Vive la Révolution!

Wrestling Upper Crust: Damien Rush

Damien Rush is one of those wrestlers I love to hate. I fucking hate that guy with a passion. I once told the behind-the-scenes studs at BG East that I wouldn’t write their website match descriptions for Damien’s matches any longer, because my head would explode if I heard him growl the phrase “alpha dog” just one more time. Of course, I think my embargo lasted no more than 2 or 3 catalogs, before I saw him impeccably paired with some sensational favorite of mine, and I was irresistibly drawn to discover if my pick would plow Damien under like he deserves.

The best wrestling body money can buy

Fuck, I hate that guy. It may be my proletariat roots, separated as I am by no more than a generation from coal miners and steel workers who would have sooner pissed on daddy’s-little-richboy Damien than given him the time of day. He’s so fucking over the top with his 1% pedigree and his “best training money can buy.” He’s got nutritionists and personal trainers and wrestling coaches, and he climbs into the ring with hard working hunks who’ve earned every ounce of opportunity that Damien has been spoon fed from the cradle. Fuck, I hate that guy.

And then the pecs bounce…

He’s in rare form when he climbs into the ring against Austin Cooper in Forced to Flex 3. By rare form, I mean he’s impossibly buff, draped with luxurious muscle, thick head of coiffed hair, periwinkle briefs sown around his wasp-thin waist and meaty glutes. I also mean he’s in rare form because he’s monologuing like a Batman villain, predicting his rising stock price launched that much higher on the back of the living legend, Austin Cooper. “Everyone knows Damien Rush is the best, the wealthiest, the most supreme wrestler in the ring.” Fuck, I HATE it when Damien refers to himself in the third person like a fucking 16th century monarch. Then he bounces his huge, hairy pecs, and I sort of despise myself for the involuntary response in my crotch.

Damien won’t even deign to compare muscles with Austin Cooper

I adore a forced-to-flex match, and there’s no way I could avert my eyes from the chance that it could be Damien so completely humiliated. This is Austin Cooper, after all. For those keeping tabs, this is Dr. Cooper, M.D. (master of destruction). Austin’s mild-mannered, babyface alter-ego could very well get crushed by the likes of dandy and diabolical Damien Rush, but when Dr. Cooper climbs into the ring, all bets are off. He demands to get the full tour of Damien’s bought-and-paid-for muscles, but Damien refuses to take orders from a member of the hoi polloi. “You don’t want to flex? I’m going to make you flex,” Austin predicts (and my crotch jumps to attention again).

Totally overpowering (damn it)

If I’m being entirely honest and frank (which, of course I am), Damien dwarfs Dr. Cooper, which is a seriously fucking big deal. Austin is gorgeous and thickly muscled and every inch the goldenboy he always is, but no shit, Damien is noticeably bigger. His biceps are about as big around as Austin’s head. His hairy pecs, shockingly, put Austin’s lovely chest in second place. It’s irritatingly child’s play for the blueblood to easily dominate an opening test of strength. “Yeah,” Damien scoffs, bearing down and threatening to snap Austin’s wrists, “I don’t think I’m going to need to flex any of these muscles.”

Austin goes for a ride

I’m livid when Damien throws Austin to the mat like yesterday’s trash. I’m literally yelling at the screen furiously when Austin bounces off the mat like the pro he is, only to be nearly decapitated with a vicious clothesline. Holy shit, those 20″ biceps on Damien can do some serious damage! Like fucking child’s play, he hoists Cooper up across one shoulder, holds him there like a boss, and then slams him to his back, brutally. It’s like the 2016 election night nightmare all over again, as I watch the Park Avenue loudmouth latch on a totally dominating full nelson and wring Austin out like a wet washcloth. Austin grunts. He flexes his gorgeous muscles, his face screwed up in concentration. And then Damien literally laughs at the goldenboy’s total impotence. Fuck! Is this the match that pushes that fucking arrogant prick into legitimate contention!?

“Damn right, you obey Austin Cooper!”

I won’t spoil every moment of the match, but I will say that my initial adrenaline pump of rage turns into a sustained adrenaline pump of lust as the wheels start to come off of Damien’s Aston Martin. Dr. Cooper nearly rips the hairy hunk in half at the groin until Damien obediently flexes his gargantuan biceps on command. “That’s damn right, you obey Austin Cooper!” Austin works up a head of steam, fucking up the richboy’s right knee in a figure-4 leglock, until Damien sucks on the humiliation of flexing his peaks again, as ordered. “You don’t have to do this,” Damien begs like the cream puff he genuinely is underneath all of that hired muscle. And, of course, Austin doesn’t have to do this, which just makes it that much more delightful to watch him do it, nonetheless, and with so much passion. “Look at me,” Dr. Cooper orders when Damien is literally hiding his face in his hands to cover his shame. “I want to see your pain-face!” Me. Fucking. Too!

Holy fuck, this is art!

An enticing plot development is just how much Dr. Cooper appreciates Damien’s undeniably stunning body. He takes a special interest in the magnificently wide lats on the blueblood prince. In a picture-perfect kneeling surfboard, Austin is ripping him apart at those hugely bulging shoulders, when he transitions to digging his claws into Damien’s lats and prying him backward by the flaring back muscles. I don’t think I’ve ever quite seen something like this move before, and it’s compelling at shit. Damien screams like a wounded animal, which certainly makes sense. “Where did you get those lats?” Austin asks with genuine wonder in his voice. “How much did those cost?” Damien can’t answer. He just screams, which sort of pisses me off, because I was genuinely hoping to hear him quote the hundreds of thousands of dollars he’s invested in his physique-staff. “You gotta talk to the Wright brothers,” Austin chuckles, ripping the muscle from the bone. “You just might be able to fly with these things!” It’s taunting and that much more humiliating that he’s delivering these compliments even as he’s making the Park Avenue beast weep and beg. But I am honestly super turned on just hearing Austin acknowledging just how hugely muscled his prey is. He drags Damien up and literally hoists him off his feet by the lat claws (fuck!!!). He parades the man-baby around the ring screaming and pleading, “Please, please, pleeeeease! I give!” BG East ought to bottle those tears and sell them as champagne. Ship me a couple of cases!

Austin molds Damien’s muscles like clay, twisting him up in a sensationally nasty abdominal stretch. “Flex your quads,” Austin barks. “Hit ’em! I want you to flex them so hard you get a muscle cramp.” Damien is carved and served up like leftover turkey, so he has no choice. He flexes those thick, hairy, sweaty quads, and I can’t help myself but ache with a desire to lick his quivering, inner thighs. When Austin throws him down and shoves his own beautiful, bronzed legs in Damien’s face, the pampered powerhouse stares at the naked truth that his yes-men are too afraid to tell him: Austin’s quads are objectively superior. “Have you ever even seen real quads?” Austin sneers at him. “Look at that right there!”

Austin (and I) want Damien on his knees.

“Now, I want you to get on your knees,” Austin explains (channeling my fantasy), “and tell me how sorry you are. Beg me to let you out of my ring.” Fuck, yes. All of that. But the beaten rich boy digs deep into his heritage and cheats. Viciously, he wracks Austin’s balls. It’s not like I’m surprised, but I still have to bark my frustration out loud at the screen. “Did you have fun torturing my legs, my abs, my back?” he asks. “Well, you failed to pay attention to my chest!” He scoops Coop up into a stunningly sexy bearhug. He parades the goldenboy around the ring helplessly, pounding him into the corners, shaking him like a rag doll.

But just when I think my dreams of seeing Dr. Cooper totally humble the rich boy are about to be dashed, Damien cannot help himself but monologue and flex when he should be sealing the deal. Fuck, the unrestrained hubris on this prick! Austin brings Damien’s momentum to a screeching halt with a knee to the gut. “You told me I forgot something, huh?” Austin says, catching his breath, dragging his gasping opponent up to his feet. Again, in a sweet innovation, Dr. Cooper slides in nice and close from behind, reaches underneath Damien’s huge arms. It’s like he’s about to go for a full nelson, but instead, he digs his claws into the blueblood’s huge, hairy pecs. Fuck me, that is a sexy, sexy position! Damien weeps like a man-baby again, as he’s lifted off his feet by the pec claws. “Flex your traps!” Coop orders. True enough, Damien possesses superhuman, gargantuan, hairy traps. “Hit your traps! You’re going to regret it if you don’t!” Damien sobs just a little, but he obeys.

“Flex your traps, or you’re going to regret it!”

There’s more in store for Damien-fucking-Rush, and I’m here for every second of it. The Park Avenue prince begs and cries. He obediently flexes the muscles that his opponent calls out, as he pleads for the mercy that you know full well he would never grant in return. Not that it’s an issue as Dr. Cooper wears him the fuck out. He’s been so successfully broken and terrorized, that he starts flexing for his opponent’s pleasure as soon as Coop slaps him into a dragon sleeper. Austin just laughs. “Hit all the flexes you want, but at the end of the day, you’re going night-night.” Damien whimpers. He begs. He quivers. “Say, ‘Austin Cooper is the greatest.'” The one-percenter’s voice is muffled, deep up Austin’s underarm, but he croaks out, “Austin Cooper is the greatest!”

“Austin Cooper… is… the greatest!”

Fuck, I LOVE watching Damien Rush get humiliated! The only thing that would make this moment better would have been having Damien’s rich-prick daddy and his entourage of personal trainers, wrestling coaches, and assorted ass-kissers at ringside, watching him suffer, beg, and get owned entirely.

Like I’ve said repeatedly, I hate Damien Rush with a passion that speaks to what a brilliantly compelling character he is in the ring. He wins just often enough to keep my outrage alive, but it’s a moment like this reckoning at the hands of Austin Cooper that seriously fuels my homoerotic wresting fantasies. In real life, Damien may be a total mensch. For all I know, he volunteers at his local homeless shelter and fosters rescue dogs. But in the ring, he’s an incredibly hot, hunky, brash, annoying. offensively over-inflated cocky asshole who leaves me aching for the opportunity to climb into the ring after Austin has left him out cold in a pool of his own sweat and tears, to work out some of my own frustrations with the vicissitudes and inhumanity of the worst injustices of unchecked capitalism.

My turn, you 1% mother fucker!

One thought on “Vive la Révolution!

  1. Saying you hate someone is pretty strong. It sounds like your jealous of Damien Rush by the way how you have spent so much energy in writing about him…

    Maybe he has gotten there the way how you say he did. I’m saying maybe, but to say you hate is not really what most readers want.

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