jimmy to lick it. He slowly placed his tongue into the man's navel and began leaving trails of saliva on the flattened muscles around it. Hodges looked up over his chest to watch the humiliation of his friend, then lowered it, wanting to see no more. Jimmy tasted the briny sweat coating the man's skin and felt the power underneath, while concentrating on the trail of fur that connected his idol's belly button to the pubic hair, leaving tiny beads of spit mixed with the manly sweat.
The belly worship was suddenly interrupted, as Jimmy's face was cruelly rammed into Hodges' crotch. They demanded that he suck this man's dick. His nose was buried into the pubic hair and lips pressed against the flaccid penis.
Hodges flexed when he felt his manhood being touched, but didn't bother to look up, because what he heard told him all he needed to know. Jimmy was being verbally taunted by the sadistic bastards, as his head was maliciously turned from side to side and face ground into Hodges' sweaty pubic hair and spongy cock. They began to chant for Jimmy to suck it... suck it... suck it. The pathetic fans soon joined in the chant to further antagonize poor Jimmy and his tormented hero. Suck it... suck it... SUCK IT!
Reluctantly, he engulfed the prone wrestler's penis into his mouth and began to work his tongue around the head of the organ. The helpless man groaned at Jimmy's forced worship of his manhood, as it seemed unimaginable to him that this could be happening in front of all these people. How could it be that not one person in the entire arena was outraged enough to stop this obscenity? He cried out for someone - anyone to help him and his friend, but his pleadings went unanswered. The referee, the MC, the people in the stands and even some of the wrestlers themselves, all were silently mesmerized by the unbelievable proceedings in the center of the ring.
Jimmy slowly began to realize why he had idolized this man for so long. Subconscious thoughts that he had kept suppressed for years began bubbling to the surface and as the tortured man's unit began to grow larger, Jimmy's excitement also grew. He could feel the incredible power that he had so long admired. The strength, the defiance, the masculinity, all were being summoned from the furthest reaches of the man's body. From the manly feet, the ruggedly handsome face, even the powerfully thick hands and hair-covered, muscular forearms, the essence of Dick Hodges was now rushing to one place and Jimmy could feel the power of it. Every quality that he adored, every trait that he worshiped was now concentrated into this man's magnificent penis.
Jimmy increased the intensity, as what he had always secretly dreamed became a reality. His tongue now began attacking the head of his hero's cock each time he brought the moistened lips to the end of the unit. Taking his mouth back to the base, Jimmy tried to engulf the fully erect organ down his throat. The very being of Dick Hodges was under his control and he wanted all of it. Jimmy was now oblivious to those surrounding him, because he was totally focused on one goal, and that was to take Dick Hodges to a place he had never known.
Hodges was flexing as Jimmy's enthusiasm grew. He no longer could feel the pain of his tortured body, because the entire focus of the nervous system had been channeled to one specific place. What he was feeling in his penis had never been experienced before - not like this. The revelations that had overwhelmed Jimmy were being transferred to the sensitive organ of this man and Hodges absorbed it. He too was oblivious to everything and everyone - except for Jimmy. This was no blow job, but something divine, something that traveled far beyond hero-worship. Jimmy was taking him somewhere unknown before to either of them and he transferred what he felt back to Jimmy, making his mighty cock grow harder, longer and more powerful than it had ever been before.
Jimmy shook when he felt the reverberations being sent to him. Now he knew - Dick Hodges was everything he had ever hoped he would be. They had discovered one another. He frantically attacked the man's dick to increase the tempo and all he could hear were sounds of ecstasy, moans and groans coming from the center of the ring, as the naked hero was lovingly serviced by his ringside assistant. Hodges flexed every muscle in his powerful body and the mighty cock recoiled to fire its seed into Jimmy's mouth. One huge gob of semen after another came rushing out as the young man continued sucking him with an uncontrolled gusto. Years of subconscious yearning came rushing up Dick Hodges' shaft and Jimmy eagerly received every spurt of this man's fluid, frantically swallowing again and again, wishing it would never end.
Finally, Hodges was totally spent. He emitted guttural exclamations of pain and pleasure as Jimmy continued to suck on him long after the orgasm was finished. The constant attack on the sensitive head of his penis caused him to writhe and twitch his beaten down body, but soon the wrestlers had seen enough and they pulled Jimmy away, casting him over the top rope and crashing to the floor.
Hodges' body collapsed as he was at last released from this incredible oral praise. The orgasm and aftermath had taken what few ounces of strength he had left and now the realization of his battered, broken body began to return.
As the crowd remained in a mesmerized silence, he was lifted up by the wrestlers holding his four limbs and they began pulling in four directions. Killer Manjaro rolled out from underneath him, while Hodges howled in agony - his naked body now horizontally suspended and quartered, stretched in mid-air. Simultaneously, they released the man and sent him crashing to the mat flat on his back. One by one they began to exit the ring, each stopping along the way for one final, revenge-filled stomp onto either the chest or belly, but Hodges did not even react to this. The strength was gone - energy drained to the point that neither his arms nor legs could be lifted to defend the battered torso. This once glorious, powerfully compact and masculine form was abandoned - now by the very man to which it belonged - to absorb every ruthless blow, until their lust for vengeance was finally exhausted.
Soon the ring held only the five. Hodges lay naked and spread eagled in the center of the ring - eyes closed; pitiful groans drifting up from the twisted mouth; mighty chest heaving majestically into the air; flattened belly rising and falling at a torturous pace - as the referee stood silently in the corner, where he had remained during this entire abomination. Now Bucksaw waved him over. Khan pinned Hodges' ankles, Manjaro his wrists. Bucksaw stepped up onto the chest with his crushing logger boots and the referee counted slowly.
One... two... three.
final post in a week
The cameramen, producer and announcers started packing up their gear to leave. They were union members and, as far as they were concerned their shift was finished and the match over. The MC pleaded with them to continue the broadcast, but they refused and headed for the locker rooms, soon to exit the building.
Meanwhile, Kruil Li Khan, Bucksaw Jones and Killer Manjaro were uninterested in the TV broadcast, but instead were furious that Dick Hodges had survived their tortures, so they all three began stomping his body into the mat. Oblivious to this, the referee conferred with the MC to decide what should happen next. With the fans nearly in riot-mode, these two men were a bit nervous about what might take place if this match was left undecided, so with a fermenting and dangerous situation surrounding them, a decision was made and the referee signaled the timekeeper to ring the bell.
With his public address microphone in hand, the MC made the announcement, "Ladies and gentlemen, this match will continue!"
A huge celebration erupted in the stands, while the brutes lifted the broken man by his arms and dragged him to one side of the ring. First, they stood him up on the mat outside the ropes, then, locking his limp arms between the top and second ropes, they kicked his legs off of the mat and left him suspended on the outside of the ring as though crucified.
Now a chair was brought and placed in front of the victim, as the audience strained to see what was happening on that side of the ring. Killer Manjaro stepped up onto the chair and reached into his loin wrapping. The mysterious object was soon in his right hand and he began pounding on the man's forehead, while Bucksaw and Khan each held an ankle and pulled down to increase the agony of Hodges' stretching.
The image truly did resemble that of a Roman crucifixion. After three blows from Manjaro, blood began to trickle from the forehead and corners of Hodges' mouth. Adding to the drama, the victim's trunks (still lowered to just above his genitals) resembled a black loin cloth from all the classic paintings depicting this torture, while Hodges' labored breath and horrendous stretching caused him to moan in agony, which completed the picture of this tragic spectacle. The crowd was in awe, as this powerfully masculine form was mercilessly crucified right before their very eyes. Bathed in sweat, his gloriously defined muscles flexed, stretched and highlighted, Dick Hodges was now subjected to the ultimate punishment and - just as the Romans would have done in preparation for this sentence - the victim had been beaten down and tormented for hours, rendering his body a useless rag before this final agony was perpetrated upon him.
But he was not a useless rag - not yet. Although at their mercy, he continued to defy them. He strained against the ropes and clasping of his ankles, which only further enhanced his manly form. The chest heaved and expanded, while the belly caved in to highlight every masculine curve, ridge and muscle. Not even the brutal pounding of the loaded fist onto his forehead could sway him to concede defeat. Despite this relentless and agonizing torture, Dick Hodges refused to be broken, instead taking his punishment as though he were an indestructible force.
Jimmy had now recovered and he slowly staggered towards the tortured wrestler to see the crazed African beating on his forehead. The channels of crimson now trickled down from the face, past the neck and onto Hodges' battered pectorals. Jimmy wrapped his arms around the maniacal beast's massive leg and tried to pull him down from the chair, but Manjaro easily kicked aside this annoying interruption.
The sight of fresh blood whipped the crowd into a frenzy and they began taunting the stricken man, just as would have been done in days of old. The National Guard Armory Arena in Chicago had become the Colosseum of ancient Rome.
As Manjaro tired of the beating and paused to rest, some of the other wrestlers came down the aisle from the locker room to a chorus of boos from the crowd. Finally, someone was going to end this pitiful man's suffering. They all stood before the crucified victim, while Hodges forced a smile of relief, his labored breath increasing as the crucifixion slowly began to suffocate him. Rescue had come at last. He flexed his mighty chest and scowled in defiance at Manjaro, who still stood on the chair in front of him, panting with exhaustion.
Suddenly, the other wrestlers began to taunt and spit on the crucified man.
"Well, well, look at the tough guy."
Some even threw punches into his gut, as the three brutes and the rest of the crowd watched in amazement.
"Think you're mister wonderful, do ya? Slater ain't here to protect you now."
They released years of the pent-up frustration they had felt from having to play second fiddle to the owner's favorite. Seeing him helplessly displayed before them, they now unleashed their anger with cruel words and punches, as Bucksaw and Khan continued to torture him in their make-shift crucifixion.
The fans roared their approval, while Jimmy forced his way through the wrestlers to stand between them and his tortured hero, but the brutes immediately pounced on him, tossing the young man into the ring and ripping off his shirt in the process. Soon he was pinned in the corner by one of the wrestlers, his frail body standing and crushed between the turnbuckle and massive backside of his captor.
After the men had satisfied their appetite for revenge, preparations were made for returning him to the ring. Khan and Bucksaw released him from the ring rope torture and the others lifted him up and over the top rope. While they held him steady, Manjaro was coaxed to lay in the center of the ring face up and fold his arms across his chest, then four wrestlers grabbed four limbs and lifted Hodges into the air. They turned his body until it was parallel with Manjaro's and laid him on top of the 400 pound mountain. Pulling him in four directions, they stretched the man as tight as possible, then brought his wrists and ankles down, pinning them to the mat.
Stretched spread-eagle and face up with four limbs held by four men, raised from underneath by the 400 pound slab of meat Manjaro, massive African forearms pressed against his back, Dick Hodges was again cruelly displayed for everyone in the arena to see. His majestic, but bloodied chest rose high into the air, while the muscular belly was dramatically caved in and gasping for air.
Still crunched into the corner turnbuckle, Jimmy looked at his idol's tormented body, as it was mercilessly pulled apart in four directions. He begged the wrestler securing him to show mercy for this beaten down man, but was greeted only with taunting laughter. There would be no end to his suffering until he conceded his defeat, something which Jimmy knew would never happen. These men, like the three who started this atrocity, wanted Dick Hodges gone forever and since the other three couldn't get the job done, they were ready to do it themselves. If torturing him with pain didn't work, perhaps something else might persuade him, so they waved Khan and Bucksaw aside, then prepared Dick Hodges for their plan of attack.
The audience watched in stunned silence, as the other wrestlers began to unlace Hodges boots and remove them from his feet. Next came the socks. After his feet were brought close together, someone grabbed the helpless man's trunks to pull them past his ankles and the jock strap soon followed. Unwilling to surrender to the relentless beatings, Dick Hodges was now stripped, shamed and humiliated before the throngs gazing to the center of the ring.
The remaining wrestlers strutted about the ring and solicited the crowd's approval. Some held their hands to their ears, asking the crowd to participate in this man's degradation, which they did with a crazed enthusiasm. These fans loved the spectacle being presented before them and a deafening roar reverberated throughout the arena, while many were signaling the thumbs-down as though they were Roman emperors, screaming for more blood, more punishment, more humiliation.
Hodges turned his head from side to side, scrutinizing the bloodthirsty crowd and all those in the ring surrounding him. He had been betrayed by all of the wrestlers he thought were friends and abandoned by all of his fans save one. Thirteen men had descended upon him and all hope for rescue was lost.
He raised his head to scan what he could see. Anger rose up in him as he saw the sweat, the blood, the ruthless fans, the stalking wrestlers and worst of all, his precious genitalia, exposed for all to ogle. He furiously strained every beaten down muscle to break free of his tormentors. With his powerful chest expanded and lower jaw jutting forward, he gallantly struggled with all his might to escape them in yet another display of manly strength and resolve.
This caused the wrestlers and fans alike to mock and jeer at him, as the sight of this helpless man straining to break free filled them with a sadistic cruelty, as though he were some sort of captured enemy, no longer a threat, but kept alive merely for their entertainment. Taunting phrases could be heard, such as "Look at Dick's dick" and "He's just a weenie, now," but suddenly, all ridicule stopped. The left ankle escaped from the man holding it and Hodges immediately kicked that man in the face, sending him to tumble towards the ropes. Then he planted his bare foot onto the mat and tried to leverage his other limbs loose, twisting his body to the right with all his strength.
The scene was heartbreaking. Despite the brutal beatings; despite the damaged organs inside that powerful, but hopelessly racked body; despite having been punched, crushed, kicked and relentlessly tortured for hours, somehow this amazing man was able to launch one final, desperate attempt to escape his tormentors - to thwart their plans for his ultimate degradation. It was useless. The other wrestlers immediately pounced on him. Two grabbed hold to re-pin his ankle and spread the legs wide apart, while the others ruthlessly attacked with not only stomps and kicks to his vulnerable chest, but also devastating punches to his stretched and flattened belly - until he struggled against them no more.
Now all was lost. His futile attempt to escape had been a monumental effort, but again he lay exhausted and pinned in their torture rack. Gasping for air, trails of blood painted onto his face and chest, this broken man now awaited his fate. Dick Hodges had made his last stand.
Encore part 2 in a week
Round 3
Jimmy rushed into the ring to help his fallen hero, pitifully struggling to drag the wrestler back to his corner. Somehow, Hodges managed to crawl that direction and Jimmy helped him onto the stool, where he immediately began massaging his idol's pulverized chest and belly. In a dazed stupor, Hodges sat there gasping for air, while the audience watched, most of them figuring that he was finished - maybe not yet - but soon, because Round 3 would introduce a third opponent for him to deal with. Surely this daunting task would be too much. After all he had suffered, how could he possibly take on three at once?
Meanwhile, the TV announcers were in a quandary. Their producer was worried that the brutality of the match was getting too heavy, so they signaled the MC over and explained the situation to him. He in turn stepped into the ring to approach Bucksaw and Khan. "Get this over with quick. Just go ahead and pin him, because the TV people are getting nervous."
He decided to get the third man into the ring so that everybody would be ready to start as soon as the TV advertisements were over. Returning to the center of the mat, he announced the next wrestler.
"Ladies and gentleman, this is the third and deciding round. The loser of this round must leave Chicagoland forever! Presenting to you, weighing in at over 400 pounds, from the darkest depths of Africa, the immovable object, Mount Killer Manjaro!"
And what was this man's claim to fame? He was huge - not only huge, but also fat. He spoke no English. He wore only a brownish buckskin wrapping around his loins. Not one opponent had ever knocked him off of his big, nasty feet. Quite simply, he crushed people. If an opponent ever got trapped in a corner turnbuckle or flat on the mat, the outcome was inevitable - but that would never be enough, because this mammoth always brought a mysterious object with him that would be hidden in his loin wrapping. Placing this object into his enormous hand, he would pound the opponent's head until the victim was unconscious - and this always occurred after the match was over.
The audience was now subdued. They had no idea what would happen next, but they all stood to anticipate something exciting - something never before witnessed. The lights on the TV cameras came back on and the live broadcast was resumed, but as the bell sounded to begin Round 3, Dick Hodges collapsed off of his stool and onto the mat face up. Jimmy ran to kneel beside his fallen hero, massaging the chest in an attempt to rally him, but it was useless.
He turned to the referee and pleaded with him to stop the match. Jimmy tried to declare a forfeit, which would allow the three opponents to win, but at least prevent the man's body from further damage. This referee would have none of that, explaining that by rule only Hodges himself could forfeit the match. It was the first time throughout the entire ordeal that the rule book had actually been enforced, which only added to the insult and injustice of this absurd drama. The referee obviously had agreed to do everything in his power to help these three monsters and even though it was now clear that they no longer needed his help, he certainly had no intentions of stepping in to stop the massacre of this beaten down man.
Khan grabbed poor Jimmy by the throat and lifted him high into the air, then casually tossed him over the top rope and down to the floor, where he banged his head and lay unconscious.
By this time, Hodges had summoned enough strength to roll over and rise to his knees. Seeing Killer Manjaro approach with both arms raised, Hodges reached up in desparation to punch the beast in the groin with an uppercut. Manjaro bent over in pain, as Hodges moved his hand under the loin wrapping and grabbed the behemoth's bare testicles, crushing them in his powerful fist. For the first time in his career, Mount Killer Manjaro fell to the mat, uttering wild animal screams as he crashed down like a bullet-stricken hippo.
Dick Hodges' domination of Manjaro lasted but 15 seconds, however, because Khan and Bucksaw simultaneously pounced on him with kicks, fists and forearms, forcing him to release the crushing gonad grip. While Manjaro rolled around the mat in agony, Khan and Bucksaw played tag with Hodges' battered body.
Khan stood him up, then Bucksaw landed a fist to the forehead, turned the victim around and pushed him towards Khan. The giant greeted Hodges with a kick to the belly, which bent him over. Then Khan lifted his knee and planted it into the victim's jaw, causing him to crash onto the mat flat on his back. Now he picked the wrestler up and sent him staggering back to Bucksaw, who landed a devastating kick to the center of Hodges' chest.
The dazed wrestler stood there teetering on the brink of collapse, until Bucksaw grabbed the man's arm and slingshot him towards Khan, who leapt into the air and delivered a devastating side drop kick, one size 14 boot landing on Hodges' chest, the other into his gut. The hapless man staggered backwards and received another drop kick from Bucksaw directly to the middle of his back. Finally, they allowed Dick Hodges to collapse face first to the mat in the center of the ring.
By this time, Killer Manjaro had risen to his feet and was ready for revenge, so Kruil Li Khan rolled Hodges over onto his back, then grabbed the man by his wrists. Placing each of his boots onto Hodges' shoulders, he leaned back and fell to his seat on the mat, bringing the arms with him. Meanwhile, Bucksaw Jones spread the ankles three feet apart and pinned them to the mat with his enormous hands. Exposed face up in the center of the ring, Hodges began to moan as they pulled his limbs in opposite directions, torturing him in their make-shift stretch rack.
Bucksaw and Khan had no intentions of following the MC's instructions. They were consumed with anger at Dick Hodges' continued defiance of them and their only concern now was to punish this man, until he fought them no more.
Killer Manjaro approached. He leapt straight up into the air and came crashing down with both feet - 400 pounds landing onto Hodges' stretched middle section. Launching himself from the man's helpless body, the tub of lard jumped up and down, repeatedly crushing Hodges' already pulverized abdomen. The tortured man intermingled guttural grunts with sprays of saliva and blood, as the organs in his lower abdomen were brutally crushed. Continuing his leaps, the African landed with one foot in the pit of the stomach and the other on the chest, while Bucksaw and Khan relentlessly pulled Hodges apart.
As for the audience, the tide had turned. All thoughts of fair play had long ago disappeared and those few remaining purists who were disgusted by the injustice they were witnessing sat there in a daze, unwilling to believe their eyes. They saw no "sport" in the ruthless beating of a helpless man, but somehow could not bring themselves to look away or simply leave the arena. Surrounded by jubilant, screaming-for-more-punishment spectators, they knew the sport they loved was being replaced by something new - something they desired to see play out, regardless of how revolting the scenario might be to them.
Whether revolting, tragic or maybe even stimulating, the scene inside the ring was becoming more and more intense. The stomping had ended and as Manjaro stepped back to admire his work, a huge roar of approval came from the crowd. Dick Hodges gasped for air, his chest and belly rising and falling at a rapid pace, while Khan and Bucksaw continued his merciless stretching. The tortured man turned his head to gaze at the audience and what he saw nearly brought tears to him, because a large portion was now cheering and shouting their approval. How quickly they had turned against him. Already writhing in agony from the pounding his body had taken, now his spirit also was under attack. He had made a grave error in his judgment of these wrestling fans and at that moment he nearly gave up everything - his beliefs in what was right and what was wrong; his faith in the overall goodness of human kind - but just as he was ready to concede defeat and submit to his tormentors, his eyes locked onto those of a father and son about four rows back. Both were crying, as the father clutched the boy in his arms to protect him from the frenzied crowd surrounding them. Hodges could see the boy's lips screaming the words, "C'mon... fight'em, Dick," and with one uncontrolled burst of rage, Dick Hodges yanked both ankles and wrists free from the grips of his tormentors.
With cat-like swiftness, he swung the right leg up and kicked Bucksaw in the side of the head, then continued to roll and spring to an upright position with his arms. Another kick was delivered to the center of Khan's chest, which sent him rolling backwards towards the edge of the ring. Before Manjaro could react to what had happened, Hodges landed a solid right to the mammoth's jaw, then another and another, as he staggered backwards to bounce against the ropes and return to meet one last tremendous blow, which sent him crashing face down onto the mat.
Then, the sickening sound of metal striking bone echoed from the ring. It was the chair. This time, Khan had delivered the foul instrument onto the back of the man's head and he immediately fell to his knees with eyes cast to the ceiling, then collapsed once more onto his back, dazed and nearly unconscious.
It was the end. The father and son, as well as the remaining fans who loved Dick Hodges could take no more. They left the arena forever, unable to stomach the sight of this merciless mugging. He now was abandoned to the enraged mob who wanted to see Manjaro finish the "good guy" forever and throughout the arena there was a strange atmosphere of anticipation - of witnessing an unknown. The stage was set and a chant began to ring out from the back walls of the arena. "Crush, crush, crush, crush." The volume began to grow as more joined in. "Crush, crush, crush, crush!"
Killer Manjaro heard the buzz and had learned from previous matches what it meant. He had heard it before in all of his bouts, but never this loud. Hodges also heard. The fans wanted to see Manjoro's patented, crushing belly flop delivered to a helpless man being stretched before them. Happy to oblige, Khan and Bucksaw grabbed Hodges by the wrists and ankles to drag him towards the corner and once again stretch him on their rack. With the victim's body and the corner of the ring forming a triangle, Manjaro began to climb the ropes in preparation for his belly flop onto the helpless man.
As the fans continued their chant to "crush," Manjaro reached the top and stood facing them. He raised his hands high, but just as he was about to launch himself into the air and down onto the victim, someone shook the top rope, which caused the behemoth to lose balance. Unable to recover, he looked to the left and saw Jimmy, then swayed to the right and crashed down to the floor below. Manjaro writhed in agony from the impact of his own weight landing on the hard surface, while Khan and Bucksaw released Hodges from their grip and stalked the ringside assistant.
He leapt to the floor and ran to the other side of the ring. Bucksaw gave chase with Khan close behind him and they forced Jimmy to circle to the third side, then the fourth, where he was greeted by the hammering fist of Killer Manjaro. The blow sent him flying backwards and down flat on his back. Once again, Jimmy lay unconscious below the ring.
Seeing the frail and puny body of this young man flying through the air only further excited the crowd. They resumed their chant to "crush" and the three brutes returned to where they had been before the interruption. Hodges, still dazed from the blow to his head, was again ruthlessly stretched and presented to the African giant. Manjaro climbed the ropes, then leapt back from the turnbuckle and came crashing down onto the man's chest and abdomen with his own. A crimson plume of spit and blood spewed up from the victim's mouth as his vulnerable innards were crushed by the 400 pound belly flop.
The merciless fans continued to chant, as Manjaro again climbed the ropes. Hodges raised his head and shook it side to side, then pulled with all his strength to break out of the make-shift stretch rack, but it was useless. All he could do was helplessly watch as Manjaro launched himself from the top turnbuckle, this time crashing down with his greasy buttocks onto the chest of Dick Hodges. With another ungodly red fountain spraying upwards, the tortured man's spit now resembled the final, bloody exhale one sees coming from the blow hole of a harpooned whale - the macabre signal that death is eminent.
Wildly cheering their approval, the crowd urged Manjaro to climb again, but the MC approached ringside and frantically motioned to Khan and Bucksaw, while pointing at his watch. The TV time was about to run out.
The two men released Hodges from their stretch rack and dragged him back to the center of the ring, leaving him to lie motionless and spread eagled. Only the rise and fall of his chest and belly was seen, while tormented moans wafted from the blood-stained mouth. He was finished. The moment everyone was waiting for had finally arrived and the crowd stood in silence, fully prepared to see Dick Hodges pinned, defeated and banished forever from the National Guard Armory Arena.
Khan waved Killer Manjaro over to finish the deed and the 400 pounder planted one nasty foot onto Hodges' chest, the other onto his belly and the referee counted. One... two... ... but the count never reached three.
Dick Hodges lifted his knees and pushed upwards with his powerful calves, sending Manjaro tumbling to the mat. This amazing man had kicked out! Khan, Bucksaw and every person in the arena were stunned. How did this beaten down man find the strength to jettison 400 pounds off of his battered body?
For a few seconds, the arena was silent, as every person there marveled at the amazing resolve of this tortured man, but even though you might think that this display would perhaps win them back to his side, you would be sadly mistaken. Sure, there were a few who saw the heroic strength, the masculine defiance as a rallying cry. They began to cheer the fallen man, while coaxing others to join them, but these attempts fell on deaf ears. The mob was no longer interested in heros. They were only interested in seeing heros destroyed. Soon, little by little, the support for Hodges was drowned out by a new chant and as others joined in the volume increased, until the arena was filled with the deafening din of, "Kill, kill, kill !"
Nothing would satisfy their bloodlust. They demanded the three brutes continue pounding the poor man into submission - or worse. They wanted nothing less than his utter defeat and destruction, but at that moment the TV time expired. The producer signaled to the announcers, who alerted the MC, who in turn told the time keeper to ring the bell, bringing an official end to Round 3. Mass confusion swept over the arena. How could the match be over with each side claiming one round of victory? Soon the TV cameras went dark and the announcers started switching off their microphones. The Saturday night "Wrestling at the Armory" television program had come to an end.
next part in a week
