As I was saying, a whole lot of threads somehow came together just a few days ago, leaving me standing in front of the man of my dreams, BG East hunk Scott Williams. Every morning since, I wake up and immediately ask myself, “Did that really happen?!” Then I pull up my texts with Scott and the pics and videos from our meet up, and breathe a sigh of relief. Fuck, yes, that really happened.

Scott is just 100% Scott. By that, I mean he’s as scorching hot as always, and he’s all snarl and smirk and trash talk, just like he is in his BG East videos. Like, literally, he is precisely as devastatingly hot as he was when he was wrestling Brad Rochelle in Ultra Fight Two, which was the first thing I ever saw him in. Someone has since asked me if I found his portrait in the attic that keeps him from aging. It’s not quite like that, but close. He’s distractingly handsome. He’s also in incredible shape. I was staring, a little slack jawed, at his sculpted pecs, when I asked him if he has to work at staying in such incredible shape. For just a moment, he dropped his snarky swagger and answered, “Oh, yeah.” And my respect for his mouthwatering fitness somehow grew even bigger, knowing that his physique is a labor of love.

Scott’s first words to me were, “I’m impressed, Bard. You actually showed up.” I get where that comes from, of course, but I also was thinking, fuck if I’d be anywhere else in the world, right now! I’ve got precious little direct experience wrestling, mind you. Of course, I’ve been obsessed with homoerotic wrestling my entire adult life (and more than a bit of my pre-adult life, honestly). But I was seriously in suspense about how this would go, facing down a fierce hunk with such an extensive, well-documented wrestling resume. So, just to break the ice and keep it real, I called attention to that fact. As we were both stripping down to briefs, I just breathed in deeply and named it, honestly admitting that this was a dream come true, and I was already a winner for getting to experience it. “You’re bigger than I am, and you have a boatload more wrestling experience than I do, obviously,” I said. He shrugged, like the it was no big deal. “Which makes me think,” I went on, “that the pressure’s really entirely on you. Like, how fucking humiliating would it be for Scott Williams to submit to a faceless blogger with almost no experience?”

Apparently, my effort to break the ice and express empathy for Scott didn’t land well. “Fuck you, Bard,” he snarled back with just a little heat. “You’re going to see a lot of this,” he flipped me a middle finger salute. “And this, too,” he emphasized, flashing both middle fingers at me, as I belatedly remembered to hit record on my phone. Still, trying to express my empathy for the pressure that must be weighing on him, I asked him again, “When they’re, like, suddenly collapsing, and you’re tapping out, how embarrassing would that be? Damn!”

“You know, Bard,” Scott snarled and snapped, taking a step back and trying to give me a little more perspective. “You made a big mistake, okay? Going right to the top, instead of working your way up. You’re a nice enough guy, but it’s my job to beat you boys down and keep you in your place.” He suggested I should have aimed lower, maybe call out a less threatening BG East wrestler to tackle first. He suggested maybe Jonny Firestorm might have been an easier opponent to start with, for example, which I thought was pretty ballsy of Scott, really. I can’t remember for sure, but I think he told me that he’d prefer I not repeat that directly to Jonny. So, let’s all just keep that between us, okay? No one tell Jonny that Scott thinks of him as less of a challenge, right?

I was honestly having a bit of an out of body experience when he suddenly grabbed hold of me and threw me down. It’s hard to focus on defense, offense, or much of anything else, when all I can think is fuck, Scott Williams just climbed on top of me!!! Somewhere, though, instincts that I wasn’t sure that I had kicked in. There I was, flat on my back, with Scott crawling on top of me about to dazzle me with some devastating submission hold. But sort of like time slowing down, I noticed his right leg was in reach of my left arm, and his neck was hovering just over my right arm. And suddenly, I had Scott locked up in a cradle, with his left arm neutralized between my legs. I asked him, “Holy fuck, what just happened there, Scott?” Like, sincerely, it took me by surprise, as the man of my dreams grunted and pried at my arms, futilely attempting to break out of the cradle. He jerked on his left arm, trying to free it from the steel trap of my legs locked around it, and got absolutely no love at all for his efforts. I asked him, “Holy fuck, Scott, did you just get buttoned up already by a lowly blogger?!” He rumbled out a few seconds of profanity and threats, but the direct answer to my question came when he tapped out. Holy. Fuck!

If you’ve ever watched him wrestle, or if you’ve read anything I’ve ever written about him (including part 1), it will come as no surprise when I say that our wrestling match centered extensively on scissor holds. Scott has super long, strong (distractingly sexy) legs, and despite my by best efforts to avoid them, my head and neck kept getting trapped between them from multiple different angles. I remember one point at which he was asking me a question while crushing my skull in face-to-crotch scissors, and I could literally not hear a thing over the roaring buzz of pain in my ears. His crotch shoved in my face was also a huge (HUGE) distraction.

This newbie is a pretty quick study, if I do say so myself, though. Knowing that Scott really only respects blindingly hard headscissors, I made sure to spring that trap repeatedly. I’d prepped by studying hours (and hours and weeks and months) of homoerotic wrestling matches, and I particularly took to a figure-4 choke, reaching back and grabbing my ankle to lock it on like a vise. Scott flew his middle finger salutes a lot, staring up at me while his head turned purple.

Scott warned me ahead of time that I did not want find myself in his camel clutch. I’ve seen that camel clutch in his BG East matches, and, yeah, I get it. And yet, somehow, just when I was recovering from one of his headscissors variations, I lost track of where he was, and damn it all if I didn’t end up flat on my stomach with Scott on my back. I could see what was heading my way, and even still, I admit to strong ambivalence about the situation, because… fuck, Scott Williams was on my back. But he was absolutely merciless, as he yanked my arms up over his knees and wrapped his fingers around my chin, prying my neck way back. He helpfully narrated the entire thing for me, explaining to me why it hurt, and then transitioning from a chin lock to a choke, then to grabbing me by my overbite, to point out how each variation hurt a little different. Fuck it was devastating, and I couldn’t exactly argue with him when he explained that once locked in, there was no escape.

I learned a lot about myself when I wrestled Scott. For example, I learned that, while watching countless hours of homoerotic wrestling does not a wrestler make (no surprise), there were some transferable bits of knowledge and insight. Like, having watched Scott crank up the pressure on his scissors by leaning back on his hands and thrusting his hips, it turns out I could put that observation to good use. I also learned that I’m too stubborn for my own good. I should have given up sooner than I did on a couple of occasions, where the only purpose served in refusing was to sap my strength that much more. Definitely, stubbornness is the main component there, and something I want to reflect on further (live to fight another day, and all); however, I also credit my desire to savor every fucking moment of this dream match with everything I’ve got. I also learned about myself that, while there’s not a direct equivalence, there’s a clear through-line to being turned on by watching a wrestling hunk getting dominated on video to being turned on by watching a wrestling hunk getting dominated by my own enthusiastic efforts.

I learned a lot about Scott, too. For example, I learned that Scott hates it (fucking HATES it), when he’s trying to remember to flip the bird, trapped hopelessly in headscissors, and his opponent rubs his head condescendingly. “You really hate that, when I’m rubbing your head like that,” I asked him, when he kept swatting my hand away furiously. The middle fingers were his only reply. I also learned it absolutely infuriates him when an opponent, having acknowledged how much he hates getting his head rubbed when he’s helplessly trapped, keeps rubbing his head anyway. Oh, fuck, he hates that! I learned that it pisses him off when he’s getting owned, and his opponent sits back with a smirk and watches his face suffering. I mean, fuck he’s gorgeous and it’s not like I’m not going to soak in the sight of his sweet, sweet struggles, but, yeah, it irritates him. And, happily, I learned that Scott is genuinely a fierce, devoted, supremely accomplished fan and aficionado of homoerotic wrestling. He’s a master of his craft, even if a long-time fan is able to channel all of his enthusiasm into wringing out a little more than a handful of frustrated, whimpering submissions out of him. In a couple of breaks we took, I learned that Scott genuinely loves the homoerotic wrestling world, keeps up with new releases and hot new rookies, checks in with former opponents, and has a passion for the exact same things about wrestling that I have a passion for. At one point as we were chatting about current wrestlers floating both of our boats, it was just so familiar. I thought, fuck, it’s like we chat about this stuff all the time. And then it occurred to me that in our replies back and forth in the comments of this blog, we have been! Those glimpses of Scott in text and his insights and perspectives genuinely belong to a fan of homoerotic wrestling, not just a star.

I honestly lost count of submissions, so I can’t tell you who had more. I think it was pretty damn close to even, though, and I’m not just saying that because Scott isn’t here to fact check me as I write this post. I do know who earned the final submission of the match, with a smirking, head rubbing, figure-4 choke, but I’ll just leave it at that. Honestly, I’ve got so many fucking words to say about meeting and wrestling Scott, that I’ve been tying myself up in knots trying to figure out how to pare it all down from the multi-volume tome in my head to a couple of modest blog posts. But another thing I learned about myself, is that even if I forget to pause and take pictures, if I forget to keep track of submissions, if I’m clearly a novice squaring off against a hardbodied hunk bigger and stronger than I am, with oceans more experience than I’ll ever be able to catch up with, this really fucking happened, and those memories are mine to treasure.

Scott knows how to hit reply and comment on this blog, so I’ll leave it up to him to fact check anything that I may have misremembered or misrepresented. This whole thing keeps percolating in my mind, as I relive and savor meeting and wrestling the man of my dreams, so it’s possible there might be a part 3 someday down the road when I find I have more I need to say about. In the mean time, that really fucking happened. I met and wrestled Scott fucking Williams, the man of my dreams. Now, I’m hitting gym, because it’s leg day, and if there’s ever a chance this might happen again, I’m going be fucking ready for it.