The Wrestler4Hire roster describes Will Favero as “a young spitfire ready at all times to get into the action.” Kenny Dean, on the other hand, is simply labeled “long-haired jobber.”

Speaking to my recent series of comments about the added value of contrasts in the ring, Will and Kenny are bringing two entirely different sets of assets to their match. On the one hand, Kenny looks like a long, smooth, beautiful, blond suffer dude. He’s tanned, with stringy, sun bleached split ends. He’s not ripped, but he’s fit as fuck, with expansive, broad pecs and suckable nipples. His hot, black pro trunks have a dark green mod graphic print that both highlight exactly where his balls are on the front, and feature a starburst pattern from behind right across his asshole. His silky smoothness is accentuated by a liberal coat of baby oil to start the match. From a distance, I could easily see his long, muscled body for heel potential. Up close, the signals scream “long-haired jobber,” as advertised. Which makes it that much more ominous that he’s pissed for having waited 30 minutes for his opponent to show up. Oh, fuck, kid. You waited 30 minutes like a good little boy? You are so getting fucked up.

Will contrasts perfectly with the surfer hippie. He’s a half a foot shorter. Dark haired, dark complexion, close cropped beard and meticulously low cut body hair across his pecs and lower abs. Not that you know that last bit to start with, because he’s in a t-shirt and bad boy black leather jacket to start with, looking like he barely had time to pull his pants off before climbing into the ring. When Kenny starts bitching about having to wait, Will leans against the ropes, rolling his eyes at the “professional courtesy” lecture he’s about to get. “I’ve got things to do, bro,” he explains calmly.

Apparently Will has finally checked off everything else on his to-do list for the day, because out of nowhere, he abruptly drives a solid kick to the tall boy’s balls. Not to give too much away, but, well… the match is over. The big, blond surfer boy’s first and last offensive maneuver of any real note is trying to brow beat his bad ass opponent into apologizing. The next 19 minutes are one magnificent series of surgical strikes cutting luscious Kenny up piece by piece.

Will takes off his leather jacket, but wrestles for the first 1/3 of the match in his t-shirt. Again, one of those sexy contrasting elements that I’ve mentioned that turns my crank is unmatched gear. So Will, still partially in street clothes, going full throttle all over baby oil prepped Kenny has a special allure for me. Ironically, it also contributes to the narrative, as Will gets seriously pissed to discover that Kenny’s abundantly lubricated muscles have soiled Will’s crisp, white t-shirt. “You get my shirt dirty!?” he snarls ominously. “I don’t like that very much, boy!” Finally, he peels it off his hot, hot bod and uses it to choke the surfer boy with.

This is the first time I’ve seen either of these stunning men in the ring, and my first impression is that they are sensational to watch. The weight difference, according to the roster, isn’t so huge, with “little” Will packing on significantly thick, solid muscle negating much of the difference in their heights. But the height difference is striking, particularly when Will drags him up by a fist full of that stringy, blond mop and snaps him up into a bearhug. Watching a big man get crushed convincingly by an opponent a half a foot shorter drives me fucking nuts. Will even picks him up off his feet. Kenny squeezes his knees into his tormentor’s sides, his ass cheeks quivering and shaking, that startburst bullseye screaming for a pounding.

Speaking of screaming, Kenny is weeping and wailing so sweetly it almost brings a tear to my eye. He’s rode hard and relentlessly. On opening dragon sleeper (opening move, mind you) stretches his oil drenched torso out beautifully. Will chain wrestlers like a mother fucker from start to finish, so, seamlessly the scene morphs into chinlocks, full nelsons, body scissors, chokeholds. I completely forget this is a big versus little set up, because Will is all over the surfer hippie like a sweater two sizes too small. When Kenny finds his own beautiful, lubricated biceps stretched around his own throat, with Will’s knee digging into his spine as he’s pulled backward, trussed up, fucked up, going no where and getting humiliated every step of the way, Kenny screams, “I GIVE UP!” When Will finally relents for, what, about 3 seconds before attacking again, Kenny begs like a sniveling bitch, “Please, please be done with me.” For the record, there are 15 minutes left in this match at that point.

 

There’s a potent, provocative mind fuck going on that’s paired brilliantly with the seriously high class pro wrestling beatdown happening. Kenny is desperately trying to guess what might be the magic words to make this nightmare come to an end. At one point, he screams out, “Please, please, I’m your slave!” “What did you say!?” Will snarls, a dark cloud of rage instantly roiling up from the deep. “You ain’t my slave!!!” Will growls. “You my bitch!” He wraps him up in a figure-4 chokehold, his shin pressed across Kenny’s throat, with the back of Kenny’s head squeezed nice and snug against Will’s package. “What are you?” he demands to know if Kenny learned at least one lesson here. The bad boy lifts his hips, squeezing tighter, thrusting his crotch harder into the back of the surfer’s head like he’s trying to fuck a hole into his skull. “WHAT ARE YOU!?” he barks again, demanding obedience. “I… I’m your bitchhhhhh,” Kenny hisses with the tiny bit of air he can squeeze out of his throat.

Whereas Kenny’s character here is pretty straightforward (“long-haired jobber”), Will is a little more complex, making me want to know a lot more about him. “Spitfire” doesn’t nearly capture him. Bad boy in black leather who doesn’t give a shit only scratches the surface. On several occasions, when Kenny is writhing, defenseless, fucked up and submitting every which way he can, usually ignored, Will suddenly lets him go. He climbs to his feet and breaks out into a half-strut, half dance, like he’s got gay club disco playing in the back of his head.  First of all, fuck yes, I want to go dancing with Will Favero. The first half a dozen shots of tequila are on me, as long as sooner or later he peels off his t-shirt, works up a sheen of sweat, and busts those cocky, don’t-give-a-shit-but-I’m-lovin’-life moves. Second, in this context, in the ring, popping up repeatedly in the middle of a deadly serious, totally crushing squash over a bigger guy, the dancing takes a step further than just being cocky. I think he may be a little fucking nuts. I still want go dancing with him, mind you.  I’m pretty sure Kenny Dean would agree with me that Will is nuts, if Kenny is able to remember any of this train wreck afterward.

Near the end, when Will locks on a sleeper and bears down with a sneering smile, Kenny looks for the world like he’s just desperate to go the fuck to sleep and let this entire nightmare come to a close. But his survival instinct keeps kicking in. Despite himself, he keeps fighing it, fighting to hold onto consciousness, fighting to pry the threatening, bulging bicep away from the artery supplying blood to his brain. Will even heaps on more raging hate for that, too. Kenny cannot fucking win, and by win, I mean be left with even a shred of dignity. Just when Will thinks he’s put him out once and for all, even as the bad boy has his leather jacket draped across a shoulder and set to leave the scene of the crime and board a jet plane to his next paid hit, Kenny suddenly starts choking, rolling to his side, showing even that barest sign of life. “I thought I was done with you boy. I told you to go to sleep. That ain’t good, boy, that ain’t good for you!”

The swarming barrage of pro wrestling moves bearing down on the long-haired hippie are a master clinic in and unto themselves. In a cross-faced crippler, Kenny is literally screaming (and I kid you not), “Oh, shit! FUCK ME!” My hand immediately shoots into the air to volunteer for the job, mind you. But Will has other plans in store.

In the end, Kenny is flat on his back, rolled up humiliatingly, his ankles pinned to the mat next to his ears. Will is sitting on the backs of his legs, his big, bulge illustrated with flames hovering just overtop of Kenny’s chin. “You remember this, boy. I did this to you. I DID THIS TO YOU!”

Will does a whole lot to me, too. Kenny, as well, pulling his weight and then some as the big, brawny surfer dude getting beaten to a pulp by the bad ass greaser. Will’s fragile hold on human decency and rational thought, paired with his sensationally high class wrestling skills, makes me want to see a whole lot more of him… and watch those dance moves after about the 4th shot of tequila. And Kenny’s long, incredibly limber, fantastically flexible, lean muscled body is giving me hot flashes. Despite myself, I’m totally turned on by another obliterating squash.