...nicht mein dritter Kampf überhaupt, nein..das wäre etwas arg wenig. ;-) Mit der Überschrift ist gemeint dass ich gestern das dritte Kampfdate mit dem gleichen Gegner hatte, mit Sonic nämlich. Hat sich was zum zweiten Mal geändert? Das würde ich schon sagen. Die einzelnen Kampfrunden waren länger und kamen mir allgemein etwas härter und brutaler vor. Das ganze ist natürlich rein subjektiv, aber ich hatte schon das Gefühl dass sich Sonic teilweise richtig anstrengen musste, zwei oder dreimal hat er abgeklopft. Nunja, ich will mich nicht übermäßig selbst beweihräuchern, es wird noch längere Zeit brauchen bis ich wirklich in etwa sein Kampfniveau erreicht habe.
Mal sehen was die Zukunft bringt. Anderen Anfängern kann ich nur empfehlen nicht nur immer nach neuen Gegnern zu suchen, sondern nach Möglichkeit öfter mit den selben Gegnern zu kämpfen, um die eigenen Fortschritte und Fehler besser einschätzen zu können.
This is how I envisage fights going.
Wrestling. No hitting or kicking. Just body to body lock ups, muscle on muscle. Cocky trash talk before during after. No friendliness just competition. Maybe strength tests like arm wrestle or mutual bearhug before the fight
Both of us will lock up and muscle it out. wrestling around for hours on floor and bed. Eventually one guy will begin to take control, winning more of the points. If the trash became really intense it's unlikely tap outs will be honored and long, vicious scissors and sleepers really wear the weaker guy down. Eventually, during the resets each lock up becomes almost an instant re application of a hold on the weaker dude. from there the match is just torture as the winner applies hold after hold until he's sated.
Long sleepers, frontal head scissors as the guy flexes a bicep whilst staring into the losers choking face, crushing half hour body scissors, wrenching grapevine.
the loser isn't walking away anytime soon after this fight.
I’m unprepared for this site. I have no idea what I’m doing here or how to be here.
“I have HIV” is my first response when asked if I want to have sex. I feel divulging my status is the responsible thing to do. I do not have a lot of sex. I’ve made peace with my virus but I get lonely.
A guy on grindr messaged, asking if he could give me head. I told him my status (which it says on my profile) and he said he was poz also. No recip, he said. He was horny and lonely and I understood. We set a time. He had to host. It was single room occupancy motel. Turns out, he was in recovery for meth addiction, and somewhat homeless. He wasn’t bad looking or necessarily unpleasant and despite my gut telling me to leave; give him all the money in my pocket then get out of there and, again, delete my grindr profile.
Therefore the grace of God. I undressed, lay back, and hoped it would be over soon. The guy wouldn’t shut up. Imagine Boomhower from King of the Hill trying to suck your dick but instead talking incessantly. He told me how good he gave head, and how much he loved sucking my dick, and that he was one of the best cocksuckers and he just went on and on. I asked him to be quiet.
“Oh, you want me to be quiet? Oh yeah, I can be real quiet. I’ll be quiet and just suck your this cock. Yeah you like that? You like it when a guy’s quiet? I can be quiet. Won’t say a word.” My dick softened and he asked if I was having erectile dysfunction. I told him his constant talking was a turn off, which increased his telling me how quiet he could be. I tried to get up and make my excuses and get dressed but he grabbed me and tried to hold me on the bed. I was terrified; a meth addict, single-room occupancy with a full-size mattress on the floor and a Cathode ray tube television. This is where I get stabbed. Or shot. And my family finds out I had lived with HIV for 10 years.
I tried to get away but he grabbed me and I struggled to get away. The harder I physically abused him, the more erect he became. He was still talking! I covered his mouth and started choking him. I punched his stomach. I slapped his face. I boxed the side of his head and the guy was still telling me how hot it was to get beat up. Not even physical violence shut this dude’s mouth.
He started masturbating while I gripped his throat tightly and gut punched. He came. I was flaccid. Repulsed, I hurriedly dressed; socks and underwear in my pockets; shoes, pants, shirt. I call that combo the escape shell. The guy was still talking. He told me he was bipolar and off his meds. He told me he was looking for opiates and asked if I have any on me. He asked if I’d come back later and rape him and he’d leave his door unlocked. I remember feeling guilt over this guy’s whole situation. I was embarrassed. I was ashamed of myself. I remember digging all the paper money out of my front pocket then letting it fall as I sped out the door.
I felt sick and disgusted. If I drank, I would have had a shot of anything that would burn my throat, anything to scrape away what had just happened. I went home, showered, and deleted my grindr profile for the thousandth time. A few days processing helped me realize I liked being rough with this man. I relived the event, but full bare-knuckle fist to his jaw and eye instead of open palmed slaps. All the anger I felt over having HIV went flooding onto that unfortunate meth addict and I wanted to fight some more. I had beat up myself plenty for contracting HIV, but never anyone else.
This happened over a year ago. I haven’t fought anyone. I find myself turned on by images of fighting. I did get a membership to BG East and bookmarked Brett Akers v John Mangoss on pornhub. Like the meth addict I slapped around, I'm discovering I need larger doses. Watching wrestling porn isn't good enough anymore.
I’m very unprepared to be on MeetFighters. I have no gear and very little real world experience but I’m working on it.
One of the things that's handy in wrestling, and I guess by extension life, is the ability to read your opponent.
It's something I would've always told you I was good at.
I mean, I'm the Derrin Brown of the wrestling world.
However hyperbole aside, I genuinely realise now it's something I suck at both off the mats and on.
It's been a bit of a shock.
Instead of being a Mentalist, turns out I am Sheldon Cooper. I do get the broad strokes. I think. I can tell who likes to be in charge, likes to lose.
Mainly because they've told me beforehand.
There's been times when I've wrestled a guy at a group meet and pegged them as a dominant heel who wants to work people over, and been totally wrong.
Or someone as not wanting to wrestle me, but it was shyness.
As far as I'm aware, I've not done the opposite and assumed someone was keen to wrestle but really wanted to run away. But then I suspect I wouldn't know. (Sorry if that was you)
Off the mats, I was explaining to a friend that no one ever flirts or hits on me - to which they pointed out that they've spent the last few weeks, and in fact - just then - but I've never noticed.
I tend to prefer talking to people through written means. Texts, whatsapp, facebook messenger because I'm a little bit better in reading their use of language. You can take the boy out of English Literature classes, but you can't take textual analysis out of the boy.
Being away from wrestling for a bit, I'm going to enjoy the challenge of trying to realise I'm not as emotionally intelligent, or people savy as I thought.
Learning to read body language anew questioning my previous preconceptions will be a challenge but fun.
The things I've missed whilst I've been away: the people on here.
The things I've not missed about wrestling; these empty hotel rooms.
I rode into Abilene looking for a fight. Seems the Sheriff in town likes to prove how tough he is by taking on all comers. I hear he hasn't lost yet. Not surprising, seeing how the man is about 6'4" and over 275 lbs. But I'm gonna kick his ass. See, sixteen years ago when we were both fighting for the Army of Tennessee in the War Between the States, that son of a bitch beat the shit out of me and fucked my ass in front of over a dozen men. He was a terror with his fists back then and he's probably still a badass. But now, I'm ready for him and he's gonna pay.
I was a 15 year old young punk back then. He was my Sergeant and more interested in beating young men down than he was in leading them. Now that I've added 30 lbs. of hard muscle and learned how to use my fists, he won't even recognize me. After I kick his ass, that's gonna change. There's the Sheriff's office. This must be the place.
"Sheriff Lars Hansen, I hear you're good with your fists. You want to give me a try and show me just how good you are?" "People here call me Hoss - Sheriff Hoss Hansen. Some folks said I looked like another big fella that used to live outside of Virginia City, Nevada. And who might you be? I don't recall seeing you around." "Just rode in. Name's Tom Walker and I like to do a little fighting myself." "You look big enough. What? I'd say about 6 foot, maybe 225?" "Yeah I'm 6 foot with my boots on and closer to 230 last I checked." "Stout man!" The Sheriff gets up from his desk, steps up close to me and feels my right arm and gives me some light punches on my chest and gut. Then he opens up his shirt and sticks his big hairy chest in my face. He tells me to "Feel this," as he flexes his right arm. He holds his shirt open and says, "Go ahead. Give me your best shot." I give it to him. I can tell he felt it, but under a layer of fat is a solid gut. "You're still a fairly young man. I'm 45 years old and been Sheriff here for 8 years. I've knocked out over 50 strong men and made 50 more cry like a baby until they gave up. Nobody challenges me twice. If you're man enough, then we'll have us a fight. You sure you never been in Abilene? Something about you rings a bell." "First time in town sir, and I would count it an honor to face a great man such as yourself. Why, it would be like winning the prize fight championship of Kansas if I could beat the great Sheriff Hoss Hansen!" That lights up Hansen's face. "I suppose it would, young fella. Who knows? You might even last more than five minutes. You see...most men don't."
With some time to kill before tomorrow's fight, I head over to the All In Saloon. I'm standing at the bar with my beer when an old man comes and stands next to me. He talks in a loud whisper. "I hear you're gonna take on Sheriff Hoss. Listen to me and get back on your horse and leave. You'll find you some real fun in Dodge City. If you stay here you're gonna get hurt and more!" I've got a good idea what he means by 'more'. "After Hansen beats a man he takes him back to the jail to 'sleep it off.' But I know what's really goin' on. Once he takes you to jail, he's gonna fuck you like there's no tomorrow." "Thanks old timer, but I've got plans of my own."
I get a room in the hotel and lay down. Seeing Hansen again is bringing back memories of that fuckin' war and of that night outside of Shiloh with him grinnin' as he beat me to a pulp. I thought I had him beat. But he kept gettin' up until finally he squeezed me in a bearhug until I had nothin' left. Being held there against his hairy chest like I was nothin'. And then him lifting me up over his head and throwing me down into the dirt. I can still feel his big dick in my ass when I think of how he used me like a whore. Now he's gonna be my whore! But, damn! He still looks tougher than shit and even bigger than I remember. I thought he'd look older by now. Fuck that! Every man can be beat and I'm gonna be the one to do it. Then his sweet ass is mine!
After finally falling off to sleep, I dreamt I was back there in that Army camp. Hansen had taken my passed-out ass to his tent. Then I was there suckin' on that big dick with his big hands pumpin' my head back and forth like he was tryin' to draw water from a well. Then I was face down on his bed gettin' plowed. Then gettin' turned over so he could straddle me and flex his muscles over me with his big wet dick on my chest. Then him layin' on top of me and kissin' me...the same dream I've had a thousand times.
DING DING "In the corner to my right, a bull of a man at 6'4" and 285 lbs., the Sheriff of our fair city, Big Hoss Hansen!" The crowd of about 50 townspeople and cowboys break into a cheer. "And in the corner to my left, hailing from Memphis, Tennessee, a strapping young man at 6'0" and 230 lbs. Mr. Tom Walker." My name is greeted with jeers, boos and laughter. "Now men, there will be no biting. Anything else, goes. The fight will last until one man submits or cannot continue. Ready...FIGHT!" DING.
There he is...barechested, just like I remember him. A little gray in his hair and maybe a little heavier but otherwise he's the same. He sneers at me,"You ready boy?" "It's time, big man." I move in and hit him with a right to the jaw. He grabs me in a headlock and starts squeezing my face into his big chest. "You think I don't know you? I remember your scrawny tight ass. You got a little more meat on your bones but that's just more squeezin' for the pleasin'. I made you my bitch back in Shiloh and you'll be my bitch here in Abilene." He starts punching me in the face. I'm punching his gut. Then I punch him in the balls. "OHHHHHHHhhh." He lets go and I rear back and throw a left to his face followed by a right and then a knee to his chest. I grab him by his head and throw him down to the ground. I drive my boot into his gut four times before he manages to roll away. The big man looks worried, but he also looks mad. The crowd gets quiet - like they never seen anything like this.
I can feel it. At last I'm gonna beat him. It's time for retribution. But why is he grinnin' at me? "Ain't too many that give me a real fight. Last time we fought you were nothin' more than a pussy. We gonna have us a real fight tonight! COME ON!" He comes at me swingin'. I hit him in the gut. He catches me in the chin and then shoves me into the corner ring post. He's battering me in the gut. I grab him by the hair and head butt him. I get a foot on him and shove him backwards. I run in to tackle him down but he grabs me around the waist. "Time to plant you boy." He picks me up and throws me into the dirt. He sits on my back and starts pounding his fists into the side of my head. Before I can get him off he wraps his big paws under my chin and starts leanin' back. AAAARRRHHHHHH. "Hehe, somethin' I learned a few years ago from a travelin' carny rassler. I could break your back, boy! Maybe I'll just hurt you so that I can beat on you for as long as I want without you being able to do anything about it, hehe!"
I can't get him off me. Finally he gets up. I feel his foot on my back. "Hey everybody! Your Sheriff has done whooped another young challenger...beat him into the dirt! Look at these muscles! Look at the young punk. The boy thought he was strong. WHO'S THE STRONG MAN?" The crowd gives him a big cheer. Then he reaches down and grabs me by my hair and pulls me up long enough to smash his forearm into my back. I stagger forward on my feet. The crowd erupts into more applause. "Come here, boy." Hansen pulls me around and wraps his arms around me in a bearhug. He's grinning from ear to ear. I can feel his dick getting hard. "I know you want it, boy. You feel it? And you're gonna get it just like last time." He ramps up the power on his bearhug. OHHHHH. "You can't tell me you don't love feelin' my hairy chest on your little body."
"I feel you gettin' weaker in my arms, boy. Can't breath too good now can ya? You thought I was an old man now didn't ya? You thought you was big and strong enough to take me down. I'd give you a big kiss right now but it might disturb some of these cowboys." Instead he lifts me by the crotch and hoists me up over his head. I feel like a rag doll in his hands. The show of raw power thrills the crowd and they cheer, "HOSS, HOSS, HOSS..." Hansen throws me hard to the ground. He walks around the ring flexing his muscles and letting everyone feel his big arms. He thinks I'm done. Maybe I am. But not before I give it one more try.
I reach the ropes and drag myself back to my feet. Now that he's done with the crowd he's walking back toward me. "Now boy, you want me to knock you out or do you want to get down on your knees and submit in front of me and all these folks. What's it gonna be? SPEAK UP!" I spit on his boots. Just as he rears back to take a big swing at my face, I catch him with a solid fist to the gut. OOOOF. I follow that with another to the same spot that bends him over. I bring my knee right up and under his jaw sending him flat on his back. I jump on his right arm and drive the heel of my boot into his right bicep. Then I do the same with his left arm. "AAARHH. MUTHERFUCKER, I'LL KILL YOU." "NOT TONIGHT ASSHOLE." I jam my knee into his balls. OHHHHHHHHH. I grab him by his head and drag him to the corner. I pound his gut over and over. I punch him wherever I want and there's nothing he can do about it. The crowd is dead quiet. I drag Hansen to the center of the ring and drop him flat on his back. He's laying there still and breathing heavily. "What's it gonna be Hansen? You give? DO YOU GIVE?" I put a foot on the big man's chest. I know he's gonna say it. "I give."
The crowd is gone. This wasn't what they came to see. But at last I've got Hansen right where I want him. I flex my arms over the big bastard and feel my dick get hard. "Let's go Hansen." I drag his big ass to the jail house, put him on his bed and fuck his ass long and hard. I slap his ass like the bitch he is. "You know Hansen, as a man you're just no damn good. But what you are is a fine piece of ass."
I left that man in his jail house and got on my horse. I left Abilene, Kansas behind and never looked back. I heard that there was work to be had in a new town being started in Texas also called Abilene. Seems like as good a place as any to start a life.
I'm unsettled by a number of so-called wrestlers from the site who have talked to me for lengthy periods of time only to turn silent when our matches get close to reality.
For more than a month, I have discussed meeting a specific member for a match. He's been on the site over a year but has no reviews. This made me suspicious, but he returned all my messages and expressed an interested in finally getting a real-life wrestling session under his belt.
I did all the legwork: found a place to wrestle halfway between us, offered various dates and times that would work, etc. We discussed it several times. Last week, he specified that he could meet me for a match March 25th. That's coming right up, so I was psyched!
Today, I sent a message asking him to confirm our meetup. His response was to block me with no explanation. I'm in a small area of the country with very few opponents, so when this happens, it is a huge disappointment. I wish there was a way to warn other guys of members who are only "teases" with no intention of ever meeting.
I’m not sure catastrophising is a real word but it was a term someone used to describe my perception a few years ago. It was certainly eye opening.
My other blog entry focused on my anxiety and I found the response very positive. This attempts to go a little bit more to understand how I respond to situations and how I interact with other people.
My father died when I was very young. The trauma led to a health anxiety; which has not been helped by recent “real” health issues. Back in the day when I imagined illnesses I was told that I “catastrophised”. A stomach ache became bowel cancer. Flu was sepsis. A mole was skin cancer. Any interaction with another human would give me HIV.
I was told that I missed several steps. Take for example a cold. A cold is sometimes just a cold. But I would turn it up to 11. It had to be something more sinister. Nothing innocent.
This has also manifested itself in my interactions with people and my difficulties in understanding people. Someone not responding immediately translates into “I must have annoyed them”. And then comes the overthinking.
It’s getting better, but it’s still present. Just like the cleaning of a house.... it never ends.
I have just seen the videos of the recent meeting at Grove Park between Chub and Liam. Its my humble view that they are two of best videos on the site. Certainly for the way that the match swings from one being dominate and then the other plus the variety of moves.
Well done boys
One interesting debate that somehow sprouted in the Filipino pro-wrestling scene is the use of English language in the matches. Those who use it say that this has been the language they've been comfortable with using, especially with the influence of WWE shows. But others would say that it makes them sound too foreign instead being more relatable to the masses.
The drawing below was my response to one guy who said that English in Filipino pro-wrestling could not be helped. My belief was that using the people's language really mattered if you're going to run a promotion and do matches in front of people. So I didn't just use Filipino (the country's official language), I used Bisaya (the language more commonly used in my region).
At times, though, I couldn't help but wonder: How exactly will I speak when I actually have a match with a fellow Filipino?
In the past, whenever I had play matches with friends, it does feel like there's a tendency for us to just use the English languge. When we shout moves, we use the English names mentioned in WWE shows. And when we cut "promos" at each other, it always tends to be in English; after all, there wasn't any Filipino pro-wrestling organization (at least, that I knew of) during my growing-up years. In a sense, this could help explain why those pro-wrestlers I mentioned tend to be more comfortable with using English.
So I wonder how my wrestling match against a fellow countryman would go if I chose to converse with my native language. Would it make it more tense? Would it sound less fake?
I guess time will tell, when that match actually happens. For now, I can only wonder.
How about you guys, especially non-native English speakers? What language do you use in your matches?