Adam stared daggers at the air conditioner unit. A bead of sweat started at his brow, slipped and slide down the valleys of his face, swirled around his prominent Adam’s Apple, through the vale between his manly pecs, flooding the happy trail forest, pooled at the bottom of the scrotum, mixing with the copious amounts of ball grease. What’s ball grease, you ask? It’s a concoction of mainly baby oil, lube, and perspiration with traces of precum and urine. A rather uncomfortable predicament only harshened when the damn air conditioning unit stopped pumping out cold goodness. The rancid scent of all bodily fluids, the oppressive humid heat, and the sour taste of pussy made for terrible working conditions. He had rented this apartment to be his makeshift porn studio. He had only the bare minimum allowance, that had to be shared between cameras, rent, and of course, the talent. Luckily the primary cost in the Russian Imports was airfare.
“Third time this week that damn thing broke. I’m going to go down there first thing Monday and go all Karen on that secretary,” Adam shouted as he walked up to the unit. He hammered a fist on the top, hoping that beating the aged machine would magically fix it. It worked with the elderly, why not machines too!
“Darling, it’s hot,” Annie, Alison, whatever the blonde participant was named, whined. There was always some deep, underlying sexuality laced in a Russian accent. Gives his member a little kick. “Can’t we take a break?”
“We have to meet the quota,” Adam looked past her at Petya. Petya sat in the corner, slouched over, fanning himself with a Good Housekeeping magazine while tapping a thick cigar into an ashtray.
“Adam, your friend Petya thinks you’re trying to get out of work. You once told me that you were this American sex machine, something along the lines of the Energizer Bunny of fucking but don’t tell me that age is catching up to you,” the always antagonistic Russian meatball commented from his steel chair throne. He sipped from his glass of vodka, waiting to hear any comebacks from Adam. Adam gauged him to determine if the man was in a joking mood. He hoped Petya didn’t feel worse than he looked. Adam bit his tongue; he didn’t want to be punched in the throat again.
“I’m surprised you Russians can handle the heat. I’m dying here,” Adam muttered. Petya’s eyebrow arched questioning.
“I’m melting,” Alicia, Amy, whatever the blonde participant was named, whined. She laid there, legs spread-eagle, waving one hand towards her face and the other towards the dampness between her legs. He stared at her swamp, dreading about returning to that salt mine. He wished Trump drain that swamp. Politics, he shook his head, didn’t normally arouse him. But whenever he thought about the grand con Trump perpetrated on the American people, he had a glorious patriotic erection. God Bless America. The only things sexier to him was a war with Iran and thigh highs.
“Of course, you are, but we have to meet quota,” Adam squirmed as he inched forward. He reached down for the remote, pressed record. At that moment, as he slithered his way across the moist mattress, he had a flashback to the movie, Tusk. Adam was a walrus, minus the midsection girth, but his arms felt like flippers as he attempted to mount this afternoon’s partner. He attempted to be funny by making a growl, but his attempt came out as motorboating. She did appear to be pleased, taking the gesture as some American insult.
That was part of the problem. Numerous noise complaints had forced them in this tight window of operation. They couldn’t fuck too early, or they get an angry property manager knocking on the door. They couldn’t fuck too late, or they get an angry police officer knocking on the door. Neither ever accepted his invitation to join the shoot. The property manager seemed outraged while the police officer cited that such an offer was a bribe. Who knew that the boys in blue never wanted to relieve their blue balls on duty? Twenty years ago, the entire police force would line up to run a train if given the opportunity. This Black Lives Matters movement must have kept them on their toes. Police reform? Adam liked that he was racially profiled as a nonthreat. Crooked cops were a lot easier to deal with too, especially if you had cash on hand, or in some cases, a nice rolled blunt in your shirt pocket.
“I’m all sticky, baby. Can I shower? Cool off and clean myself, then continue?” Anaconda, Anatolia, Anastasia! That was her name!
“Last scene of the day. It’ll be really quick. I promise,” Adam assured her. She narrowed her eyes. None of the scenes were ever quick with Adam. He guessed his condition made him superior to the premature ejaculatory losers, assisting him with the long nature of these shoots, but he had issues just unloading on command. He didn’t know how his contemporaries were able to. Had his brain turned to grey mush and found no true sexual enjoyment in normal intercourse? Was that why he had to imagine the most fucked up image in order to fire his shot?
“Petya has a wonderful idea. Shoot a shower scene. Two stones, one bird.”
“It’s two birds, one stone.”
“No, it’s not. One stone to knock them out of the sky. Another stone to the head to finish ‘em. Petya knows these things. You do not make a fool out of your friend, Petya,” the Russian thug wagged his finger, solidly towards Adam. Adam decided that this wasn’t a hill to die for. He simply nodded towards the big man.
“Darling, how about it? Shower scene? You will make my day much more enjoyable,” Anastasia pleaded as she flopped over, cutting off his advance by closing her legs. Wasn’t he enjoyable enough? He glared at her, trying to determine whether or not she was messing with him. He couldn’t tell.
“Then I will have to set up all the cameras in the bathroom. Let’s just do it normal, get it done with. Plus cold showers shrivel up the little Mr. Gorbachev.”
“You’re such a tyrant,” Anastasia accused Adam.
Adam eyed her. Flash of annoyance crossed his face. He then forced a smile, slid his hands in, and grasped her thighs to pry them open. After slight resistance, she rolled back onto her back, the go-to position in all of sex, the missionary style. Adam commented as he plunged into her, “You’re the one with the iron curtains.”
A knock rattled the door.
Adam glanced down at the counterfeit Rolex; the only noticeable mistake was that underneath the little crown, the brand was named “holex”. He sneered. They still had two good hours of daylight before they had to close down the shop. The repairmen came by, fixed the air conditioner AGAIN, and hurried away. He wanted to make use of this reprieve in the heat before the damn thing went kaput again.
“Darling, let’s call it a day,” Anastasia whined. “My legs are tired.”
“Don’t give me that excuse. I’ve been doing all the pushing today.”
“Check out is at the door,” Petya ordered from his corner. He had given up the cooking magazines and cigars for a mobile game. Adam had to edit his constant loud cruses, sharp hisses, and frustrated cries from the week’s scenes. Kids these days. Face always glued to a screen.
“You’re right by the door. You have clothes on. You answer the damn door.”
“I’m busy. You don’t want me to tell Dmitri you’re inordinate again.”
“It’s insubordinate.”
“It’s inordinate. You trying to fool your friend Petya again. That won’t do. Now be useful and answer the door,” Petya nodded towards the door as his big, meaty thumbs pound away at his phone, tap-tap-tap-tap-argh. Adam gauged to see if the Russian was in a joking mood but determined that given the irritation the game caused him, he decided he better zip his lips. He wrapped a towel around his waist and hobbled towards the door. He crept the door open enough to glance out through the crack.
A gigantic black man stood before him. A thick gold chain hung from the man’s neck. This man wore a black wifebeater, stretched out over the man’s muscular base. This was an American Meatball, one of Petya’s kind but obviously from the mean streets of the inner city. He determined that he better let the He-mans talk it out in their primitive grunting. He closed the door and turned towards Petya.
“Who is it?”
“You better see for yourself. Maybe bring some weaponry. This man looks like trouble. Maybe I should call the police,” Adam’s voice trailed as he fell in deep thought. For some reason, that seemed to be the first action that came to mind. It seemed so obvious to call the police on a dark-skinned man who only crime so far was aggressively standing there, but he was very aggressive in doing nothing. His towering presence alone intimidated Adam as a threat. It’s just that simple, right? He wondered if he was overthinking it. Unfortunately, he couldn’t take the easy way out as he decided that with the operation they’re running and the number of visits by the sheriff’s department already, he should not annoy them any further. “I’m serious. This man is a brick house, he’s mighty-might, just lettin’ it all hangout.”
“Sometimes, you make no sense,” Petya pointed out as he labored to his feet. He must never listen to the audible greatness known as Motown. Instead, the grunt longingly stared at his phone before setting it on the side-table. Petya narrowed his thick bushy brows before stomping over, a toddler having a temper tantrum because he couldn’t play any longer. “This better be worth Petya’s time.”
“I’m telling you, man. This man means business. He’s definitely trouble. You’re supposed to be ensuring that this operation runs smoothly. You’re our insurance policy, aren’t you? Get out there and make sure your Russian assets are protected.”
“OH! PERFECT! HE HAS ARRIVED!” Petya exploded as he opened the door, all jovially. Something was up. Petya stepped forward and offered a fist bump to the herculean man on the other side. The man returned the bump, but when Petya started to don’t strange shadow puppets with his fingers, the man stared angrily at the hand gestures. Maybe Petya had accidentally insulted momma sasquatch in sign language. Either way, the juggernaut did not seem pleased. “Come on man, do the handshake.”
The visitor responded, softly but dangerously, “I’m not doing the handshake.”
“Your friend Petya wants you to do the handshake.”
“I’m not doing any handshake.”
“Your friend Petya really wants you to do the handshake. Don’t leave me hanging,” Petya leaned in, elbows the men. He winked hard. The visitor sighed, groaning as he started to mimic Petya. Finally, after the third fist bump amidst a wide range of hand signals, they threw their hands backward and Petya made an exploding sound with his lips. He suddenly threw his hands up in disgust. “You didn’t have yours do a cool explosion. You left Petya hanging.”
“I’m not doing another handshake.”
“Sorry to interrupt whatever this is. First of all, Petya… you never told me you had a friend. Big props, big guy. You’re finally adapting to civilized society. Second of all, why are you able to speak such good English?” Adam strained his eyes suspiciously. Petya seemed hurt by the insults, but he didn’t understand. The second point wasn’t directed to the Russian but towards the newcomer. “No, not you, idiot. This man. I find him suspicious.”
“I am from Detroit. We speak English there.”
“But you really speak English, not some bastardization of English, but English English. Hell, you speak better English than any Britt I know, and they invited the damn language.”
“Hold up! Wait a damn minute. Are you questioning the fact that I don’t use slang?” The man, twice Adam’s size, groaned. He did not seem amused by Adam’s line of questioning. Stupidly, while Adam knew he should be more careful, but he had to get closer to inspect this so-called African American. He didn’t think it was blackface, but then again Robert Downey Jr. looked very convincing playing that role in Tropic Thunder. The things technology can do. He waved his hand around the man’s face to assure he wasn’t CGI. The man snatched Adam’s hand. Adam shook his head no, pleading with his eyes, blinking them sheepishly, begging the new guy not to hurt him, but he didn’t relent. He squeezed Adam’s hand hard. Adam squeaked as his hand was crushed in between a vice grip. The man left him to go, the lingering pain in Adam’s fingers served as a warning to watch himself.
“Adam, Adam… don’t be mean to the new guy. From today on, you two are going to be working together,” Petya explained as he motioned them into the room.
“Wait a minute, what do you mean that we are working together. I don’t- no way. I’m- nope, going say nope,” Adam shook his head vigorously as he backpedaled away from the two hulking figures. He had feared this day would come. The Russians wanted him to cross over that line he always told himself he would never cross. Adam’s eyes lowered to meet his new archnemesis, and in the gym shorts that this man wore, he already knew that that anaconda would destroy Adam. Adam’s instinctively pinched his cheeks together as he made certain his back was turned away from the ogre at all times.
“Yes, Bison is your new partner.”
“I mean, we can come and find some compromise. But if you’re going to have me working with him, I am not- I repeat I am not going to let those things happen. I have rights too, you know?”
“Why are you so racist? I can see now why your country is headed towards civil war,” Petya seemed very upset with Adam. Adam didn’t have any issues doing interracial porn. He had found the occasional bootylicious black stripper to be irresistible. No, he took issue with the tool that the man had equipped.
“I think the term you’re looking for is ‘homophobic’. I got no problem with the gays, they can have their pride and their parades, but leave me out.”
“Now I really know you’re trying to mess with me. Petya knows racism when he sees it.”
“I told you this isn’t going to work. And I can’t work with some privileged white bigoted asshole,” Bison spat to the side, seeming as if he wanted nothing more then to turn around and leave right there. Adam wanted to encourage him. Fly away, fly far away. You’re not needed here! Go on, you’re free now! As free like a bird now, and this bird you’ll never change!
“Enough! Your friend Petya informed you both that neither of you has a choice in this. You’re going to work alongside each other,” Petya pointed at each man, taking turns glaring at each. Adam suddenly felt a camaraderie with Bison, he too seemed to be forced into this situation.
“Alongside each other? Not with each other?”
“Does it make any difference?”
“Make a world of difference. Because if we’re a tag team, taking turns, I can live with that,” Adam conceded. He didn’t forget the Golden Rule. It was OK to be put in a three-way, it wasn’t gay in a three-way with a honey in the middle, there was some leeway. He would simply pretend if accidental contact did happen, it was some foot or misplaced hand, some innocent appendage smacking against his flesh.
“EXACTLY! A tag team! And Bison is your NEW partner.”
“Yeah, yeah, if it’s only that. I’m good. I’m fine. Perfect!” Adam almost fainted with relief. NOT TODAY! He said. Not today! He sat down onto the edge of the heart-shaped bed. He started to think, with an extra set of hands, the range of scenes they could shoot would be extended, making their site even more popular. There was a silver lining in everything.
“Are you sure you’re not going to make this weird?” Bison questioned, eying Adam as if he expected pitchforks and torches.
“I think I can manage. Sorry for my earlier rudeness, I just assume the worst,” Adam fanned himself. He had almost had an out of body experience. Was this what Giovanni Aries experienced during his highs, if so, maybe he should join the Wonderland? He smiled his mouth friendliest grin possible in order.
“That’s fine. Your kind always do,” Bison grumbled.
Adam hid his offense at the rude remark. Instead, he leaped off the bed. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his towel, exposing himself. He might actually be a little excited at this. He had a few devil threesomes in his lifetime, but they were always drunken shitshows that he barely was able to get up for yet alone remember the finer details. This time around, he will be sober for it. Variety was the spice of life after all. Thinking about it, Adam wasn’t sure if he had jumped in with Alex Jr, Porno Lad, Memphis, Ace, or Shawn. Probably not Ace, the man had a stick up his ass when it came to certain things. This definitely did interrupt the monotonous nature of the work. You can only do one porn star for so long before it became mundane.
He pointed his thumb over his shoulder as he turned to face Bison. “How about we dive right into the deep end and get to work. You don’t have any complaints, do you, Annie?”
“Two at once?”
“You have experience, right?”
“Never with a black man before,” Anastasia said dreamingly as she floated off the bed and towards Bison. Bison looked at her. He then looked at Adam. Then down at Adam. He shook his head but by the time, Anastasia had already reached her target. Her hands began to slide all over his body, pulling at the tank top straps. She leaned up, purred in his ear. Adam’s jaw dropped. Anastasia never showed any of this enthusiasm before. That triggered him.
Before Adam could open his mouth to complain, Bison suddenly leaped backward, shaking his head, tripping over his feet as he tried to escape. “You white people are freaks. All of you, freaks! Always with the kinks, always!”
“You better get used to it. If light petting bothers you, wait until we get into the thick of it. Don’t worry, I get it. Stage fright, it happens to all of us, but no reason to be hostile,” Adam approached him, holding out his hand to help Bison back to his feet. Bison turned, grit his teeth, his eyes fixated on the zippity zoop dangling in front of him. “You’ve seen another man’s junk. Come on now. Stop being so modest. You’ve been in a locker room filled with guys when you played basketball, or football, or track, or whatever sport in high school.”
“I didn’t sign up for this shit!”
“Of course, you did,” Adam assured him. Meanwhile, Anastasia climbed up onto him, started licking the side of his face like one gigantic lollipop. Bison actually trembled.
“Adam, Adam, you need to stop punking the new guy. Don’t worry, Bison, you came here not to shoot porn. You came here to wrestle. Adam will teach how to wrestle.”
“He’s not? Oh!” Adam staggered back with surprise after connecting all the dots.
“He’s not, oh…” Anastasia staggered back with dismay after receiving that disappointing news.
“He’s not, yeah!” Bison staggered back with relief after that much-needed confirmation.
“Hck-Ack-Ch-ch-rck!” the air conditioner cried before uttering its last breath, again.
Adam walked up to a green screen, that cut the hotel room in half. He initially planned on bringing some assistants on board to help him with the production of his shoots as well as the pornographic materials. He had it to do it alone. Bison refused to assist him in ‘matters of stupidity’ and agreed to only stand there, quiet, arms crossed and a stone-cold face. He FINALLY agreed to play the role of the muscle. With the camera set up, the promo started to record. Adam walked across the green screen in his navy-blue suit and off-white dress shirt. He pictured it now, the American flag waving in the background as he made his declaration.
[REC]
Adam started, pacing back and forth in front of the stoic Bison Jones, a finger pointed towards the ceiling: “You tried to cancel me! Yes, you! The rabid left played their hand, sought to cancel Wrestling’s Enlightenment, Adam Allocco. They whined. Moaned. Bitched. HOW DARE YOU say that to that to the Cruze family and friends! HOW DARE YOU be so insensitive to their genuine concerns and fears regarding Owen’s welfare! What about the fans! THINK OF THE FANS! How were distraught believing that their favorite wrestler, the man that has inspired them to live full lives and find God, or whatever the bullshit attributed to the little punk.”
“Guess what I have to say about that?”
“LOSERS! Cancel culture can’t catch me! That’s right. Not even a suspension!” Adam paused with a triumphant smile on his face. “Screw you, you CAN’T beat me. I will say this. I’m glad. Glad that Owen Cruze lives to see another day so in the future I can kick his ass all over the SCW ring. Glad that Shaun Cruze left professional wrestling for Hollywood, no longer does this sport have to withstand his stench. Glad that Orlando Cruze hasn’t come to haunt me for being mean to his blood. That guy was intimidating enough alive. Can’t imagine the nightmares he would cause me, and baby, Adam needs his beauty sleep.”
“But the reason behind my return to SCW, the reason why I brought this big bad wolf behind me is not to end the Cruze lineage, even though it’s easier than you would think due their few numbers and even though it’s mighty tempting. No, I am not THAT petty. I returned because there is this running joke that has been going on for almost a decade now in various circles of professional wrestlers and their mates. That’s Adam Allocco could never bring home the SCW Tag Team Championships, no matter how many times he switched partners, he’ll always be that fool who can’t accomplish something supposedly so easy!”
Adam smirked. “Well, first of all, I’m not the only wrestling great that had issues bagging those two gold beauties. Regan Street and Selena Frost have been struggling for months now to try to depose of a thot and her man.”
“Second of all, times have changed, baby! Let’s be clear. This is not the same as before. The past is the past. The present is here and I’m soaring towards those beautiful belts. Last week! LAST WEEK! The Golden Boys knocked off Dark Fantasy, the best tag team in history and we did it with grace and elegance! Don’t let anyone else tell you differently. Finally, I tamed the two shrews. What’s next on this tour? I let you what next. Rise to Greatness weekend, where— SPOILERS ALERT— Golden Boys defeat Las Bandidas de Gata Negra to become the number one contenders for the SCW Tag Team Championship! I introduce you to the easy four-step plan to become SCW Tag Team Champions; we’re not one step three and next, we defeat whoever crawls out of the big show as the champions. Easy-peasy!” Adam stated as he leaned now back into Bison’s barrel chest. He nodded his head. Crossed his arms. He looked up at the big man and noticed a glare glued on his partner’s face. Adam hurried to move away, approaching the camera now.
“NOW! I know the marks will point out that I shouldn’t look past Los Tacos De Grata but I assure you that I take them seriously. Seriously enough that I thought about calling the IRS on them. We speak English here, ladies. And you both might be mighty hot Latinas who I assume made your name in the lucha libre, but to me! To Wrestling’s Enlightenment who traveled far and wide before becoming a respected scholar of the squared circle, you’re nothing but Tex-Mex. You’re the Taco Bell of tag team wrestling, easy fast food. No, you’re even worse, you’re the Del Taco! You’re the watered-down representation of that great cultural phenomenon that is Mexican wrestling. And as a wrestling snob, I have to stick my nose up at the prospect of facing the likes of you two. WE DESERVE BETTER THAN FOREIGN IMPORTS! This is America, baby!
“And what about us? We’re 100% real beef. We’re the gigantic pound patty of sizzling meat. We’re the perfect wrestling idols of the American working class, the American middle class, and the American elite! We’re Americans. Homegrown. Meat-Fed. Red-Blooded! AMERICANS! And we’re going to bring upon liberty on those SCW Tag Team Championship Belts, which are currently held hostage by the bimbo and the horndog!” Adam glanced down at his show, raising his finger again to motion for one moment. He nodded. “We understand that this might be Frozen Hell’s time, but if Hell actually froze over and they won the titles. Then Bison and I are going to have to rescue the not only the titles but the entire division from being consumed by Regan’s and Selena’s vanity.”
“Either way, I’m not doing this to stop the jokes. I’m doing this to bring upon the Golden Age of tag team wrestling. After all, we’re all Golden here,” Adam Allocco dropped the mic if he had a mic in his hand. He reached forward now to switch the camera off.
[/REC]
The green screen for the video was never edited to include the American Flag. Adam decided to put off video editing to visit the hotel room bar. He drank until he blacked out and never got around to booting up the laptop to insert that background. He passed out instead and only remembered to turn in the promotional material after someone from corporate reminded him of their obligation.
Well, it would have been cool if he had bothered.
King of HARDstyle 
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