Murder in the Rue St. Ann (2 page)

And now it was Shayne Goodwin’s turn to destroy an opponent. Shayne had been his favorite until Cody Dallas’ debut. Shayne was tall, lean and muscular, and had a shaved head. He always wore a tiny blue squarecut to emphasize his amazingly round, hard ass. He didn’t lose very often, but it looked like this time he was going down. Jamie West was the same height, but outweighed him by about 20 pounds of hard defined muscle. Jamie also seemed to have no problem with breaking rules during the match; he choked Shayne and grabbed his balls whenever he was in trouble. Sure enough, after Shayne won the first fall, he lost the next two.

 It was a good fight—one he would have to watch and savor at regular speed sometime in the future.

The next match was clumsily staged. Both guys were new to the sport and  the holds were obviously faked. They had flawless bodies— maybe at some point, with more experience, they might be able to wrestle a real match, but for now, they were strictly making a video for the pleasure of the viewers.

He hated watching matches like that—he preferred to watch real matches, with real holds and real pain.

And finally, that mess was over, and Cody climbed into the ring to warm up and stretch. He clicked from fast forward to play and let out a long sigh.

His erection was so hard it almost hurt.

He reached for his bottle of poppers and inhaled. As the rush spread through his body, his skin became sensitive and his nipples stood up hard and firm.

Cody wore a tight yellow bikini that rode up a bit on his hard ass. The yellow showed off his tan to perfection. He was perfection.

Then Mark Miller climbed through the ropes and removed his blue satin jacket. He wore a black squarecut. He had a head of thick blonde hair, a pretty face, a great body, but he was nothing compared to Cody.

“So, you’re the great Cody Dallas,” he said with a big grin.

Cody struck a double biceps pose. “Yeah.”

“You’ve never lost.”

“Nope.”

Mark’s smile grew. “Until now.”

“You’re dreaming.”

“
Well, bring it on then, big guy.”

They started to circle each other, one feinting toward the other, then backing off without locking up. Cody made a sudden lunge and managed to get one of Mark’s legs, which he lifted and twisted. Mark fell backwards and landed on the mat with a thud. Cody planted his own leg and twisted Mark’s around his own. Mark let out a shout of pain and slammed his fist into the mat whenever Cody applied more pressure. This hold lasted for a minute or so, until Mark managed to get some leverage.  He used his free leg to kick Cody square in the chest. Cody lost his balance and his grip, falling backwards into the ropes. Mark sprang to his feet, and as Cody came forward out of the ropes, Mark drove his right hand into Cody’s abs.

Cody doubled over and fell to the mat, groaning.

He reached for the bottle of poppers and inhaled again as Mark began to work over a prone Cody. He dropped elbows and then knees into Cody’s exposed and
vulnerable abs. With each blow, Cody convulsed and moaned. His eyes were closed, his face grew dark red and sweat poured down from his hairline. Finally, Mark grabbed a handful of hair, dragged Cody to his feet, and shoved him into a ring corner. Mark started to drive his right knee into Cody’s abs, which were starting to bruise
.

“Come on, Cody, kick his ass,” he muttered as he reached for the bottle of poppers again. Cody
never
lost! This Mark guy was good, and sexy, and had a serious attitude—he grinned like a little boy on Christmas morning each time he drove that knee in again—but Cody would come through. He ALWAYS did.

Mark stepped away, and Cody slid down to the mat. Then Mark kicked Cody in the side. Cody slid out under the ropes and dropped to the floor.

Mark posed, flexed both arms over his head, and wiped sweat off his forehead. He looked into the camera, making his lightly furred pecs bounce while he growled.

In the background, he saw Cody use the lower rope to pull himself up to his feet.

He watched as the camera zoomed in on Cody’s ass. It was truly magnificent—round and hard, and the yellow bikini had slipped into the crack, like a thong. The exposed cheeks were white against Cody’s tan-line.

He slid his underwear down, and his erection slapped up against his lower abdomen. He held the poppers to his nose again and inhaled deeply.

Cody climbed through the ropes. Mark stopped flexing and started toward Cody. Cody leaped into a perfect dropkick and his bare feet slammed into Mark’s chest. Cody rolled in the air to land on his back and quickly spring back to his feet. Mark fell backward, hit the ropes and bounced forward back into the center of the ring. Cody connected with a powerful fist to Mark’s abs and Mark crumpled. Cody grabbed Mark by the head, launched into the air and drove Mark’s forehead into the canvas. Mark twitched once. Cody rolled him over with his foot, straddled his chest, and flexed as Mark shook his head, to try to reorient himself.

He picked up the remote and hit the pause button and the picture froze into an awesome still. He started to stroke himself. He imagined Cody sitting on his chest, just like in the video. He imagine staring right up into Cody’s crotch, where the yellow lycra was soaked with sweat. As his eyes traveled up, he saw the beads of sweat glistening in Cody’s curly black torso hair, a drop of salty water dangled from the elbow of Cody’s flexed right arm.

He stroked faster.

When he was close—when only a few more strokes would bring him to climax—he stopped.

He pressed himself deeper into the spongy sofa, his breath came in quick gasps. When his breath and his heartbeat returned to normal and the throbbing in his cock subsided to a dull ache in his balls, he picked up the remote and hit “play” again.

On the television screen, Cody stood and sauntered to a neutral corner and leaned back against the ropes while Mark slowly got up, shook his head and stretched a bit. Then he walked to the center of the ring and grinned at Cody.

“
You’re good,” he said, “but not that good.”

Cody just shrugged. “Apparently good enough.”

Mark beckoned him with his fingers. “Come on, muscle boy, let’s see if you can keep it up.”

Cody just ignored the taunts, another reason he loved him so much. It was hot when the other guys taunted each other at times to get their blood and testosterone pumping. But Cody was impervious to trash-talk. He preferred to coolly and methodically go to work and taking his opponents apart
.

Mark suddenly sucker punched Cody. The entire second fall went that way—Cody was barely able to mount any kind of offensive. When he did, Mark pulled
some dirty
trick to lay him out again. After a few minutes of this, Cody finally submitted to a brutal standing backbreaker
.

He didn’t touch himself during the entire second fall. He didn’t enjoy watching Cody get worked over. It didn’t happen very often, but when it did, he usually fast-forwarded through it. This fall would definitely be a fast-forward moment in the future.

The third fall started with Cody losing his cool. He was furious—it was plain in his face. He pounded the padding in the corner as he watched Mark flex for the mirror. Taunting never moved him into anger, but falling victim to dirty tricks certainly did. If Cody ran true to form, he would blast Mark to pieces with superior wrestling skills and some dirty tricks of his own to further humiliate the loser who dared get in the ring with Cody Dallas.

He inhaled some more of the poppers and his dick began to throb again. He started stroking slowly as Cody tortured Mark through hold after hold.

Cody trapped Mark in the corner, kneed him in the gut and then snap-mared him out to the center of the ring. Mark landed flat on his back with a groan. Both men were covered in sweat and Mark grew more wobbly with each move. He couldn’t last much longer. Cody methodically wore him down, the way he did all of his opponents. He  punished them until they couldn’t fight on, until they lost the will to continue.

His smile got bigger and he began to rub his cock faster.

Here it comes
, he thought as Cody moved in for the kill.

His breath started coming faster.

Cody was almost within reach of his victim, a big grin on his face. The end was near for Mark Miller. Cody looked into the camera and paused for a moment to flex his arms; the muscles strained against the skin. He drew closer.

His body began to stiffen.

-- and as he reached down, Mark reached up and slammed Cody in the balls—

He tried to stop himself but he felt the climax, could tell he wouldn’t be able to stop it.

--Cody collapsed in agony to the mat and tried to crawl to the ring apron.  Mark came after him and landed a kick on Cody’s lower back, driving him back down to the mat. Mark grabbed him by the legs and twisted them into a figure 4, a big grin on his sweating face—

He screamed “NO!” as his body convulsed, white gobs shot up into the air, his body rocked stiffly and cum spattered his chest and stomach.

--and Cody was pounding the mat, submitting, his face red and twisted with pain,  LOST  the match—

“No,” he whimpered as his spams subsided, each one slighter and shorter than the one before until finally they stopped.

And Mark flexed for the camera and held his arms clasped over his head in victory. “I’m the man, I’m the man,” he chanted for a few seconds. He cast a disdainful glance at Cody, motionless and  moaning. After a few seconds, he walked over to Cody and grabbed him by the hair. “Who’s the man, bitch?” he screamed into Cody’s face, spit flying.

Cody recoiled from him. “You—you are.”

“SIR!”

Cody screamed the words back at him, then Mark slammed Cody’s head down into the mat again. Cody moaned, his back arched and his body convulsed.

“No.” he whispered. He reached for the remote, hit STOP, and found himself staring at a rerun of
Designing Women
. “No.’ He said, louder, standing up. “No.” He raised his voice still louder.

It
couldn’t
be. Cody Dallas NEVER lost.

Who the fuck did this Mark Miller think he was, to cheat that way and then taunt the greatest wrestler in the world? Anger surged through him. He kicked the coffee table aside and lunged for the VCR. Cans and paper crashed off the table as it slammed into the reclining chair.

He stabbed a finger at the eject button, and when the tape popped out he threw it against the opposing wall and screamed, “NO!” Spittle flew from his lips. He heard his heart pounding in his ears. It couldn’t be—Cody never lost. So what if Mark Miller fought dirty?  Other guys—better wrestlers with hotter bodies and more attitude— also fought dirty and Cody always beat them, this wasn’t possible, it had to be a FIX, it was just couldn’t be.

He sat at his desk in the kitchen where his eMac was purring. He was connected to the Internet 24 hours a day thanks to the cable company. He typed
www.codydallas.com
and clicked “find.” The little wheel spun as the engine searched for the site.  Finally the black background loaded. But instead of the picture of Cody posed in a black jock that usually greeted him, there was simply a white box with blue text:

Dear fans:

I wanted to thank all of you for supporting my wrestling career over the past few years. Your kind emails have picked me up whenever I was having a bad day.

But the time has come to hang up my tights and retire from the ring. It wasn’t an easy decision for me to make, but I recently became involved with someone, and we’ve been growing more and more serious. I want to focus all of my time and energy on this relationship, and one of the changes I have had to face is that I don’t have time for a wrestling career any more at this time.

Again, thank you.

Your brother in wrestling,

Cody Dallas

Retired?
Boyfriend?

“No,” he whispered. “No.”

He shook his head to clear it. He bit down hard on his lip until tears filled his eyes. He wiped away  the tears and stared at the computer screen.

“No, Cody, I won’t let you leave me.” He said, smiling to himself.

Now he understood. Cody had thrown that match, had LET Mark beat him as a farewell to his fans. But Cody didn’t understand. He loved Cody not because he was an undefeated wrestler but because he was a hot, sexy guy with a great attitude. Cody was more than just a fantasy. The other wrestlers—they were okay. They had great bodies and nice faces. Some of them had great attitudes and some of them seemed to enjoy wrestling. But there wasn’t anyone else like Cody. He was the handsomest, the sexiest, the
best
wrestler. Even when he was losing, Cody was having a good time. He could always tell Cody was losing on purpose to make the match more interesting.