work, but that man is still leaping ten feet into the air and landing on a human being. These guys piledrive each other’s heads on the cement ring curtain, but if you don’t know what you’re doing, you wind up with a broken neck, and that instance has happened to several wrestlers. Several wrestlers have had their ears shorn off by a make involves getting their heads stuck in the ring ropes. Pro wrestlers blow out their knees at a much higher rate than pro running backs. Concussions abound, Achilles tendons snap like drawstrings, and wrestlers have suffered more broken bones than the athletes of any other professional sport. It’s something to consider before you scoff completely at wrestling as a joke. These men are high-tuned athletes—they have to be in order to circumvent serious injury any given night of the week. Which leads us back to Goon.”
“Goon,” Straker said, as if to seem as though he were being attentive. His only real attentiveness, however, was sighted on Melinda Pierce’s 38D breasts. In his mind, he saw his face buried between them, his eyes crossed in bliss.
“Even in DSWC, Goon has refused major heel slots that would earn him two or three times the money he makes now. He’s the hottest property in the fed. Goon works as the ultimate hardcore, whenever he wrestles the fans know they’re going to see someone do heavy juice. Felander books all the finishes and no one objects. Why? Because he can take punishment like no other. Chairs, tables, two-by-fours, etc. have all been broken over Goon’s head more times than you’ve taken that shirt to the cleaners.”
I’m gonna have to take these shorts to the cleaners in about one minute, Straker thought. “Juice? Aren’t the chairs, tables, and two-by-fours all fake?”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Captain. That stuff’s all the real McCoy—it has to be because it’s all in proximity to fans. Juice is real blood, not the capsules that actors use; some wrestlers carry little razor blades to open up cuts above the hairline, Goon does what they call ‘hardway juice,’ he actually has the other wrestler bust him open with something. Quite regularly, you’ll see Goon jump off the top rope, do a somersault, and land on his back on the cement ring skirt. I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s phony cement?”
Straker shrugged. His balls felt large as Roma tomatoes now, filling up with enough sperm cells to populate entire planets. “I don’t know. I probably know as much about professional wrestling as you know about the Battle of Hastings.”
“October 14th, A.D. 1066, King Harold Godwin attempted to defend the island of Angle-land against the forces of William of Normandy on a coastal rise called Senlac Hill, otherwise known as Hastings. Three Norman assaults failed but a fourth succeeded after Harold was killed by a stray Norman arrow which hit him in the eye, but that’s beside the point, Captain. The fact remains, these men, professional wrestlers, must remain in extraordinary condition in order to do what they do night after night without crippling or killing themselves. And Goon is the best of the best. You’ll see, Captain. You’ll see tonight.”
Jesus Christ I’ve got to come, Straker thought. His dick felt like a yard hose about to split from too much pressure. I can’t even be in the same car with this piece of work without wanting to spew all over myself.
His thoughts drifted back. “What? What do you mean, tonight?”
“We’re going to a wrestling match tonight,” she said. “And you and I are both going undercover.”
««—»»
Her keys jingled at the end of a silver judo stick when she let them into the motel.
“I need to use your bathroom,” Straker said.
“Sure. Right in there.”
Straker traipsed away, closed the door behind him. Two seconds later, his erect penis was out, and he was shucking it like an ear of corn. Aw, fuck! There’s just something about her, he thought. I
“Goon,” Straker said, as if to seem as though he were being attentive. His only real attentiveness, however, was sighted on Melinda Pierce’s 38D breasts. In his mind, he saw his face buried between them, his eyes crossed in bliss.
“Even in DSWC, Goon has refused major heel slots that would earn him two or three times the money he makes now. He’s the hottest property in the fed. Goon works as the ultimate hardcore, whenever he wrestles the fans know they’re going to see someone do heavy juice. Felander books all the finishes and no one objects. Why? Because he can take punishment like no other. Chairs, tables, two-by-fours, etc. have all been broken over Goon’s head more times than you’ve taken that shirt to the cleaners.”
I’m gonna have to take these shorts to the cleaners in about one minute, Straker thought. “Juice? Aren’t the chairs, tables, and two-by-fours all fake?”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Captain. That stuff’s all the real McCoy—it has to be because it’s all in proximity to fans. Juice is real blood, not the capsules that actors use; some wrestlers carry little razor blades to open up cuts above the hairline, Goon does what they call ‘hardway juice,’ he actually has the other wrestler bust him open with something. Quite regularly, you’ll see Goon jump off the top rope, do a somersault, and land on his back on the cement ring skirt. I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s phony cement?”
Straker shrugged. His balls felt large as Roma tomatoes now, filling up with enough sperm cells to populate entire planets. “I don’t know. I probably know as much about professional wrestling as you know about the Battle of Hastings.”
“October 14th, A.D. 1066, King Harold Godwin attempted to defend the island of Angle-land against the forces of William of Normandy on a coastal rise called Senlac Hill, otherwise known as Hastings. Three Norman assaults failed but a fourth succeeded after Harold was killed by a stray Norman arrow which hit him in the eye, but that’s beside the point, Captain. The fact remains, these men, professional wrestlers, must remain in extraordinary condition in order to do what they do night after night without crippling or killing themselves. And Goon is the best of the best. You’ll see, Captain. You’ll see tonight.”
Jesus Christ I’ve got to come, Straker thought. His dick felt like a yard hose about to split from too much pressure. I can’t even be in the same car with this piece of work without wanting to spew all over myself.
His thoughts drifted back. “What? What do you mean, tonight?”
“We’re going to a wrestling match tonight,” she said. “And you and I are both going undercover.”
««—»»
Her keys jingled at the end of a silver judo stick when she let them into the motel.
“I need to use your bathroom,” Straker said.
“Sure. Right in there.”
Straker traipsed away, closed the door behind him. Two seconds later, his erect penis was out, and he was shucking it like an ear of corn. Aw, fuck! There’s just something about her, he thought. I
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