The Hard Way

The decibel level deafened as the ref's hand slapped the mat for the third time. He signaled for the bell, which the time keeper beat rapidly. Cheers rang through the arena.


Usually, Felix didn't enjoy these types of matches dubbed “death matches”. It wasn't because the announcer was weary of blood. He had been witness to gallons of red pouring from wrestler’s wounds during his thirty years in the business. There was just no good reason to throw guys in the ring with weapons unless the angle built to it. He needed a reason for the men to want to beat each other in such a violent manner. The epic battle he just witnessed had such a reason.

The two men, Jackson Deranged and Dan Popper, rivaled each other for the better part of the last seven years in one wrestling promotion after another across the globe. The most brutal battles took place in Japan, where they had obtained almost legendary status. It is an extremely honorable status for two gajins.

Felix shouted into the microphone, "I've watched several matches between these two warriors and none were as great as the match we just witnessed. This is a classic that we all talk about for years to come." The line would become a piece of wrestling history, marked forever on the high grossing DVD. "I honestly do not know if Popper and Deranged can top this one, but their feud will rage on."

Popper stood in the ring with his hand raised. His opponent's blood smeared across his chest. His light brown hair clumped together in a much darker hue. The capacity crowd cheered, feeding his adrenaline fix like a heroin junkie. These moments are why he wrestled, even though his body told him to hang it up. Twenty years was a long time to abuse one's body in this business. He looked over at Deranged. His face was sporting a fresh, crimson mask as he rose wearily to his feet. In a moment of sportsmanship and respect, Popper held out his hand.

The New York City crowd erupted with a "shake his hand" chant.

The shifty heel checked out the rabid fans. The man knew exactly what he needed to do. Leave them wanting more. He slowly nodded his head in agreement and stuck out his right hand. The two men locked hands. Few people caught Deranged slip his free hand inside his jeans pocket. A smile come over his face as the left hand reappeared with brass knuckles. The left cross hit Popper right square in the temple. The man went down to the canvas instantly, out cold.

The crowd's instantly shifted to loud chorus of "boos" and obscenities as Felix shouted into the microphone. "That no good Jackson Deranged. Even when he loses, the scoundrel comes out on top."

Deranged flipped the middle finger at his fallen opponent and shouted "I hate fucking hate you Popper! You'll never have my respect!" As he glared at the fans, the man knew they were eating out his hand. He would miss this rush from performing in front of a crowd. He exited the ring, paying no attention to anything the fans shouted. He played the role, ignored them, and walked through the curtain.

As Jackson Deranged entered the locker room, the rest of the boys scattered from the television and went over to him. They complemented him on a fine performance. He humbly thanked them and watched the monitor as Popper rose to the feet. He grabbed the microphone and said something to the crowd. By eruption of cheers, Deranged could only guess the speech was about getting revenge. "Time to check out the damage," he said to himself. He went over to a full length mirror and examined the deep laceration which split open the top of his head. Stitches were going to be needed.

The same crowd of guys and girls surrounded Dan Popper when he entered the locker room. After he briefly thanked them for the accolades, it was time to see the doctor. When he entered the room, Jackson already sat on the bench being attended to. Their eyes locked. Dan cracked a grin and smiled. "Brassknucks. Are you fucking serious?"

"The idea just came to me. Forgot I had ‘em stashed," Jackson said in his thick, Virginian slang. "Plus, you gotta leave them wantin' more. Right?"

Dan eased onto the bench next to him. "You said it brother."

"You think that match was as good as everyone’s sayin'?" Secretly Jackson thought it might be their best match. Even better than Puerto Rico, a packed house three years ago watched the match finished in a thirty minute draw. Nearly the whole arena rushed the ring, choosing the side of their favorite. Amazingly both men walked away unhurt by the mob. Apparently the damaged they inflicted on each other ended up being enough to satisfy the mass’s blood lust.

"Hell, I don’t know. It was all a blur. But everything we did out there tonight just felt right."

The two men weren’t out in the ring thinking. The two wrestlers only reacted; to each other and to the crowd’s response.

"I'll drink to that."

"Me too, Jax. After a long, hot shower to sooth these aching bones."

Dan felt the abuse on his body more and more every week. He was forty-one years old and most days he hoppled around like a man twice his age. Something needed to change if wanted to continue working in the ring. Perhaps retirement loomed on the horizons.



In this particular city, many of the wrestlers went to a bar called the Knee-Jerk after the show. The bar was a large, local place where they could unwind and not get hassled too much by the fans wanting to talk, take a picture, or get an autograph. Most of the fans who came here left them alone and treated them normal folks. A decent crowd of woman always hung out there. And the regulars usually didn't start shit with them because of their line of work. Occasionally a drunk got tough and spouted off about wrestling being fake, which is never a good idea to say in front of guys and girls who physically get hit and dropped on their backs for a living.

Fake. Not at all.

Predetermined. Absolutely.

The days of keeping people from peaking behind the curtain were long over thanks to the internet. The secrets of the business were exposed. It changed wrestling as much as any other form of entertainment. Kayfabe died when the digital age became king.

The good aspect of the industry secrets being out in the open was they didn’t have to play the role in outside the ring. They could hang like normal friends. And if any fan gave them shit, Dan would simply say “if the man who beat my ass tonight wants to buy me a drink, then I sure as hell will let them.”

Jackson checked out a pack of women roaming around the bar. "You think they’re all rats?"

"Nah. But I do think a fair amount are out to get fucked tonight. A woman doesn't walk around with her ass cheeks hanging out of cut off jeans and her belly button showing without sending a message."

"A message my friend, aint no a green light."

"You are correct. But it surely is not a red light either, Jax. It’s more like a yellow light. Proceed with caution."

“Try and get some tail then. What do I care? I am, after all, a happily married husband and father.”

The bartender plops two fresh mugs in front of them. "From those guys over there." He pointed towards a table of three guys who barely looked of drinking age wearing wrestling shirts. They tipped their bottles to the warriors. Both men nodded back with a gesture that said thank you.

Dan took a long gulp from the old mug and finished it off. "The only way we're going to top the match tonight is by dying in the fucking ring."

Jackson replied, "The ultimate death match." Both men laughed at the notion.

"There can only be one."

The idea sparked in Jackson’s brain. "We'd sell the shit out the DVD. Remember that old Faces of Death bullshit when we’re younger. It'd get nuthin' on Ultimate Death."

"The fucking blood marks would crave a DVD like that," Popper said as he grabbed the fresh, frosty mug. "There’s only one downside."

"What's that, Popper?"

"Death."

A wrestler would always be remembered if a true ultimate death match was held. It would be legendary and a helluva way to go out, especially if a person had cancer rapidly eating away at their liver. It would be a perfect solution for a person who could never get health insurance because of the risk factors involved with their job. The resolution for a man named Jackson Deranged.

He found out the results about a week ago. Abdominal pains forced him to make a doctor's appointment. He thought maybe an internal injury occurred during a match. The situation turned out to be far worse. More tests were needed for a proper diagnosis.

The tests were taken. Days passed when Jackson received the call asking him to come into the Doctor’s Office. They found a tumor on his liver. The day after, he saw a specialist. The tumor could not be cut out. This doctor estimated Jackson to live around six more months. Options were limited. Chemotherapy could ease the pain and possibly shrink the tumor, which could give him some more time. Jackson declined treatments. The doctor wrote a prescription to deal with pain. Maybe he would look into holistic medicines.

In just a few days the man went from being a thirty-five year old with the world by the balls to being dead with in the year. He had no family of his own, not even a steady girlfriend. He was a man alone, except for a handful of close friends. Jackson told no one about his condition.

The only place he felt alive was between the ropes. The only place where the disease didn't consume his thoughts was inside the ring. He could take the pain but he couldn't handle not having the adrenaline rush from the live audience.

"You'd go over," he said at a barely audible level.

"What?" Dan became confused by the sudden change in tone. "Why would you or anyone want to sacrifice yourself in a real death match?"

"There be reasons. Besides, you got Becky and the kids at home waitin' fer ya. I aint got no one."

Dan couldn't believe the statement. Jackson seemed to be actually serious about the death match concept. This had to be a rib. "Get your head straight. This shit is crazy talk." Dan patted his old friend on the shoulder. "I'm taking a piss."

"Yeah. Crazy talk." He slammed down his beer and watched the suds trickle down the side of the mug. He wondered how much he should be drinking with his condition and his pain killers. Probably none. He waved the bartender over.



Popper awoke in his hotel bed. The time was 10:42am. It sat in the middle of a cheap, little room where the frills were nonexistent. The room had a bed and shower but more importantly was clean and inexpensive. He tried to save money any way he could on the road.

The death match conversation replayed in head. Jackson had never acted in such a joking manner on the subject before. In fact, most wrestlers didn't talk about death. It always loomed about them while in the ring. One wrong move or a person gets slightly out of position or an object moves a different way than expected and instantly your life can change. Serious injury could occur. Permanent injury could happen, leaving you paralyzed. And even death made a stop every once in a while. The men and women involved in violent form of entertainment knew the risks but rarely discussed death.

Knees creaked and backbones snapped as Popper stood up. A few minutes of stretching helped to take out the kinks out.

He dialed a number on his cell phone. "Hey baby...Sore...We torn it down last night...Late this afternoon. But I'll be home by dinner. How are the kids?...Alright. See you soon. Love you....Bye."

A grumble in his stomach informed him food time was near. He called Jackson.



The Waffle House became a popular stop for the friends on the road. The food was nothing fancy but it did the job.

The young, brown haired waitress refilled their coffee mugs for about the tenth time and smiled as she walked away.

Jackson wiped at the last bite of his biscuits and gravy. "Did ya think it over?"

There the question hung thick in the air.

"No,” Dan replied. “I told you last night. The idea is fucking crazy."

"And I told ya there reasons to do the death match."

"Then explain to me what those reasons are, Jackson."

He wanted to tell someone and unburden his soul. As the cancer ate away at his organ, the secret ate away at his mind. Fuck being macho. His mouth opened to clear the air, but a different sentence escaped. "I can't tell ya yet."

"And here I always imagined we were good buddies." He slid the plate away. "Guess, I was wrong."

The words were said in the half joking tone. He knew Dan was attempting to bait the secret out of him. Tricky. "Hold that bullshit right there, hoss. We is the best of budds. Ya know that."

"Then why wont you tell me what's a matter?"

Dan’s eyes locked on him. The stone cold stare always sent chills across his body. "I want to. Really. But now aint the time."

The waitress placed the check down in front of them. "Thanks guys. Come see me again." The men nodded and thanked her. She darted off without hearing the response. Other customers needed service.

"Then the answer will always be no," Dan said.

"What'cha talkin' 'bout now?"

"The match. If you are unable to tell me what ever it is you're hiding, then I cannot accept doing a match with these ramifications. It's that simple, Jax."

"Ya can’t confuse me that way. First we talkin' about friendship then ya reverse the talk back to the death match." Dan wasn't the only who could be tricked and manipulated. Jackson had done a fair share in his day as well. "What if we tweaked the idea a bit?" His friend's gaze didn't turn away. The hook was planted. “Ya know, advertise the same. ‘The Ultimate Death Match', two men enter but only one leaves...alive."

"Sounds a little bit too carny to me."

"Shit, we wrasslers. There’s a touch of carny in all of us who can promote."

"I suppose you are correct."

He had Dan's attention."Anyways, we don't deliver on the payoff....exactly. Shit. Ya believin' I want to die. Ya be the crazy one, Popper. Not me."

"Maybe. It could be our final big, money match. We can finally start teaming up instead of beating the shit out of others. Save some wear and tear on our bodies."

That’d be nice, Jackson thought. Too bad that day would never come around. He slammed the remaining coffee down.

Dan continued, "I'll think about it. And I'll need to lay it out for Becky."

Jackson smiled at his selling job. He knew Dan better than almost anyone. This concept was a hard one to get him convinced.

"But you need to tell me what's wrong. Soon. For now, we must find a promoter and a place to sanction the match."

"I got some ideas on people. Let's continue this on the way to the airport."

The two tossed the money on the bill and started their journeys home.



Dan and Becky lay naked underneath their sheets. Their fluids drying after the bout of lovemaking. The common ritual for the couple after Dan returned home from a trip, no matter if was only day or a month. He nestled her body against his own, stoking his hand up and down her curves. Twelve years and Becky still did it for him. Sure she packed on a few extra pounds these days. Three kids in ten years can change a woman's physique. Him being on the road over half the year couldn't help the situation much either. Always leaving her to raise the children and work her own full time job at a local bank. It'd be a little easier for them once he retired from wrestling. They saved a decent amount of money over his career and lived modestly. He could book a handful of matches a year, go to conventions, and be home more.

He loved this incredible woman with every ounce of passion in his body. He owed it to her.

“Dan," she whispered.

"Yeah baby."

"I've need to tell you something." She looked into his eyes.

He realized whatever she had to say was important. A lump of fear rose inside as the first thought was about one of the kids. Family issues didn’t care how tired you were. They came rapidly at all hours of the day. "Fire away."

Becky hesitated for a second. She took a deep breathe and revealed the news. "I'm pregnant."

He relaxed. Having another child would be difficult but not the end of the world. "How can that be? We've only finished a few minutes ago."

"Your seeds are quick to penetrate." She playfully slapped his scarred chest.

"How far along?

"Over a month. Not exactly sure. I got an appointment this week." After three children she knew the symptoms and a home pregnancy test confirmed.

"Wow. Number four. And here I thought we were finished having kids."

"Me too. But it happens."

"Better schedule myself appointment too. It's time to get snipped. Child number five would put us in the poor house for sure."

"I think we'll do fine."

He kissed her. "I think so too. We'll just make some adjustments."

"I love you Dan."

"Back at you, hon." He thought about the Ultimate Death Match idea until sleep over took him.



"Are you positive?" Jackson couldn’t believe the news. Dan had sworn up and down that he would never have another child. Life sometimes has other plans.

Dan spoke into the phone, "Yeah. It's a good thing Becky has insurance through work. Listen, I’ve thought long time about the match. We need to work out the hook and great finish so fans wont shit all over it.”

“You’re gonna do it? Really?”

“Yes. I’ll do it. My family will need the kind of payout this match should bring."

"Are you on her insurance policy?"

“Of course. I'm a stay at home dad. There’s no way an insurance company would touch me if they knew the truth. At least not without a huge cost."

The two friends were going through with the idea. The plan was coming together.

Jackson said, “I’ll put the call into Ito and see if he's interested. Then Ramirez and do the same."

"Hell, maybe we'll get a bidding war?"

A larger payout would satisfy both men.

"Who knows? But I think yer right. Mexico and Japan be the only places to sanction a match like this and still get a huge crowd. Maybe Puerto Rico, but Lamos won’t pony up the cash."

“I’ll give him a call to see. He’s always liked me. No sense in excluded any promoter. Talk to you later Jackson.”

“See ya bud.”



Takamori Ito ended up with the better offer. Both men were to receive twice their usual booking fee, five percent of the gate each, one percent of the total PPV buys, and three percent of the total DVD sales for the first two years. The payout was unheard of for two wrestlers. Then again the match had a unique spin.

Despite the contract Ito offered the men, even with the fantastic undercard matches he had planned, this show could set the promoter up an easy street.

The advertisements flooded the media all over the globe for three months. The hype machine called the internet built the match. The promo’s each man cut helped to raise the ticket sales.

People really believed they had a serious issue with each other.



The ink dried on the final page of the documents. Jackson Deranged aka William Jackson name scribbled on the line. The lawyer took the document. "It's official now Mr. Jackson. We'll take care of everything as you have requested." He shook the yellow toned hand of his client. "Is there anything else we can do for Mr. Jackson?"

"Naw," he muttered. The tears welled up in his eyes. "My life seems so final now. The endin' close. It be alright if I set in here a spell a collect myself."

"Take all the time you need." The lawyer placed a sympathetic hand on the big man’s shoulder.

"Mr. Douglass."

“Yes.”

"Comin' face to face with yer own mortality is a real bitch."

"I can only imagine, Mr. Jackson. You let me know if you need anything else. Any time of day." And the finely dressed man with graying hair walked out the conference room door.

What was he thinking? The match was less than a month away. He was in no shape to compete. At least twenty-five unwanted pound melted off in the last few weeks. He was always tired and had dizziness. The match was going to suck.

At least his finances were in order. Some went to a sister whom he rarely spoke to and seen even less. Most was going to the kids of John Popper. A college fund to help out his best friend's family.

He knew the money, however, would never help Popper cope with the guilt of the match's outcome.



The day had arrived. The two friends had talked often during this stretch but rarely saw each other. They were only booked on the same show four times during the stretch. They even took separate flights to Japan.

The two warriors stood in the locker room. They sketched out a couple of spots for the match. When dealing with weapons, a wrestler can never actually predict how those weapons will react. A ladder can always fall the wrong way. The steel support of a table can gash the skin. The pieces of shattered glass from light tubes can travel in any direction.

"You look like shit, buddy. And have for about a month. So, I'm just going to sit here and wait for you to tell me what the fuck is wrong."

Jackson owed his best friend an explanation. He promised. The withered man began. "I'm sorry fer not tellin' ya this sooner, Popper. You deserved to know before. I've just been scared is all.”

The two men were as close as brothers. They shared secrets on the road which no one else knew. Dan said, “Don’t get shy on me now. I’ve always been here for you buddy. And whatever you’re dealing with, my stance isn’t changing.”

The man spoke slowly. The moment was far more difficult than he anticipated. “I found out that… I got... well... I got liver cancer."

"Shit.” Dan started piecing things together, Jackson being tired and losing weight and skin pigment discoloration. How could he have been so ignorant not to see the signs earlier? “I hoped it wasn't anything serious."

"This is gonna be my final match. I’m goin’ out on top of my game, with a match to be remembered for the ages." Or at least a moment people would not soon forget.

Dan tried to put a positive spin on the situation, for his benefit and his friend. "No way man. You'll beat this shit. Before too long you'll be back to old rough self."

Jackson laughed weakly. "Naw. It's terminal ole friend. And I aint got a long time left either."

The tears flowed from Dan’s eyes. "You're a selfish son of a bitch for not telling me sooner." He embraced his friend. Two of the most dangerous men in hardcore wrestling let their emotions pour out.

"Why changed now," Jackson said. "I've got a favor to ask ya."

"Name it." If there was a way to help his friend, then Dan Popper would certainly do it.

"I've been planning sumthin fer awhile. I took out a life insurance policy years ago. After I found out about this cancer, I changed the benefactor to be your kids. It aint much, but they can have real future and not bust their ass doing the crazy ass shit we do."

Dan was overwhelmed by the generosity. "I can’t accept that, Jax."

"I know. But I aint got family of my own and yers is the closest thing I got." Jackson loved the ‘bunch of rascals’, the name he gave the collective group of Molly, Simon, and Adam. He’d miss not knowing how they’d turn out in live. So much time was ahead of them.

"Thanks." Words couldn’t express the gratitude.

The time had come to reveal his plan. This would be even harder than telling Dan about cancer. "There's one other thing. In case of an accidental death, the sum triples. There needs to be an accident tonight."

The words took their time soaking into Dan’s brain. He finally realized the connotation. "No. No fucking way. You're asking me to ki-"

"I know what I'm asking. Make it look like an accident. You'll come out clean." Saying the request made Jackson feel even lower than thinking it. “The match has been built up this way.”

"Listen. If you want to go out there tonight and leave it all in the ring, fine. If you want to take out your frustrations on my body, I'm cool with that too. Fuck it. Go out on top and pin me, I could care less. But I am not going to murder you."

"OK. Forget I brought it up. I just thought..."

"Forget whatever you were thinking."

The two sat in silence, soaking in the conversation.

Dan tried to comfort his friend, even though he was disgusted by the proposition. "We get out of here tonight and leave these people talking about another great match. Then Becky, the kids, and me we'll help out in any way we can. Right to the end."

"Thanks." Jackson felt lower than low.

"I'm going to finish getting ready." Dan walked over to his locker and began his prematch ritual.

Jackson sat on the bench, hating himself. If Dan couldn’t do the deed, he certainly understood. There were other ways to make a dying look accidental. One way or another, the match was going to live up to the hype of Death Match.



The crowd waited in anticipation for the main event to begin. This is why they came.

The ring announcer explained the rules to the "Ultimate Death Match". Two men enter the ring and the winner is the man who survives by incapacitating his opponent to immobility or death.

The announcer began the introductions. “From Clearwater, Florida…Dan Popper!”

The intelligent light swirled around as music blared throughout the arena. Popper hit the entrance ramp as the pyrotechnics fired off. He strolled to ring with confidence, wearing camouflage pants and a sleeveless shirt. He bumped fists with the fans as he walked by. He checked barb wire which surrounded the ring ropes. He signaled the crowds. They roared for the fan favorite. He carefully entered and soaked in the cheers.

The ring announcer continued. “And his opponent. Hailing from Richmond, Virginia. Jackson Deranged!”

Deranged bursted threw the curtain sporting cut off blue jean shorts and white tank top shirt. His own music choice blared while moving light spectacle occurred. He’s the bad guy and acted the roll perfectly to the fans. The showed him how they feel with a chorus of boos. He thrived on their screams.

Jackson never took his eyes off Popper as he walked to the ring. He started to climb in, and then changed his mind. He inspected underneath the ring and pulled out a 3'x6' window pane. He slide it inside the ring.

Jackson jumped in the ring; all the ailments are temporarily cured by the rush. The ring is his home. He immediately insulted the opponent, “I’m gonna wipe the mat with your blood, pussy.”

Popper pushed him away, “Just try it. I’m not going anywhere.”

The ref broke up the ruckus to prove he has the situation under control. He signaled for the bell. The wild arena quieted down to a whisper. In Japan this act is considered a sign of respect.

The dance initiated.

Deranged slapped Popper across the face.

Popper slapped back.

Deranged grabbed his opponent in a waist lock, and planted Popper with a Belly to Belly Suplex. He straddled Popper on the ground and threw vicious haymakers repeatedly. Deranged started to flex and taunt the fallen hero. Deranged picked Popper up by the hair and whipped him into the barb wired ropes.

Popper felt the barbs pierce his skin as warm blood trickled down his skin. He screamed. He saw Deranged motoring towards him at full sped. He lowered a shoulder to stop the charging madman. While Deranged was momentarily stunned, he tossed him into the barb wire ropes and followed it up with a short arm clothesline for emphasis. The momentum takes the Deranged to the floor.

Popper slid out and grabbed a steel chair. He placed it into position. Popper picked up Deranged and slammed him onto the unforgiving steel.

Deranged returned to his feet. He connected with the elbow on Popper’s forehead. The force broke open the skin, the hard way. Blood dribbled from the forehead wound. Deranged measured Popper up and dropped a closed fist. The gash grew wider as warm crimson oozed. A razor blade won’t be needed tonight.

Popper mumbled, “That fucking hurt. Tease the wire.”

Deranged lumbered toward him only to be greeted with a drop kick to the knees. Popper grabbed the man and tossed him end over end into the barb wire ropes. The sharp barbs tear tiny pieces of flesh away. Deranged flipped over and crashed to the floor.

The crowd gasped in horror and excitement.

Deranged shook off the blow and decided to find help under the ring. A wooden table got nominated for the job. He placed it against the guard rail. He turned around just in time to see Popper body flying out of the ring. Deranged braced himself for the catch. One body crashed into the other and both men hit the table. It shattered into pieces. The two men lay out on the concrete floor, selling the move.

“Do me the favor,” Deranged whispered.

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll die from being outside the spotlight anyways.”

“Never.” Popper stood up and squeezed his arm around Deranged’s head. He punched the man in the face.

Deranged screamed, pushed him away, and returned the punch.

They punch each other hard, repeatedly, back and forth. They both draw back and simultaneously made contact with their knuckles. The men felt the pain.

They slowly moved back inside the ring. Popper came up from behind and bulldoged Deranged onto the canvas. He covered.

The ref counted. “One.” A hand hit the mat. “Two.” The hand hit the mat again. Jackson kicked out.

Both men returned to their feet. They locked up.

Jackson begged, “I’m tired. Can’t last much longer. You need to throw me through the glass. We need the big finish to deliver.”

Popper replied, “No. We are staying away from the glass.”

“Not if I can move us there.” Deranged whipped Popper towards the corner.

He put on the brakes just before he collided with the glass. He turned around to see Jackson coming full speed. Popper knelt down to attempt a body blow.

Deranged fooled him and jumped in the air for body press. He sailed over Popper. Only his elbow connected with Popper’s face. Deranged managed to twist his body during flight to absorb the impact.

There is no good way to get tossed through a glass.

Deranged feet hit first and shattered the glass. The rest of his body followed. Small portions of skin scraped against the jagged edges. Blood seeped from the wounds. His momentum was halted by the ring post. His body jerked upon impact. His neck snapped back with great force.

A large, uneven piece hung from the bottom of the frame. The sharp glass remained still. It pierced the back of his neck. The force implanted it three inches deep.

Popper rose up. The elbow knocked him silly for a moment. Then he witnessed his friend twitching. Bloody.

Shock and fear fell upon the already silent crowd.

Dan rushed over to help. The ref assisted him.

The twitching stopped.

Medics ran out to help. Mr. Ito and other staff members came out as well.

They were all too late. Jackson stayed motionless. Dead.

Tears flowed from Dan’s eyes. His friend had his final wish carried out. He didn’t cause the death, but he could have done more to stop Jackson.

The night would haunt him for the rest of his life. Both men just performed their final match.



For more go to www.seankimmel.com

Mr. Average

      You’d never believe how easy it is to get started. It’s one of the top grossing industries in the world. Millions of videos sold. Thousands of websites logged onto every minute. Hundreds of magazines published. It’s available everywhere. Everyone is getting into the act. The reason is simple. We’re all voyeurs.
      We want to watch. We need to look. We all have our own sick, twisted pleasures and preferences. That’s why pornography is king in the digital world. And business is for the king is beyond good.

Sex sells!

Tits sell!

Asses sell!

Pussies sell!

Cocks sell!

Fucking sells!

Blow jobs sell!

Anal sells!

Lesbians sell!

Gay men sell!

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Orgies sell!

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Squirting sells!

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Web cams sell!
      Flesh sells. Period.

The cycle continues on and on and on.

No one’s claiming you’re into all of those kinky, sexual deviances. Or any of the ones not mentioned. Damn sure a few tickle your fancy.

We all have our own pleasures, remember. Secret fantasies dance around your head. Once regular sex becomes boring you move on up to the next level. When the role playing and slight physical aggression gets dull you graduate to the next level. After the Beniot beads, cock rings, and nipple clamps become passé you step up to the next level.

Most individuals keep these acts buried deep inside them where no one can find out. The unmentionable is often best left behind closed doors. You don’t need co-workers to find out about the S&M and bondage. You don’t care for family members to hear about an orgy at a swinger’s party or the partner swapping. You don’t want friends to suspect you’re homo because you jerked off while thinking about the buff, naked guy standing in the gym locker room shower. And you damn sure never intend for anyone to find out you went to Southeast Asia to fuck a twelve year old girl. How could you show your face in public again? Not with these dirty secrets out in the open.

At some point during your lifetime, you will be photographed or video taped in the nude and be online for the world to see. It’s just a theory. If you don’t put the pictures online yourself, then another person can always make the decision for you.

It may have been the week you spent drunk at Mardi Gras exposing breasts for beads. It may have been the Spring Break wet T-shirt contest where you got caught up in the moment, ripped off all your clothes, and bent over for the entire world to see your waxed vagina. It may have been the day you decided to whip you cock out at the girl living across the street for no reason. She snapped a picture on her camera phone. Soon after every telephone pole in the neighborhood posted the penis picture with the word “perv” printed at the top. It may be a former lover deciding the sex tape made one night needs to be seen by the world. Famous last words, “This is only for us to enjoy”.

You had better burn the flash card and smash the mini DV tape and delete all the files while there’s still time. We are in the information age. You’re precious and private genitals are a mere scan and upload away from millions to view.

We are all voyeurs at heart, remember. We want to see the goods. Remember to close your curtains because someone is watching.

The cycle continues on and on and on.

The availability of the porn on the internet, combined with all of the online dating gave me an idea. Dating services are all over the cyberspace world. A few are legit. People use them as like a screening service to weed out what they consider undesirables.  Sites claim to find the fabled “true love”.

Rule number one about these services: everyone lies. Rule number two: refer back to the first rule. The picture on the profile is five years old and doesn’t reflect the hard living your physical features have endured. Obese people don’t say they weigh three hundred but rather they’re curvy or possess a few extra pounds. The five children at home is a fact which failed to get mentioned. Working it out with your spouse is not the same as being separated.

An individual can sift through the lies and use these sites to prey on the weak. A person can abuse the naive in search of true love and happiness.

There are specific websites set up so people can find others wanting sex. No strings attached fucking; the basic essence of every person’s desire. That’s when my light bulb burned brightly. Use the fuck site hookups to make amateur porn videos. Then start a website and sell the sexcapades. Make some real cash. Escorts used the sites to be discreet. My idea wasn’t much different.

This action was completely against my nature. If you’ve ever noticed the shy guy in the corner surveying the scene, well probably not, but that guy is me. If you’ve happened to run into the quiet guy who nods his head, smiles, and answers in monosyllabic sentences…me again.

Nothing is special about me. My dick wasn’t as big as horse, like the majority male porn performers. My body wasn’t chiseled in granite. I wasn’t overly attractive. My wife called me Mr. Average. She always meant it in a playful way.

Now she was gone. I justified the decision by telling myself to move on. Time may heal all wounds, but time also creates new ones. The need to raise some extra capital was the official objective, not love.  I had love once and it almost destroyed me. Twenty-nine and working for someone else grew tiresome. Hell, really I just became sick of working in general. The scam developed into the one shot in my attempt to be lazy for life.

The direct approach became my method of choice. So I paid the monthly membership fee to one of those previous mention adult sex finder sites. I put a picture up containing personal stats and wrote the ad clearly explaining my intentions.

WANTED!

WOMEN IN THE IMMEDIATE AREA TO MAKE ADULT FILMS.

CONTACT ME AT SERIOUS SKIN PRODUCTIONS FOR FULL DETAILS.

Serious Skin Productions was the name of the company I formed. I had an accountant friend from college help out with the paperwork and the little details to make the company legit. Then I maxed out credit cards by purchasing a good digital cameras and a computer with editing software and lighting. In amateur porn, great lighting is a must. I was a one man production crew. It cost me a few thousands to put my plan into action, but as the saying goes…you must spend money to make money.

I also did some research on what it would take to run a website of this magnetude. With a newly purchased server added to the expense, I was ready.

After a week, I checked my personal ad. My expectations were low. I mean who would actually want to take part in this ludicrous idea.

Over thirty messages awaited; all of them wanting to find out more about the sex film in question. Unfortunately most was from other states or simply too far away. Still I had a few interested in the area, which is more than I thought would answer. I replied to all that I considered fuckable. Call me shallow but I'm not going to my dick into someone I find disgusting, especially on video. I thanked the ladies deemed unsuitable and told them someday Serious Skin may be in touch with them. I replied with a similar message to those too far away to do anything. You can never have too many sources on file. I gave all the interested the rundown of my plan.

One man and a camera…me. You come to the location. Sign a release form. Bring an updated STD and blood test. An agreed upon payment based on the acts you are willing to perform. You are free to back out at anytime. Call only if sincerely interested or if you have questions.

Some responded back wanting to know more details, some just wanted to talk to get to know me better, some wondered if this was a legit operation. One lady wanted to do it immediately. I told her to come over on Sunday night. Time to get the dream put in motion. Finally my college education would be put to proper use.

I’m sure the last part sounds a little strange. What does a Bachelor’s degree have to do with pornography? I earned a Bachelor’s Degree in TV & Video Production from (FILL IN THE BLANK) University, one of the top schools in the US for this field of study. However, unless you move to Los Angeles or New York City the film industry is hard to get into. I should say even harder to break into. It doesn’t mean shit to any studio executive how good the script is unless it makes through the chain of command. Most studios won’t even take a script unless submitted by agent. Most agents won’t take a person on as a client unless their work has been solicited. People can’t get hired on a production crew unless they’re part of the union. A person can’t join the union unless they have money for dues. It’s a vicious circle.

Life isn’t exactly how you expected it to turn out. Reality hits. You don’t move to either coast because she doesn’t want to and you don’t want to lose her. So you end up getting a job for a large and prominent AV company in town because you need to money for rent on a shitty apartment and run down vehicle.

You’re first stop on the job totem pole is low man at a hotel. The job is simple. Set up equipment for corporate meetings and occasionally operate the gear. Projection and screen for a PowerPoint presentation, microphones, moving lights…these become your new skill.

You still write scripts because it’s enjoyable. It’s the one escape you have. Maybe someday it’ll get sold, but it’s not important. Sure if you had a choice in the matter, writing would be how you made money. A successful screenplay writer, leading way to directing is the dream.

Back in the real world, you move on up the corporate ladder. You refine technical skills. After about a year you start working out of the main office in town. A new marriage will cause a person to change priorities. You still basically perform the same duties, except you’re now on the road the majority of the time and the scale of the shows are bigger. On a crew with other techs, setting up equipment, running equipment, tearing down equipment. In one city, back home for a brief period, and on to the next city.

Your wife tolerates you being gone because she knows the sacrifice made. And there’s a bloated mortgage to now pay. You never go a day without a phone call. Hearing each other’s voices is what makes the day. It puts a strain on the relationship, even one built on a solid foundation. Both parties find ways to cope.

The travel is nice. You are able to go to cities you may never have visited otherwise. You stay in lush, four and five star hotels you definitely could never afford. But you work for twelve hours a day or more and you never really get to explore the city.

After six years of this, you get tired of the lifestyle. You’re on the road all the time. You miss family functions. You never see old friends. You’re lonely and miss the wife. She wants to start a family, a thought which terrifies.

You can’t eat properly because of the time crunch your under. You grab what available if there’s a free moment. You can’t exercise properly because after the long fucking day, who wants to hit the treadmill or the hotel gym. You get about four hours of sleep each night and tiredness becomes the standard.

Then out of the blue your wife died. Now the world you live in seems meaningless. Being in the house makes the memories flood your mind. You question all the time spent on the road away from her. Life can play cruel jokes on a person.

You retreat from society, from friends, from co-workers. There’s no compliment to makes you strive for a better life. It’s only you and depression. Two more years go by. Now you’re just a zombie going through the motions each day without thinking, hoping for one day not to feel the pain.

The truth is you are lazy and not certain how or when you became this way. You can’t recall if it’s always been a personality trait. The truth is you are scared and tell others you’ve stayed in the Midwest because LA and NYC hold no interest for you. This place is still your home. You tell people writing takes up most of your free time and you’re dabbling with making some shorts films. All of this is more lies to keep up the front. The truth is you’re desire and passion left long ago when she died.

Lonely but don’t want to love. There’s a need for human contact, a touch against your skin. Flesh on flesh. You want to embrace the wife one last time.

Then you have an idea to solve the monetary and lonely problems. Start a porn site. You keep working the day job and hopefully set up a fuck session every few weeks. Edit the footage together. Upload it on the server and make it available for purchase, $4.99 a movie or $19.99 a month for unlimited access.

It was a simple plan. Maybe you’ll even make enough money to quit the day job you grown to hate. To payoff the debts you owe the bank that swallows the paycheck every month. Get away from this wicked town. Start over in a new place where each glance doesn’t bring up the memories of Ally. Take quality time away. Learn how to live once again.

Sunday night arrived. A knock came from the door of my three bedroom house; our first experience as a proud home owners. I answered the door with butterflies in my stomach and an abundance of questions running in my head.

An absolute beauty stood with an inviting smile. Under different circumstances, she’d way out my league. The first thought to race through my mind is why does this girl want to be in a sex movie?

She walked inside with her naturally tanned skin, long legs, and great bubble ass. We sat down for some idle chit chat to break the ice as she drank a glass of red wine. I tried to make her feel comfortable. I asked some background questions, to loosen the tension.

She told me her name, “Lana,” while running fingers through her mid-length, reddish-brown hair. “I’m in the last year at college.”  A friend saw the profile. She joined and responded to the ad. She needed money, but wouldn’t specify what for.

“Listen,” she began, “No matter how much talking we do or wine we drink this situation won’t be any less awkward.”

“OK,” are the only syllables I could string together in a sentence.

“I’m down for anything…suck, screw, and even anal,” she hesitated, “as long it pays well.”

She wanted to get down to business. I told her how much the trifecta paid with a facial for the finish. The act being an industry standard but not one I cared to practice. I don’t enjoy dumping on a chick’s faces. It’s not real to life. Sure woman may swallow but how many really want it shot across their eyes, nose, and hair. Not many. And besides, it’s messy and honestly just looks gross. We agreed on not doing the facial.

“Where do I sign?”

I handed her the release form and she inked the document. “Do you have the test results?”

“You had better have one too” she exclaimed. We exchanged papers. It all checked out.

She jumped up and said with zero enthusiasm, “What are we waiting for? Let’s this get this over with.”

Nervous energy pounded my insides. Suddenly I wondered if I could perform. I hadn’t been with a woman in since my wife died. I’ve only had three partners in my entire life.

We moved to the extra bedroom. I could never taint the room where Ally and I slept with these acts. One camera mounted on a tripod was set up for the wide shot. The record button gets pushed. The other camera in my hand, used for POV close ups shots, also gets the button pushed. The little red light glowed. “It’s time to begin”. My heart raced with anxiety.

She babbled into the camera with dirty talk. “You like what you see?”

I lead her down a path like any good director would do. “Strip. Let me see your tight little body.”

She slowly slid out of her taut jeans. She threw the tight pink shirt to the floor. The beauty in her black, lace bra and panties started to act more seductive. She teased and flirted at the camera. She touched her skin slowly and moaned softly. The erotic tease continued. “Do you like it?” she asked playfully when the last stitch of clothing hit the floor. She began rubbing her clit. Slow at first, then faster, and faster. She breathed heavier and panted deeper.

I was bursting at the seams. Watching her through a lens resembling a peephole, my urge to taste her grew. I repositioned the hard cam to a different angle and shot distance. The handheld now placed on a second tripod. My shirt came off and I moved towards her moist vagina, all the while thinking this seemed too romantic for porn. Our eyes met as I looked up at her.

She screamed “Eat me, now!” I performed as instructed. She clamped her silky smooth thighs down over my ears. The kissed her swollen clit and around her plump vulva then moved to the naval to the perky breast with rock hard nipples to her neck to her…she’s ordered me, “No kissing on the mouth”.

“I need to move cameras,” was my reply. So I repositioned the hard cam again and took the other camera back into my hands. 

Lana slithered over without any instructions and unbuckled my pants. She took out my stiff cock and placed it between her lips.

I’m amazed the scene doesn’t come to a climax at that instant. Her mouth wrapped around my dick, moving up and down. I nearly exploded as her tongue glided against my shaft leaving a thin string of saliva trickling down. I stopped her. “OK time to move the cameras again.” I repositioned hard cam to a new angle.

Lana lied on her back. Her legs spread open. “Take me”, she said.

I inserted and thrusted. Action repeated with varying rhythms. Each time I felt ejaculation coming on, I stopped to change camera angles and correspond it with the different sexual position. We continued for awhile longer and then repeated the exercise.

“Having to stop all the time isn’t very sexy”.  

I responded, “That’s how you make these types of movie. There’s nothing glamorous or sexy about it.” It’s amazing how long you can hold out ejaculating when you stop every few minutes. After four different sexual positions, I am ready to cum the mother lode.

“I want you to fuck my ass”, Lana commanded me. “But be gentle. I’ve never…it’s my first time.”

While lubing her anus, I thought about informing her it’s my first anal as well but kept the information to myself instead. I gently pressed the tip inside as she grunted from the pain. I penetrated further and realized the tightness of her orifice. I almost exploded right on the spot. I changed thoughts. The first thing to pop into my head was what if I pull out my dick and it’s covered in shit. I tried to block the unpleasant image out. The scene had to end.

I moved cameras one last time and ask, “Ready for the finish.”

“Wash your dick off first?”

“What?”

“Well it’s been in my asshole. I’m not putting it near my mouth!”

“No problem.” I respected the logic. I washed off, trying not to lose my erection. I got back to the bed and was half flaccid. I tell her, “It’s gonna take a little more work.”

“Fine.” She took me in her mouth once again.

By now I can see this lady just wanted to be done with the whole ordeal. I concentrated, pulled out from her mouth, and spurted all over her breasts. I handed her a towel and shut off the cameras. “If you want to take a shower feel free…”

“Yes.” And she immediately ran into the bathroom.

I walked to the bathroom door. I heard her crying under the sound of the water falling. I felt bad for my robotic behavior and for her. She has a mystery tucked away. One she didn’t dare let anyone know about. Then suddenly it hit me, “Shit, I forgot to use a condom. Idiot!”

Lana came out and dressed. I paid her. She left. There was very little conversation. I didn’t know what to say. The skill of conversation escaped me as usual. She wanted me keep in contact, just in case.

I basically just paid for sex and filmed it. Soon the images would be out for the world to see. No turning back on the master plan now, everything was already set in motion.

I edited the footage together in a couple of days. The first one completed.

For the record, watching yourself in a fuck movie is damn strange.  It’s almost surreal. In fact it’s almost appalling.

The email on the date site kept coming. One girl drove two hours to make a movie. She was a young country girl who was probably trying to piss off a boyfriend. She didn’t look eighteen, but these days it can be difficult to determine age. Teens dress like adults. Slutty is hip.

Melissa said, “Like, I’ll be honest...I enjoy porn.  Like a lot!  For some reason I can’t get enough of watching people fuck. Like it mesmerizes me…and I love it.  Like, you know what I mean?” Every single word spoken in a fake California Valley accent. “Big cocks, small dicks, tight pussies, gaping vaginas- god honey you don’t like ever want one of those sometimes it takes two stiff ones to fill the hole-, creampies, anal, even a little gonzo once in awhile aint bad for like a change.”

Her voice grated on my nerves.

She continued, “Pro or amateur either way, like right. I mean hot girls and like cute guys are all I want to see.”

“How old are you?”

“I’ve even been thinking about like getting into the business myself lately…well I mean like professionally. Like moving out LA and giving it a whirl. Like I’ve been fucking since I was like thirteen. Like after I saw your ad, I just thought why not like start here first.”

“I assume that’s why you answered the ad. Now let me see an ID.” My skin crawled with annoyance.

“Like, right. And I have some, like let’s call ‘em home movies me and like an ex did last year. It was like so much fun. So I figured why not, like, try the real thing.”

“Are you old enough?” I had to ask, because she looks all of sixteen. Which in reality mean she could be anywhere between fourteen or twenty-seven. Going to prison for having sex with a minor was not on the list.

“Like everyone tells me I look like so young”. She handed me her driver’s license.

I hated her fake ass tan. I loathed her fake bleach blonde hair. “You just turned nineteen. You are young.”

“Like I know. Right?”

I wanted to defile this girl in inhumane ways. Annoyance passed minutes ago. “Have you ever done light bondage?” I tossed a ball gag her way and some leather straps.

“Like, kinky,” she said with a smile.

After about four months, I compiled almost a dozen videos. I opened the website, putting six online and with a new video each week. My area began to dry up. I made a few repeats calls. Then I got the idea for expansion.

When I went out of town on work I’d set up some sessions. I bought a large metal case for the gear. In all my trips, I’m rather surprised nothing every got stolen from airport security. The other guys on the crew always wondered why I carried the huge case. I told them it was my suitcase. I wanted them to mind their own business.

I’d be in Boston for four days and make a fuck video on of a night off. I’d be in Los Angeles for three days and make a fuck video on one of my nights off. Two days in Chicago and make a video. I’d be in Austin, Savannah, Orlando, Detroit, Salt Lake City, and Hartford for work and set up a session. Then off to Seattle, Nashville, Charleston, Houston, Phoenix, and New Orleans with more of the same. Didn’t matter if I was in Columbus, San Francisco, Philadelphia, Las Vegas, Manhattan, or any other city; I went for work and tried to make a fuck video if I had a free night.

There are many chicks willing to stay in four and five stars hotels, even if it is just to fuck on video. It’s hard to believe some women deemed their self worth to be valued at zero. Many of the woman seemed decent enough people. Each had a path which didn’t quite go smoothly enough and led them to this situation.

The story was familiar.

One of the most intriguing women I’ve ever met lived just outside Atlanta. Sabrina was her name. Another knockout blessed with long flowing red hair and the natural curves all men desire. All that beauty came with an inspiring personality. Her free spirited persona radiated the room instantly. I’ve never met someone like her before.

She came by the hotel around 10pm. As soon as she came in the room an insatiable sexual appetite arouse inside of me.

We talked. She explained her modest living in the woods not too far away. A simple way of life in a small house by a stream, shared with her sisters Melanie and Aretha.

She said, “You have great karma but there’s a great sadness behind your exterior.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. I can tell these things.”

“I have reasons,” I replied and proceeded to tell her about my boring existence and sad past. Often we can be more open with a complete stranger than with those we’ve known for years.

“Forget about the past for one night. Just live in the moment. We’re going to have fun tonight,” she exclaimed with an electric grin.

We did usual stuff while the little red light glowed. Her technique was all about the little things, accentuating every move. She touched places never touched before during intercourse. Every sense peaked. It lasted only fifteen minutes with the camera position not changing. I got caught up in the act.

Sabrina frowned. “Already? I’m just getting warmed up.”

I apologized. “Sorry. I couldn’t hold out anymore.” Looking directly into her eyes, “That was amazing.”

She leaned over and began blowing hot, moist breathe in my ear. I instantly became erect, ready for action. “That’s better,” she said smiling again with my penis in her hand.

The second session lasted about an hour. Most of the time was spent with my face in her vagina lapping away and rubbing at her clit. Even after my jaw stated hurting, I continued on. I felt like I owed it to her. Besides, I enjoy giving oral pleasures to females. Then it happened.

She squirmed rapidly and panted deeper. “Don’t stop!” she squeaked. An orgasm bubbled on the brim of fruition.

A couple of convulsions and BAM! Suddenly my face was blasted in warm, female liquid. I was completely stunned. This was my first case of first hand female ejaculation.

Curling up into the fetal position, she managed to say, “Stop. Let. Me. Enjoy.”

A few minutes went by and Sabrina calmed. The flesh tones came back to her face. She looked at me, covered in her fluids, and innocently giggled. “Are you alright?”

I was still speechless.

“I don’t usually tell people can do that. I like to leave it as a surprise.”

Snapping out of my amazement and complete intoxication with this woman I stated, “I’ve had worse surprises.”

Sabrina got out of the bed. She grabbed my hand and led me into the bathroom. We showered. We drew a bath. We talked. We fucked again, this time not on film. We were in the water so long our bodies pruned.

It was earlier in morning now. I had about three hours before I needed to head out to the airport. I invited Sabrina to stay. She accepted. We lay in bed naked, mostly talking about our stupid pasts. We fondled each other’s parts like a couple of teenagers experiencing another for the first time.

“You are one incredible woman.”

“Thanks. Don’t sell yourself short. There are a lot of great qualities you take for granted about yourself.”

“Thanks.”

A small stream of orange light streamed from the window onto the bare skin of Sabrina’s chest. “The sun is coming up. How long before you need to leave?”

I looked at the clock. “About forty minutes.”

“One more time” she asked, and then began to move her head down to the semi-erect penis in her hand.

“Why the hell not,” I agreed.

After the last event, we got dressed. I packed the gear. Sabrina got her money.

“Email me. I want to keep in touch with you,” she demanded and kissed me on the lips. “Take care Mason.”

“You’re one of the most incredible woman I have ever met. Whomever you end up with will be one lucky guy. Thank you for…well.”

She smiled at me for the last time. “That could be the best compliment I’ve ever received. But I don’t think I’ll ever be tied down to something as frivolous as one mate.” She kissed me again and stared as if debating on the words to speak next. “I believe there is a larger picture in store for you. One you don’t quite see yet.” As she walked out the door, again she told me to keep in touch.

Though I’m not sure what she meant, I couldn’t get enough of the little nymphet Sabrina. Her sexuality and her cosmic glow shall burn in my mind forever.

At this point I was transforming into a sexual pro. Cock control becoming a specialty. With a focus and spermicidal ointment to numb the sensation, I could hold a decent amount time before climaxing.

My way of thinking started to change as inner self confidence soared. I worked out few days a week at one of the places I despise the most, the gym. Running the extra half mile to trim a little more flab off my gut, taking one more painful rep to get the additional tone on my arms, more squats to shape my ass. I had to look good on camera. For the first time in my life I felt good about my appearance. I actually began to look cut. The extra fat started disappearing. They claim for every fifty pounds of weight a man loses, he recovers an extra inch of penis previously hidden under fat layers. My size was average so an extra inch always helped.

My interactions with others basically stayed the same. Still observing the masses instead of getting involved. Verbal communication was never a strong trait. Except with Ally, the only person I truly ever let myself become vulnerable. Not caring about anything except getting away from it all.

After fourteen months I was even surprised at how much money was coming in. The dollars added up quick. I had the money from the site go directly into a bank account. I looked at the numbers each month and saw the increase. Amazing, I started this little escapade to earn a few bucks. I went from about $15,000 in the hole to nearly three hundred thousand dollars. The world loves watching sex.

I kept my real job since the traveling to other cities was a big part of running the site. All I wanted to get where I could live comfortably for the rest of my life barring any radical changes in lifestyle. I had a plan for early retirement and the goal neared.

The one thing I did during filming and editing, keeping my face out of the frame. Using mostly over the shoulder camera shots. I wanted to remain anonymous. I didn’t want some idiot coming up to me in the streets and yelling “You’re the man!” or some other lame ass comment. I didn’t require the recognition and I despise the majority of people on the planet. I wanted to be able to break away cleanly when I choose to. And if my bosses wouldn’t approve and there goes the free travel. My dirty little secret it remained.

I hadn’t wanted or planned on doing the website for long. Strike quick and get out from under the whole situation. It consumed my daily life. The sex kept my mind occupied from the real issues in my life. I was lonely but not for another person…for my wife. I missed her and knew she wouldn’t approve of my behavior.

She was gone, forever.

Something had to change. I needed to change.

Friends asked if I’d date again. They offered to set me up. Truth was I never gave it much thought. Ally was the only real girlfriend I had known. We had been best friends since childhood and our relationship was off and on for years until we came to our senses. If my callus heart could ever feel love towards another woman again remained to be seen. When I witness friends and family with their spouses and children, I can’t help but wonder if my turn expired.

I’ve stuck my dick in all types of women. White girls, black girls, Asian girls, Hispanic girls, Indian girls, European girls, skinny girls, portly girls, beautiful girls, not so attractive girls, bitchy girls, laid back girls, red haired girls, blonde girls, brunette girls; you name an ethnicity or a personality type or body type and in the years my little project went on, I probably fucked it.

No matter how many partners, sex is not love.

Sex is a physical act. Love is an emotion, perhaps even a commitment. You can have one without the other. Lots of people fuck with no emotion attachment. Several people are in committed relationships, but cant or don’t have sex. Loving another is not the same as being in love.

Most of these women didn’t meant nothing to me, except in the actual moment. They were merely part of a larger plan. I had no emotional ties. It was my part time job. I would listen to them and talk only to make them feel at ease. Listening made me feel at ease. Then I manipulated them in doing sexual acts for cash.

As time went on, I got more malicious with my intent. I became even more dull my senses. I hated this budding addiction.

The one thing I’ve discovered about women over the years is simple. They are all crazy, every last damn one of them. I think the key to being happy in a steady relationship is finding one woman that you can tolerate their craziness. No matter how insane she seems to others, as long as you are able to handle her degree of bizarre. That’s how you get through the good times and the bad. Of course females probably think guys are all out of their minds too. They’re correct.

I had that once. Now the crazy is missing in my life.

There was this one girl in my area I almost fell in love with.

Her eyes were an incredible green color. Those eyes mesmerized me at every glance. Along with her perfectly apple shaped ass and a perky, little rack she made my jaw drop every time she came over. This little vixen appeared to be multiethnic stew of goodness. I’m guessing she was in her mid twenties and she called herself Jade. The most beautiful lady I had ever witnessed.

But it wasn’t only her beauty I enjoyed. The first time she came over for a session, we talked for almost two hours before getting started. I told her about me. Rarely in my life have I been able to talk this easily and openly to a female. Her attitude reminded me of Ally.

Jade told me her basics. She had a six year old son from a bad marriage. It’s another case of people getting married too young and for all the wrong reasons. She was willing to try new experiences in her life, not wanting to miss out. She had a job as a stripper for about year but never enjoyed it. She went to night school to get her degree in Marketing. It seemed she was letting me into her world.

“You have the most incredible smile,” was the best compliment I could come up with.

She flashed it. “Thanks. I usually get comments on my eyes, not my smile.”

“Your eyes are nothing short of spectacular either.”

“That’s sweet,” she said appeared to blush a bit.

And the conversation continued on. I felt like we connected. I didn’t even want to fuck her, not for website anyways. But she needed to pay the bills so we moved into the bedroom. The red light on camera glowed.

In the end, she swallowed my seed. While showering, I noticed two puncture marks on my inner thigh. I couldn’t recall how they got there. So I replayed the tape. After I ejaculated I stood in a trance as she bit into my thigh. When she came up, I swore her mouth had a bloody fang. But the tape was fuzzy, just like my memory.

Often I replay the night in my head, trying to remember, trying to piece it together. I didn’t care; she had a hold on me. I had to see her again. We set up another shoot in a few weeks.

This time she came over and we talked for about an hour. More insight into each other lives over a couple of drinks. I had the equipment set up in living room this time for a different look.

We had sex again…a marathon session. Our images recorded on tape. After, we stayed on the couch for what seemed to be an eternity. Her naked body was laying on mine. Two people breathing as one.

“This could be the most perfect moment in history of time,” I said with deadpan seriousness.

Her response was simple. “Shhhh. Don’t say another word.” A few silent minutes passed as I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke a short time later to a lapping sound. A stinging sensation burned my inner thigh. Jade lifted her head. With ruby red stained lips she softly spoke the word, “sleep”. My eyes became heavy.

When I awoke, Jade had left. My head pounded from the dream. I scratched my leg and discovered crusted blood. Weird.

Jade wanted another shoot. I agreed, for no other reason than to see her again. I didn’t care about fucking her, only being near her as much as possible. You can never look inside another person’s mind to see what they’re thinking. I was falling in love with this woman.

She came over for the second shoot. By now, her first video was on the site. It quickly became the most downloaded segment. She knew it was huge. There was a change in her demeanor.

“I want a more money,” she demanded no sooner than I closed the door. “I’ve seen the hits on my video and want double the amount from before or I’m not doing a thing. Not so much as a nipple will come out.

I didn’t care about the damn money. The fact was she was on my mind constantly. I wanted her for myself, knowing it was impossible. “The money’s not an issue. You’re worth every penny.”

“Good, then let’s get down to it.” The conversation ended.

We banged, stroked, sucked, and fucked our melting hearts out, or at least mine. After the event, we were sitting on the couch talking. This was becoming the norm. I wanted to ask her about the bite marks. I swore the question was asked but my memory recalls a much different conversation.

I summoned all the courage in my body. “Jade.”

“Yes” she replied.

“Let’s go out to dinner this week.”

“Dinner…I don’t know. It’s always tough for me to get away.”

I could hear the hesitation, but my dumb mouth opened again as the hint flew right by me. “Well if you get a chance and you’re interested, give me a call.” I never could read women correctly. My heart always clouded my judgment.

“Listen. You’re a decent guy and all, but…well…” fumbling for the right words, the right excuse. She finished. “Let’s just keep this professional.”

It’s starting to click inside my thick skull now. I’ve never taken rejection well. “There’s no problem being professional.”

“Well what is it then? You ‘like’ me all of a sudden.”

The condescending nature of her voice started to piss me off. “Honestly, any person can see you’re beautiful, but it’s more than that. I enjoy being around you. With the conversations we’ve had, I thought enjoyed my company as well. I could care less about the fucking entailed for the internet, as enjoyable as it has been. I just thought maybe we could get to know each other better. So yes, I do like you.”

The corner of her mouth curled up and the wickedly hot smile she had, turned bitchy and sour in an instant. “You want honesty Mason. Fine with me. You seem to be a decent guy and I do enjoy the talks.” Her eyes glance over me. “And you’re not repulsive, but if you weren’t a means to an end for me I wouldn’t even notice you salivating at me. You’re an average looking guy pushing an average body. This is all just a stepping stone in my porn career. You’re getting me noticed, and then I’m taking charge of myself. I’m going to be the new Jenna Jameson, baby.”

Inside I’m boiling. She walked over to me and pecked me on the cheek. “No hard feelings, sugar. You wanted honesty.”

“That I did.”

“I can give you credit. You’re a helluva lot better than my worthless boyfriend.” She waited and scanned the puzzled look on my face not knowing or caring about my thoughts. “How about next month?”

I smirked, “Sure Jade. I’ll email you.” For the first time in my life I had the urge to choke a bitch out.

As she walked out the door, I noticed the puncture marks on my left forearm. The trance momentarily broke. I wondered if what occurred was a dream. In my memory it all seems real yet planted, skewed. Something strange was happening. The anger left; replaced by confusion from the marks, my conflicting feelings, and knowledge of being used. I yearned to see her one last time. The revenge seed planted next to my lust. Sometimes being used makes you feel wanted.

Three weeks later she showed up at my door in a bitch mood, demanding to know why her next video clip wasn’t on the site yet. She accused me of holding a grudge. This was true, but not the reason. I explained to her that she couldn’t overload the site. It’s bad business for me. Besides she was going up on this week’s clip.

In a pissy tone she muttered, “I knew it. This is precisely why I just opened my own site. So fuckers like you can’t hold me back. My boyfriend is taking pictures and hell I almost got him talked into screwing me on film. If not, I can find other guys and girls. That’s never been a problem.”

The woman was either a damn fine actress that had me fooled from the beginning or the biggest egotistical psycho cunt I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting or something else entirely. I’m still not sure which.

“What’s the domain; I can link a banner on the site for you.”

“I don’t need you’re help. I’ve made you enough cash. I’m outta here.”

“Wait a minute! I’m not holding you back. You’re the biggest hit I have. I’m savoring the clips. That way it’ll be more of a demand for you. I cant over saturated the site.. If you don’t want my help by doing a simple little thing like linking website, then fine. I don’t really care.” The best sales pitch I could think up on the fly resulted into basic begging. I had to be with her one more time. To taste her flesh on my tongue, to smell her scent, and I still had questions about the puncture marks. “Don’t leave. Please. Just stay for one more time. Then you can walk out my door and go make it big. An incredible looking woman like you, there’s no doubt about it. I’ll even double the last amount, and then whatever happens, happens. If you want another shoot some day, I’m not hard to find. If not, best of luck. What do say Jade?”

As I stared into the hungry eyes the situation changed. The trance never took a hold of me this time. Every feeling I possessed for this blood sucking whore ceased to exist. I wanted to hurt her instead of love her. It aroused me.

She came over to me. “Alright Mason, I’ll give you one more.” She grabbed the throbbing cock beneath my jeans. “But I also want something else.”

“Anything”

“Careful what you promise. Tonight, I drain you.”

I’m not proud of my actions. My normal state of mind checked out. I became determined to hurt this woman physically.  Not through typical violent means like punching her, but from sex. Very rough sex.

I pounded her hard and increased the thrusting motion with every ounce of force I had, squeezing each inch up inside her. I fucked her ass using very little lube just to add the extra amount of pain. I tossed her over this way, then back around. The joy over came me when the grimace appeared on her face. Then she uttered the words “You cant hurt me, fucker!” I got scared.

I did the most demeaning things I could think over to her. For the most part she played along, but not at all enjoying it. I blew the biggest load imaginable onto her face. I looked down at her face. The jizz spread across her eyelashes and dripped off her chin. I found her disgusting. With sweat rolling from my body, I turned off all three cameras.

“You’re money is on the counter Jade. Have a nice career.” Then I walked into the bathroom and washed her stink off me. I closed the bathroom door behind me.

She yelled something derogatory at me that I muffled out. Suddenly the door broke from its hinges. She stomped it down to the floor. I stood stunned.

With one lick a gigantic tongue lapped up the semen resting on her face. She laughed. “You owe me, Mason.” She grabbed my throat with her talon like fingers and pinned me against the shower wall. Two fangs elongated from her mouth. “Consider yourself lucky. It’s been awhile since any human has stood up to me. I rather enjoyed it.” The fangs broke the skin. She drank the warm blood pouring from the wound. When she had her fill, I collapsed. “It’s the only reason I’ll let you survive.”

When I awoke, blood crusted the wound on the back of my head where it hit the basin. The puncture wounds on my neck were scabbed over. I still wasn’t clear what occurred or if my mind was playing tricks. I chose to forget the whole ordeal.

That night was the last I ever heard from Jade. 

My life took a new direction after “the Jade Incident”. I had made a lot of money from the Mr. Average website and had offers from larger porn entrepreneurs to sell. I jumped at the chance to get out and made seven figures for the domain and footage. Serious Skin shut down.  I quit my real job. I sold my house and most of my possession. I moved into a cheap one bedroom apartment. Dream accomplished. I could now live comfortable for the rest of my life if I played it smart.

I returned to the days of no physical contact. I failed to realize that running the site had turned me into a sex addict. Sex was frequently on my mind. Women in general, even more so. This was different. I hungered for sex. I pained for another sweaty body pressed against mine and the sensation of ejaculation. If I couldn’t find a chick to bang, I’d beat off; two, three, four times a day and sometimes more. Grease up and go. Get a vision in my mind’s eye and at the point of popping, stop. I’d cum without ejaculation semen. Only the sensation came, which was what craved, a few seconds of wonderful convulsions. An orgasm without the mess.

One day I awoke with three strange women in my bed. I tried to remember how they got here. None was attractive, body or face. In fact they were down right disgusting. I remembered being down at a local pub drinking heavily.

The smell in the room of dank body order made my stomach turn. The putrid taste in my dry mouth wasn’t from the alcohol. I spit a pubic hair out. I had long scratches on my chest. Looking down at my swollen prick. I went to urinate. Fuck, it burned. I had been given the gift of a venereal disease.

I wanted to cry. Ally would’ve hated me. I hated me.

It may have not been rock bottom, but the moment of truth was staring me directly in the face. I didn’t go to meetings or have a support group. Mind over matter and will power was my tool. I don’t need some cult telling me to praise a higher power and follow certain steps in order to get well. The amount of women I fucked will never make up for the one I truly loved. The one I never told goodbye.

I’m not a bad guy. I just wanted to live life on my terms. Do the things I want to do in it. Be free. Is it really so wrong that I’m living the dream of my generation…wealth without working.

So I had to sell myself and some strangers on the web. Does it really matter? My morality isn’t hurt. I’m not ashamed. Not as long as someone doesn’t find out about it. Hell, everyone is putting their bodies out for show on the internet.

Flesh sells. It will only cost you $19.99 a month take a look.

For more go to www.seankimmel.com

The No-Sell

"Here you go Kid. Good match tonight. You had them eating out of your palm," said the old man and handed the youngster his check.

The Kid looked at it. "Thanks boss," he replied back in a disheartened tone. "See you next week."

The next man walked up. The old man handed him a check. "Dylan, Dylan, Dylan. You got to sell more. Remember, you're the good guy out there. Faces take beatings so the audience can empathize with them. Then the crowd's behind you when the fiery comeback happens. Sell the beating."

Dylan nodded in agreement. "Yes Mr. Erickson. Thank you."

A ripped, muscular man moved forward and waited. "Another fine job out there Crusher."

He grabbed the check from Mr. Erickson's hand and glanced at the amount written. "What the hell is this?" Crusher felt he'd been screwed again.

The wrinkled face gentlemen leaned back in his chair. His glasses hung on the edge of nose revealing steel blue eyes. "It's your payout."

The dance began as their eyes locked onto each other.

"It's light. We talked about a bump in salary." Crusher tried to keep control. The two men discussed the issue before. He thought a promise took place between them.

The old man’s voice remained calm and in control. "No. You talked about a bump in salary. I told you we'd see how the next house turns out. In case you didn't notice, there wasn't anymore seats filled than last week."

Anger rose in Crusher. He had carried the promotion for months now as the top wrestler. The fans came to see him. The seats filled up because of his name. "I'm the main event around here. I've been short changed by you too much in the last three years. Pay me more, tonight and here on out, or I walk. Got it!"

The threat loomed in the air between the two proud men.

Mr. Erickson's gaze never left his opponent's eye. Even at his age, the stare was intense as burning coals. "You may be one of the top guys in this promotion and you may be in one the top feuds we have going on right now, but don’t let it go to your head Crusher. I can make another star out of half the undercard guys. And none of them would give me as much shit as you do."

The door revolved often in the promotion. Erickson always picked a person with potential to take under his wing. Once he felt the person understood exactly all the nuisances of being the top guy, the push came. Then after awhile on top in the main event, the wrestler's ego would normally got the best of them and a falling out occurred. Then the process started all over again.

"I've been in the wrestling business for over fifty years,” he said. “And I've forgotten more about being in the ring than you will ever know. So do not make feeble threats toward me, Terrance."

No one ever used Crusher's real name. He loathed hearing it aloud.

"If you're salary is inadequate, then don't come back here next week."

"Fuck this. I can earn three times as much working for Calzone," Crusher said. His final card was thrown out on the table.

Mr. Erickson snickered. He now realized what the outcome would be. "And you'll drive four hours to do it too. And Calzone runs half as many shows as me. So go ahead a work there. In fact, call Wilson or Templeton or any other small, time flash in the pan promoter. It’s your career."

Of course, Crusher knew all this as the truth. Friends in the business told him Calzone possessed zero business sense and to never work for the guy. The other promotions in the area weren’t established enough and couldn’t afford to use a him on a regular basis. But pride got in his way and left him no alternative. "Fuck this. I'm gone." As he headed for the door, one last phrase was shouted. "Shove it you old prick!" The door slammed shut as the chiseled Adonis left the building.

Almost too quickly for man nearing eighty, Mr. Erickson jumped to his feet. A loud THUD echoed across the locker room as his cane smacked the table. "The rest of you listen up!" When he raised his voice, it always garnered attention. The remaining workers stopped and attentively listened. "If you have a problem with your individual payouts, then follow Crusher out the door. Each one you are adequately compensated for performances. I'm not getting rich from this promotion or from renting out this old building of mine. And I'll be damned if...oh hell." The explanation ceased. "Charlie, pay the rest of them. I'll be in my office." Erickson limped away, muttering underneath his breath.

The temporarily stunned locker room started its return to normalcy. Most of the vets had witnessed an outburst in some form or another before. Charlie, as usual, did exactly as asked and finished paying the workers.



Charlie entered the door to Mr. Erickson's office. He saw the old man in his usual place after a show; napping on the worn out couch located by the adjacent door which lead to the ticket office. An empty glass balanced on his lap. The drops of scotch pooled at the bottom. Charlie gently shook his mentor. "Gene. Wake up."

The old man awakened from his slumber. While yawning he asked, "Is it all cleared out?" The empty glass touched his lips immediately after the question.

"Yeah, boss."

"You know I was dreaming about the big match I had with Tino Brunto."

The tale had been told many times. It almost echoed with in the walls. "I enjoy the story," he said with the usual caring Charlie Sampson smile.

"But did I ever tell you that the Board was originally going to give me the World Title. Back in the day when a the World Title meant something."

The statement surprised Charlie. "Really? You've never mentioned that before." The match was still talked about amongst the all generations of wrestlers.

Erickson knew the Board screwed him over but he always still protected them. Very few people knew what went down that evening.

"We were doing a sixty minute broadway and it was close to end. I called for the finish and Tino simply said 'plans changed'. He tossed me on the canvas and locked in that damn elbow submission hold. He said 'tap or it breaks'. What choice did I have? Tino would've snapped it. He was a legit stretcher and all around mean son of a bitch. And he always did whatever the Board told him to. That's why he was champ so long."

Charlie stood in amazement with the new version of the tale. "Damn. You're one shot pulled out from under you."

"I got a little jaded with the business after the incident." The decision to open a promotion of his own steamed from the outcome of that evening. Erickson wasn't going to play by the Board's rules anymore. Also like many of the performers from his era, Erickson disliked how the wrestling business had changed over the years. The focus went away from wrestling skills and more towards flashy entertainment. But unlike many of the old promoters, he tweaked his company's style enough to keep the fans coming back. Erickson's promotion wasn't huge, but it had a name value, a reputation, and a regional TV deal. He never sold out to the big company, even after talent raids and some very lean years.

Erickson continued, "Hell, I'm far from perfect as a businessman. And I'll admit it, but this place has survived longer than just about all of the others around. A lot of good men and women have come through those doors".

Charlie knew his wrestling history. Only a handful of promotions could date themselves back as far as Elite Wrestling. Keeping a wrestling company out of the red always remained a very tough task.

Erickson continued. "In the past, a worker's salary might have gotten shortchanged a bit. Other times we all felt the crunch. But in the end, the risk and responsibility and decision remained with me. Nobody else. I will not apologize for the way business is done around here."

The man resided in a rare place tonight. Charlie asked, "Why are you telling me this Gene?"

"I don't know. Maybe because this business passed an old timer like me up years ago. It's time to move on. If Brenda was still alive it would've happened years ago."

Diagnosed with lung cancer at sixty-one, Brenda fought hard for 3 years. She battled like a warrior, but still lost the war. Her death crushed Erickson. The promotion became his only reason for going on each day. Since the couple had never been able to conceive a child of their own, the workers who surrounded him each day became the only family he had left.

"I'm leaving it all to you Charlie."

The surprise on Charlie's face said enough. "I don’t know what to say," still riddled by the offer.

It suddenly occurred to Erickson that Charlie might not be interested in assuming the day to day running of the promotion. He learned to be good booker, always possessed interesting ideas, and knew how to handle talent, but the financial part he needed to learn in for the Erickson legacy to remain afloat. "That is, if you want to own the promotion and the building."

The brief moment of hesitation never popped up. "I'd be honored." Charlie became the number two man behind the scenes for a reason. He knew how to handle situations and people trusted him.

Very pleased with the acceptance, Gene smiled. "You've always been like the son to us." Hell, I remember the day you walked in the gym and asked to be a wrestler. No more than sixteen years old."

"And you declined."

"But you became a persistent little son of gun because of it. After eight months of begging and pleading, I took you under my wing. You trained your ass off but the ring skills never translated. At least you found a niche and blossomed. Your duties behind the scenes are every bit as important as what takes place in front of the crowd."

The compliment meant everything to Charlie. His own father left his family at a young age. The Erickson's became his surrogate parents. The father figure who took a scrawny kid and taught him how to defend himself. The old man helped to guide him through difficult years. He was forever indebted to the man who trained him and turned his means of escape into a career.

"I know that you'll do fine with the promotion and put in the effort it takes to keep the doors open. With any luck, you can carry it on for as long I as have." Gene felt happy for the first time in many, many months.

"You know I will." Lots of hard work laid out on the road ahead. He owed Gene to give it his best shot. Failure was not an option.

Erickson stood up to hear the standard pops and creaks his old body made constantly. "I tell you what. Go on home. I'll lock up."

"Are you sure?" Erickson hadn't locked up the building in years.

"Yes. I'll stop by tomorrow and take you, Lilith, and the kids out for lunch. We can go over my will and talk about me sliding out of here in a couple of months." Erickson's mind was at peace.

"That's sounds fine by me," Charlie said. The two men embrace in a long hug. "Goodnight. And Gene, thanks. For everything."

Then the final words passed between them. "Goodbye Charlie."



The old man stood alone in his office. The photos hung on the wall revealing memories of another time. Many faces were no longer around. Many places which were torn down.

A bottle of Dewar's sat on top of his desk. He poured two fingers worth and felt the light burn as the liquid slide down his throat. He poured, gulped the drink down, and repeated the action twice more.

The silence was broken by the sound of water hitting the floor in the showers. Erickson refused to believe a worker would leave it running. They all knew better. With his drink in one hand and his cane in the other, he stumbled towards the shower stalls.

Inside a young woman, no older than twenty-five, let the water run down her body. Erickson blushed at her bare backside. He said, "Sorry, I thought everyone already left. Let me know when you're finished." The lady turned around just in time for him to catch a glimpse of her face. She was beautiful. She looked just like… "Brenda?"

The youthful girl simply said, "Yes, Gene. It's me." She turned off the water and wrapped a towel around her damp figure.

Erickson felt lightheaded. He nearly fainted. "It can’t be...you died over eleven years ago." This moment had to be a dream. He got drunk, passed out in his couch. Yet it all felt real. "You look so young. Like the day we met." He fought back the tears of pain.

Brenda walked over to him.” This was exactly how I looked on the day we meet. Remember?"

Erickson remembered the day like it just happened. He was in St. Louis wrestling. They had a couple of girls on the card, Brenda and Francine. After the match, most of the guys were harassing them. Telling the girls they had to shower with the guys. The teasing started to turn malicious in nature when Gene and his buddy Moose stepped in.

"Moose and I stood in front of the showers."

She cut him off. "And turned your backs so no one could see us. You said if anyone has a problem with the girls showering in peace, they'd have to deal with the two of you. Two perfect gentlemen. I fell for you at that exact moment."

A tear streamed down his puffy, red eyes. "You're not real, honey. I'm drunk." The pain of losing her once nearly destroyed him. The man couldn't take it another time.

The two gazed at each other like first time lovers. All the passion and pain and love from being married for forty years burned between them. "I'm as real as you want me to be, darling." She reached out to touch him, but stopped.

"I miss you so much Brenda." This woman was his world for so long. Gene went into a full breakdown mode. The emotions poured from his soul. "Since you died, this damn place is all I have. It's all that keeps me going." He sank any devotion left into the wrestling. The only other choice was dying, which crossed his mind more than he cared to admit. "And I'm finally starting to hate the business."

"You always worried about others too much. The talent can wear you down with demands. But you are not a bad man, Gene."

She constantly told him that when she was alive. Brenda always believed in him far more than he did himself. "It doesn't matter anymore. I'm getting out. For good this time." The tears stood firm on his weathered face.

"Be careful my love," she said. "Don't let the past determine your future."

His tone rose slightly, "What does that mean? I don’t want any more of a future without you."

The message was sent. Her duty fulfilled. "I can’t say anymore. I have to leave."

Erickson pleaded, "NO! Stay with me a little longer." The look on her face revealed all Gene needed to know.

"Just remember, dwelling on the past will only haunt you to death." Brenda moved in for a kiss, one like they used to have long ago. Just before their lips touch, she vanished. The words I love you rang in his ears.

His eyes opened to a deserted locker room. With an empty glass in one hand and a cane in the other, he inspected the shower. It was dry. "I'm losing my damn mind," he mumbled. Part of him didn't believe that was true. Brenda seemed too authentic for a dream.

He shut off the lights and traveled back to his office. When he arrived at his desk, another drink poured into the glass.

A deep voice echoed in the room. "Hey partner."

Erickson knew the voice too well, but it had been years since it was last spoken. His vision focused on the mammoth body sitting on the couch. He stopped cold. "Moose?"

The voice chuckled, "What? You're not glad to see your old buddy."

"But...but you're dead." The situation was too much to handle. First his dead wife appeared and now his dead best friend. No matter how real this all appeared to be, the old man knew he was either drunk or senility had finally left its personal calling card.

'That's no excuse not to offer me some of that scotch. Besides Gene, I look damn good for a thirty year old corpse."

Another glass was found in the desk and a drink was issued. Erickson shuffled over to his longtime friend Moose. The man looked like he did back in '68, long before the heart attack took him down in '82. In his prime, Moose stood over six feet, seven inches and weighed around the four hundred pounds.

"I'm just fucking with you. I can’t grab that glass if I wanted to," he chuckled. "Besides, I'm at my peak physical condition here. Don’t want to ruin the temple." He patted his belly.

Erickson was intoxicated already. Another one wouldn't hurt him.” Cheers, old friend." He tipped the glass and let the alcohol slide once again.

"Friend." Moose's mood suddenly turned bitter. "A friend indeed." He rose up and towered over the frail old man. "A friend who stood idly by and watched as you fucked him over time and time again. The other numbskulls I could see. But me? The two of us were running buddies till the end. I'm not sure why you did it Gene. And I'm sure why I did nothing back then."

"I never screwed you Moose," Erickson said defensively. He was confused about the allegations. Moose was never one of those people who received light payouts. "I help make you a star. No other promoter would've taken that risk. You moved from carnival attraction to a contender."

“It's not about money." He poked at Erickson's chest.

He shouted back, "Then what exactly is this about!"

"Brenda," he stated with a heavy heart.

"Brenda?" Erickson's temper fizzled. He scanned his memory for anything to do with Moose and his wife. He came up empty. "She has nothing to do with this conversation."

"Really?" The big hearted giant sighed. Even with all his fame, the man never found a woman to love him. "I met Brenda three months before you did. I told you I liked her. It was my idea to shield the ladies from the boys in the locker room. But you came out looking like the hero. You got the girl."

Erickson realized how stupid he had been. He had forgotten about Moose revealing the secret to him. After the shower incident, Brenda asked him out for a walk. The couple remained together until her death. "I am sorry Moose, but the choice was Brenda's to make. Don’t blame me for the way your life turned out."

The big man was getting angry again. His deep voiced raised, "Do you mean dead at age forty-seven of a heartache or me alone and miserable?"

The tension grew between the two men. "I'm not at fault for how you chose to live your life," Gene said. "Take responsibility!"

Moose stepped back. Nothing could change his mind.” You were always a selfish prick! And tonight, you are going to get what you got coming to you. Finally"

"I don’t think so, old buddy," Erickson protested in heated voice. "You are simply not real. The scotch is messing with me." He tossed the empty glass on the couch.

Moose laugh bellowed, "You can’t possibly believe that nonsense. We have other plans in store for you."

"To hell with your plans," Erickson said while pointing his cane at Moose. "This is not happening. Now, I'm going home." He turned around and froze in place.

"You're not going anywhere Erickson," Moose replied.

Erickson scanned the room. All he saw where faces from the past. The wrestlers who had come and gone through his promotion over the years.

"I've brought some of the boys back with me. It seems a lot people had a grudge with you." The deep laugh echoed once again.

The angry faces stared back at Erickson. He looked at each and every one of them. Austin Goldman, age fifty-five. Always a fan favorite, he broke his back in 1977 leaving him paralyzed. A few months later, he committed suicide. If he couldn’t have the roar of the crowd then he didn’t want to live. Jason Renegade, age twenty-two. He broke his neck while practicing a high impact move. He died instantly. Gino Moretti, age thirty-six. He one of the best heels around and got stabbed in the gut by a crazed fan in 1961. He died in surgery that night. Donnie D, age twenty-nine. An innovator of high flying moves. He was found dead in a car wreck back in 1988. His blood alcohol level was over twice the legal limit. Calvin Mahon, age forty. His heart stopped in the middle of a match in 1995. Autopsy showed a large amount of pain killers in his system. They all had the look of revenge.

Erickson’s voice cracked. "What are you all doing here? I've never done a thing to any you. What could have against me?" There was no reply. “Well speak up Goldman. Come on Gino.” Silence remained. “This has gone on long enough.”

As the ring leader, Moose spoke for the group. "The problem is you never did enough. We all busted our asses for you. And what did we get in return. A fraction of what we should have been paid and an early grave."

Erickson's blood began to boil. He would not take the men's wrath without a fight. "None of this is my fault. Donnie you died in a car crash while working down in Florida for another promoter."

"And I know that you pocketed off the top," Moose added.

The comment was the final straw. "You can all go to Hell! I was the man who started the promotion. I had all the risks involved so I deserved to reap what rewards there were. You could have gone to a hundred different territories and worked if you wanted to leave here. But instead you wanted to grumble and bitch about it behind my back. We'll fuck each and every one of you. Have you all forgotten that I was one of the guys? I was in that ring too. I risked my health every single damn night too."

"You haven't been one of the boys for a long, long time."

"This is enough! I'm going home," Erickson shouted.

The dead wrestlers reached out to grab at the old man. Leaving the building was not an option.

Erickson screamed in terror. The only thought of defense came by swinging his cane at the apparitions. The only chance he had was to fight. Suddenly the cane dropped to the floor.

The crowd of deceased men backed away from the old man as he clinched his chest. The words “My heart…” barely spilled from his lips as he collapsed.

The room was empty. No ghosts remained. The old man’s body lay on cold, wooden floor.

On the desk, an empty bottle of Dewar’s was turned on its side.

copyright 2010

by Sean Kimmel

For more go to http://www.seankimmel.com/