“What the fuck are you doing?” Flash LaCash demands as he climbs into the ring. Out of nowhere, adorkable Johnny Jobber has pulled out his lunch box and is wide-eyed with ecstatic anticipation at sticking his lovingly peeled banana in his mouth. He sticks it in.
“Ea-ing a ba-anna,” Johnny talks with his mouth full.
“Does this look like a fucking picnic table!?” Flash’s sense of professional decorum is assaulted. He’s incensed by this dumb ass kid who apparently is unaware that the wrestling ring is not public park. The question of what the fuck Johnny is doing in this ring remains a valid one from start to finish. The extremely brief profile description says that he’s a 24 year old who’s a “weak, twinky indy pro wrestler who can take a big beating.” That notwithstanding, I still say he’s got to be the most unprepared, inoffensive, ill equipped newbie to set foot in a wrestling ring, and that’s saying a lot. He puts forward nearly (nearly) no offense. But what he does do surprisingly well, is convey an oddly compelling and, as far as I can tell, pretty fucking novel wrestling character.
Johnny is an everyman’s man (Freudian neurosis aside). Or, perhaps, he’s an every boy’s boy. He plays as incredibly young and lean. He’s fit, but soft in the middle, and without much visible muscle tone. He’s pale, with a thick pageboy and natural, lightly hairy legs and a dusting of dark blond chest hair. He’s handsome enough, but not in any standout way. If I saw him at a gay bar, I’d immediately put him in the “maybe” category and file him away for a backup plan, should more tempting game get away. But then, if he turned around, I’d reevaluate, because Johnny’s got a sensational ass. Seriously, a magnificent, all heredity bubble butt. Not much muscle tone. It jiggles a bit when he’s getting pounded like a round steak. But mother nature and fine, fine genetics gave him grabbable, slappable, succulent cheeks that answer for me the question of what doe-eyed Johnny’s doing in a wrestling ring catering to gay men.
Johnny is also a tad… how shall I say it… fresh off the farm. He’s a simple boy who appears unable to hold too many thoughts in his head at the same time. Even when Flash is ripping him apart at the seams and asking what, I’m sure, are intended to be rhetorical questions designed to humiliate him, Johnny is a literalist, answering every one. In detail. “What else do you like to stick in our mouth?” Flash taunts the kid early on for being so fixated on that fucking banana. Anyone else would have heard the cock sucking reference. But not Johnny. He just starts listing the things he likes to suck on. Bananas. Popscicles. Cucumbers. Flash is mildly surprised as this oral fixation comes out in the open (under duress), but he rolls with it, without any hint of needing to turn things homophobic. “Let me ask you,” Flash asks, “have you ever tasted Iranian sausage? It’s quite humbling.” So now I know that Flash is Iranian. And apparently his sausage is humbling.
The contrast between these two is visually stunning. They look roughly similar heights, but somehow Flash is twice the man Johnny is. He’s thick and bulging all over. His dark complexion, shimmering with a light coat of baby oil, makes Johnny’s lightly hairy paleness almost hurt the eyes. Flash’s magnificent full, thick beard is superbly masculine and mature. Johnny looks like a 19 year old kid who’s just a bit of a late bloomer. Flat chested, undeveloped arms, slightly meatier legs. And, as I said, Flash is a seasoned pro heel who has about 15 ways in mind to bend, break, and completely terrorize a simple kid with a magnificent ass.
Wherever the fuck Johnny came from, he does one thing really, really well. He screams like a bitch. Damn, he suffers good. He takes a horrendous, lopsided beating like someone who most definitely is not new to this game, and he sells it like motherfucker. He’s dazed and weak in the knees when he takes blows to the head (which is often). He flops and shivers like a fish on the line when he’s getting squeezed between Flash’s gargantuan thighs. “I want to go home!” Johnny weeps pleadingly about 2/3rds of the way through the match. “Okay, go home,” Flash says, letting meat go, “and take your banana with you.” Johnny crawls on his hands and knees (again, that ass!!!), weakly trying to drag his average joe carcass to freedom. He screams and begs when suddenly Flash steps on his ankle, pinning him to the center of the ring, letting it slowly (sloooooowly) dawn on the farmboy that this is far from over.
The sexiest sequence by far is right around the halfway mark. Flash hooks the kid in a front facelock and grabs a fistful of trunks to hoist the kid up into a suplex. Somehow, Johnny marshals enough wherewithal to block it. Frustrated, Flash lunges low and starts over, but mid-lift, again, Johnny kicks and pulls his center of gravity back far enough to prevent Flash from taking him all the way over. A total of 4 times, Johnny shocks the beast by blocking that suplex, and then really blows me away by suddenly landing sharp fists into Flash’s gut. Flash is clearly as completely surprised as I am that Johnny does something, anything, on offense. Suddenly, the kid’s head pops free and he flings himself backward into the ropes, letting his momentum catapult him off the ropes and flying back toward his muscle bully. Flash has already lifted his right boot seriously high and straight legged. The timing and placement are absolute perfection. Johnny takes the heel of the boot squarely in the jaw. It looks like his head may have snapped off his neck for just a second. The kid drops lifelessly to the mat. And the whole thing is sold gorgeously.
Johnny’s oral fixation is the glue holding this relatively sketchy narrative together. As with so much of Wrestle4Hire, I’m dying to know more of Johnny’s backstory, but we get very, very little. What we do get is a running dialogue between the two combatants that drive home erotic innuendo of little Johnny’s “tastes,” and, by inference, centers the kink and eroticism that makes wrestling for gay eyes my (and your) thing. At one point, flash force feeds Johnny the remainder of his banana after kicking it around the ring a bit to make it nice and nasty. He takes a piece of the banana still in tact and precisely places it on Johnny’s impressive bulge. Standing over him, holding him by the ankles, spreading the newbie’s legs open vulnerably, Flash stomps on the banana(s). Kid screams like the wounded animal he is. And Flash taunts him from then on out about that messy “banana cream” that’s embarrassingly staining Johnny’s (now even tastier) pouch.
Another highlight is the sensationally trunk pull that signals that the producer, and perhaps Flash himself, knows exactly what I’m still watching this ring massacre for, because those lush, squeezable cheeks of Johnny’s jiggle free. There’s another 3 or 4 minutes of Flash mauling the kid relentlessly and giving us multiple angles to appreciate Johnny’s mouthwatering ass cheeks, with his banana cream-stained, stretched and ripped beyond repair trunks wedged really, really high up his crack. Like the crowd pleaser he is, Johnny doesn’t attempt to dig his trunks out of his crack until Flash commands him to, and even then, Johnny only bothers covering up one lily white cheek.
While I’m not so big on squashes usually, and while I find Johnny’s character a little sketchy and troubling (e.g., should I feel guilty about fantasizing about relentlessly fucking a barely legal kid who may have just been riding the short bus a year ago?), I’m oddly satisfied and entertained by Flash LaCash vs. Johnny Jobber. I would love to see more backstory (on everyone at W4H, frankly), and I think Johnny is super ripe for getting sucked into orbit around some charismatic, domineering, big daddy pro mentor for some juicy drama (daddy would have to punish him harshly when, inevitably, Johnny fucks it up in his next match with daddy coaching from the corner). Honestly, about a minute and half into this, and I was expecting to not like this match or Johnny. In the end, after cleaning myself off and rehydrating, I have to admit, I’m a fan of Johnny, Flash, and this unflinching pairing of the two.
And if Johnny wants more banana, I’ve got one at the ready anytime, Lunchable Larry.