Cousins. Rivals. A Wrestling Story Pt. 04

Cousins. Rivals. A Wrestling Story Pt. 4: Black Bear vs. Direwolf

Hey there, it's been a while. Life has been intense. I'm sure the below entry will disappoint some readers as it's not the explosive finale with my cousin (there are some reasons why I can't share that yet). But it's a little vignette that has to be shared. All about unfinished business, an old rivalries.

I got most of the details from my 18 year old stepbrother, Oskar, as I wasn't there myself and neither was Tommaso, so I'm handing over to his perspective for this story. The fight details I got from watching the footage - oh, that'll make sense shortly.

Summer, late 2017. There was a family BBQ to celebrate / commiserate the closure of the Marrone restaurant, which my stepdad and uncle had been running and slaving over for the past decade. Uncle Alessandro was the chef, and my stepdad Jonas handled the business side, as well as (in the early days) the construction. It was a very successful venture, but it had taken a lot out of everyone, even the kids - in an Italian environment, children are essentially slave labour - and there was no small amount of animosity between my stepdad and uncle as they endlessly disagreed on the smallest details.

It's amazing things had run as well as they did, given the two men are polar opposites - my uncle, the bravado-filled italian, and Jonas, the stoic Englishman. But make no mistake, they both thought they were the boss. Tensions had been building for years, and working together seemed increasingly untenable despite everyone's best efforts to keep things pally. Growing up, I'd often hear Jonas return from the restaurant and head straight down into the basement, which he'd converted into a spartan weight room. An hour of muted grunting later he would emerge, all musk and sweat, and collapse into his bed - I contend to this day that his pecs, each the size of my head, were sculpted out of his enmity for my uncle. Now the situation between Tom and me was the straw that broke the proverbial camel - the business had to go.

I was laying low visiting some friends, and Tom & Fran were nowhere to be seen - just two of many elephants in the room that day. "Just when we needed some strapping lads!" my grandmother complained, fanning herself while directing Oskar and Davide to lug and move boxes of plates and various supplies around ready to be sold off.

That summer was ludicrously hot, even for Italians. Around the yard, the men and boys were all in open shirts and swimshorts that clung like second skins as they worked. My aunts were fussing over the BBQ, using the last of the good ingredients to cook up a feast.

Uncle Alessandro stomped over to the BBQ and pinched a chop to taste - in his late 40s, he was stockily built, but defined - you could tell that he was once pretty muscular, but years in a kitchen had added some bulk. He'd been a blackbelt in karate in his youth, and he wore a gold neckchain emblem from his dojo, that always set against his thick black chest hair.

He finished the chop and, wiping a greasy hand down his trunk, waved the bone at my mother who had cooked it. "More pepperoncino Lucia! There's a reason i was the chef eh?" he postured.

Jonas fired a look from the far side of the garden, where he stood, brooding. Somehow he'd managed to get sunburnt even when standing in the shade. His roots were Nordic, and his hairless skin was like milk. When I first saw him topless as a kid, i thought he was a Viking invader. Now well into his 40s, he still cut a physique that outshone mine. I've always been envious of those boulderlike pecs that I've never seemed to be able to match, in fact, it feels like they've only expanded as he's gotten older and a little more stocky.

Sure, Tom and I might fuck around with being alpha males, but these guys were the real deal silverbacks. Absolute tree trunks of men. I'd always wondered who would come out on top if they clashed. Even though Jonas had been around for nearly 20 years, Alessandro still treated him like an outsider. Clearly he felt threatened. But now he had some ammunition and felt this would be the perfect juncture to unload.

"I guess your mind is wondering, eh Lucia? Wondering how you ended up with an Ercula for a son. Well, maybe if you'd sent him to my karate class..." He was talking at my mother, but his gaze was fixed on my stepfather.

Kudos to Jonas. He wasn't my biological father, but he was fiercely protective of me and our branch of the family. Just as Alessandro was protective of his own.

Hearing this slander across the yard, he held the gaze and yelled, quick as anything "Oh yeah? We all know what you did for the sensei to give you that fucking black belt!" gesturing a handjob.

In a flash belaying his size, my uncle bounded towards Jonas, his bare feet slapping across the paving. Jonas pushed off the wall and assumed his full, hulking size to brace for impact.

But Sandro stopped right in front of him, still holding the gaze. Their foreheads met and were almost immediately bound by sweat. Suddenly they were both breathing heavily, their mammoth frames heaving, even though nothing was happening except that neither had blinked. As their noses touched, it became clear they were pressing into eachother, like prize bulls testing the water before locking horns. Clearly neither man was intimidated. The intense silent stare was only broken by an exchange in low tones that nobody could hear, in fact nobody was really paying them any mind at all except Oskar, who saw them through the kitchen window where he and Davide were stacking up dishes. The family had seen them argue so many times that they were oblivious to the tinder box situation. Oskar, who at 18 was just starting to discover the alpha world, could sense the electricity that could spark off a serious fight at any second.

As the stepped even closer together, Jonas' milkwhite abs met Sandro's hardened tan belly, and seemingly by instinct they rutted and bounced off eachother with a sweat-smacking sound, before coming together again.

To Oskar , it felt like they could really thrown down right there, a Thor vs Hercules slugfest in front of half our relatives. He was about to call out to his Dad to chill out, but then, suddenly, they each took half a step off. They straightened up their open shirts and stalked silently into the restaurant, out of view.

Oskar wondered whether they'd somehow managed to talk things out amicably, and continued stacking plates with Davide, Sandro's youngest son who hadn't noticed anything.

Moments later, a green flick of screenlight caught Oskar's peripheral vision - the CCTV camera in the storeroom. The safe had been kept in there, so at some point the family had installed this cheap camera that detected movement but recorded no sound. The room was a tiny rectangular space, little more than a large cupboard really, and lit only by one dim bulb.

Through the greenish haze, he could see the two giants of men once again facing off, their hulking forms pulsing as they knew what was about to begin. Oskar was mesmerised. There was all but steam coming out of their nostrils.

Oskar didnt take his eyes off the screen, but tugged on Davide's shirt to get his attention.

"What the actual fuck!" he said, squinting at the sight. He ran down to the storeroom, following the trail of musk only to find that the door had been locked from the inside - so impotently he returned to the kitchen to watch with my brother. In that moment Oskar confessed to feeling a strange rousing pride for his dad's bulging frame that he'd never experienced before. He had to win.

Inside the storeroom is was like a sauna. The space was tight for one waitress, let alone two giants of men. It was lined with boxes, now empty, that pressed into both of their backs as they squared off. Their already tight shirts were as skin and their hair stuck to their foreheads. From the angle of the camera (behind Jonas, facing Sandro) you could see make out my stepdad's boulder ass outlined in sweat in his swimshorts.

Suddenly the lightbulb flickered, and Sandro delivered an opening slap to Jona's jaw, which he returned instantly and they both went in for the clinch - their powerful hands instead meeting for a test of strength that shook the surrounding boxes as neither man had the force to dominate - to their mutual surprise.

They both let go and allowed the clinch to meet with full force, wrapping their arms around eachother's shoulders, their hands sliding down eachother's backs trying to get purchase as if their were doused in oil. They exchanged some simultaneous knees to the stomach, another, another, before breaking and going into full on slug fest. Neither man tried to dodge or swerve - there was no room - instead they laid into eachother with short blows to the face that would floor most men. The strikes became so fast and rhythmic that the camera feed was a blur for about 10 seconds as both tried to end their contest with a straight knock out. Both knew that any grapple would be long and hardfought, so equal were they in musclepower.

When they paused briefly for a breather, I could see that Jonas' shirt had ripped vertically down his back, exposing tight muscle that had only inflamed from delivering the punches. I can only assume that Sandro's was in the same state. Both men were strong jawed and apart from panting showed no sign of going down or wanting out.

Although there was no sound on the feed, it was evident that there were plenty of breathless Fuck Yous being exchanged and more colourful insults besides as they measured up their next move.

Suddenly they came together again, more tentatively this time, head to head. Sandro grabbed the slit in the back of Jonas' shirt for purchase and landed a big headbutt. As Jonas put his arms up to defend his face, Sandro yanked the shirt up, tearing it completely, and slipped the skein of material around his rival's neck to choke him out. Jonas delivered two swift elbows to the head - Sandro swerved the second and managed to spin Jonas 180 - some karate trick I guess - so he was now held in a standing sleeper facing the camera, with the remains of his shirt around his neck. Sandro's swarthy bicep was pressing into Jonas' neck, his other hand smothering his face and wiping sweat in his eyes, like he was imprinting a scent.

With his other hand he felt down Jona's nude torso, past his Norse chest tattoos to his exposed abs, were he lay down a few smacking gutpunches. It was almost as if my uncle knew id be watching this someday, as he was playing right into the camera - but I think that's just my imagination.

Jonas snarled and gritting his teeth, smashed his head back into Sandro's face. My uncle released the sleeper and aimlessly grabbed for purchase on Jonas' scruff of a beard. Jonas pulled the shirt free from his neck, and spinning back around shoved the cloth right in Sandro's face, his nose dripping blood. Jonas charged and pushed Sandro back a step into the pile of boxes and shelves they had put up together when they set up this restaurant, smothering his face and giving some swinging gutshots of his own with his free hand.

In his desperation Sandro tried to remove his own shirt with one hand while his other was on Jonas' throat. He must have caught it on a nail or something because the next thing I see is it whipped off and lost somewhere on the ground. Jonas seemed confused as well and released his smother, taking a step back.

The sight of the two topless men was awe inducing. Sandro's thickness and sheer density of black hair with the little gold medallion, like some weird cross between Zangief and E Honda. Jonas' more toned, light outline was now quite red from the blows he had sustained. He had a scratch across his back and probably some of Sandro's blood in there for good measure.

This was it. Black bear vs. white direwolf.

Something about seeing Jonas' epic body must have triggered something in Sandro, because he frenzied into a fresh assault of body punches, which they both traded - quickly but powerfully. I could hear the slapping of each rhythmic strike and their grunts of exertion even though there was no audio.

Then when one punch made Sandro recoil an inch, he wrapped his arms around his thick midsection for the bearhug. I could see veins in his shoulders and neck rising as he lifted Sandro off the ground for just a few seconds. My uncle stifled his cries of pain but you could see it on his face. As he landed, he managed to get his arms under Jonas' biceps, such was the level of sweat, for his own squeeze. They were in a mutual bearhug position now, with Jonas repositioning his bearhug on a diagonal across Sandro's torso. Their pecs ground together and they were face to face, panting into eachothers mouths, looking for signs of weakness.

As Sandro's grip slid down Jonas' back, he took his opponent's swimshorts down a couple inches, so the crest of Jonas' moonlike ass was now on show. Nobody seemed to notice. Realising that his grip wasn't getting him anywhere, Sandro heaved up Jonas' and tossed him into the shelves behind, and one fell to the floor. With Jonas' now facing the camera again, I was surprised to see his nest of dark pubes pertruding from the shorts. I guess he's not completely hairless after all!

They began swiping at eachother again with body punches and in the fray Sandro accidentally caught the elastic of his opponents shorts, and for a moment Jonas' thick, flopping schlong was on show before the elastic snapped back again. Jonas once again charged Sandro, this time into the side of the room with the camera, which was struck by Sandro's back and smeared with grease and sweat, making it even harder to tell what was going on.

Sandro's face had taken on an animalistic snarl as he nestled into Jonas shoulder and (i think) bit him. Jonas grabbed a handful of his hair to try and pull him off. Somehow in the fracas he loses his balance and goes down hard on the tiled floor with Sandro on top of him.

There was no space in that closet for a ground game. They was basically only room for one guy to be on top and one to be underneath him. Their barefeet were pressed against the locked door, their faces obscured by the boxes they had flattened.

Right now Sandro was on top and he wasted no time savagely groundpounding on Jonas like a gorilla. Jonas brings his legs up around Sandro's waist and clamps on a scissor hold, pulling him down on top of him. He then presses Sandro's face into his pecs, clamping him down. I can see Jonas' thighs clenching as he tightens his anaconda hold.

They lie like this for some time, starting to be spent, and concentrating efforts on controlling the centre of gravity. Jonas' legs were starting to weaken and instead he was flexing his pelvis trying to get a flip, and Sandro was flexing to counteract him. If i didnt know better I would say they were dry humping.

Then Jonas pulled back hard on the gold medallion chain, and Sandro instinctively half rolled so they were on their sides, still pressed together as they had now locked legs, one arm wrapped around eachother and the other trying to land a punch to the side, more often then not ending in a one arm test of strength.

With a herculean reserve, Jonas finally got on top. Sandro got his hands up and clawed a pec in each hand - Jonas matched him and they flexed over eachother looking more like silverbacks than ever. When the claw broke, Jonas slammed his weight down on his rival, they locked legs again and Jonas got his hands over his opponents face - one over his mouth and the other with a handful of hair. Sandro had one arm around Jonas' neck, and the other was in the crack of his now half exposed ass, trying to use it for purchase. Their whole bodies pulsed every few seconds with a thrust - Sandro trying to gain advantage, and Jonas tightening the leg lock and yanking the hair. They squirm. Another pulse. And another, quicker. They flip. They flip again.

"Boys! Lunch is ready!" an aunt called.

Oskar and Davide has been transfixed all this time. They hadnt even noticed that their own legs had locked up, as they sat on the counter next to eachother watching their dads rassle. They had one arm around eachother, and there was an electric tension running between them as their naked calves pressed together.

Both dads were fighting to protect their branches of the family. For the first time they felt inducted into the primal male world that Tommaso and I had been aware of since the age of 5.

They brought their hands up to eachother's hair, ready to take a handful. Oskar felt himself flush with heat as Davide's tan fingers worked into his blond locks.

In the storeroom, the fight had slowed as the giants conserved what strength they had left. Jonas was still on top, the musculature of his back bulging under the pressure of Sandro's thick, swarthy arms that were wrapped around him, squeezing from below.

They continued to pulse and quiver, both letting moans slip as they applied bursts of pressure.

Davide could see the strain on Sandro's face as he briefly unburied it from Jonas' shoulder. He suddenly realised his dad was in danger of giving up first!

"Dad!" he shouted from nowhere, and made to dash for the storeroom - forgetting that he was entangled with his cousin. Oskar pursued him and, being a competent rugby player, caught him around the waist and tackled him to the ground, and they found themselves in a ball, scrapping wilfully but pathetically - all slaps, hairpulls and shirt tugs.

Their combined momentum found them rolling into the hallway outside the storeroom door. From here, they froze as they heard the deep, rhythmic grunting coming from the locked closet. The door seemed to be bulging at its hinges.

In the room, the men had applied such thrusting force as to find their torsos heaped against the door - neither man willing to release the other. This accounted for the weight strain the boys could see on the frame from the outside.

Davide used the pause and lunged for the lock (which you could unlock from the outside if you twisted it correctly - our whole family knew this trick as we used it to get access to the snacks).

He made it! Twisting the mechanism even though Oskar brought him down again at the waist.

The door flew open under the weight of the warriors inside, and a boulder of muscle fell into the hallway - steamrolling the boys laying in their wake. A manly smell of musk and sweat filled their nostrils. Oskar felt his face bury into the small of Davide's back as these sweating hulks rolled over them - the alphas totally oblivious and still entirely focused on besting the other.

There was ample space in the hallway and the elders' bodies unfolded to their full length for the first time in what seemed like forever. Still keeping a clinch, like rutting bulls attached at the horns, they got up to their feet - their sons crawling out of the line of fire, but ready to pounce on eachother at a moments notice if the other tried to intervene.

Straightening to full height, they suddenly broke the clinch and, with renewed vigour from the fresh air and space, they swung vicious punches to eachother - torso, face, stomach - with speed and force, their huge paws issuing smacks that caused a shower of sweat to spray over the watching boys.

They stood, duelling on the spot, neither man daring to move to dodge a blow.

They were not unlike two lions reared up and clawing eachother - their bodies were sauna-drenched and reddened from blows and a little blood, muscles pumped to bulging from exertion. Their swimshorts clung like skin, and it was impossible to ignore both of their huge flopping manhoods bouncing around as they swung and lunged furiously at eachother.

Neither man wanted to slow, but slow they did, and as once again neither faltered, it turned to alternating punches not unlike rounds of gutpunching.