Cousins. Rivals. A Wrestling Story Pt. 03 – Family Feud

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Welcome back, readers.

For those who haven’t read Parts 1 & 2, this story attempts to verbalise the lifelong rivalry I’ve shared with my cousin Tommaso, who is 1 year older than me but otherwise identical in most ways.

In Part 1 I described the first time one of our usual scraps for dominance became sexual.

In Part 2, ten years later, that spark was rekindled as we jostled over Tom’s fiancée, Fran – my school crush.

This entry picks up not long after that.

What a crazy six months it has been in the Marrone family.

If this blog entry seems more extreme than those previously shared, it’s in keeping with the real life events they are based off. As requested by some readers, I will specify when I’m deviating away from reality and into ‘what if’ territory.

It’s also going to be long, so get comfortable.

I can recall three distinct memories that flooded my mind as I mounted Fran. Yes, you read that correctly. I was sleeping with Tom’s girlfriend, a mere two weeks after they announced their engagement. I can say with a clear conscience that it wasn’t planned – she came back to my place having left some stuff here from the time they both crashed. We hadn’t spent any time alone together since being at the school we all attended, which only served to exacerbate that spark that hung in the air between us.

Now there was only that spark as we stood in the spare bedroom of my flat, inches apart in silence as the small talk died. It propelled me forward to kiss her, and she didn’t resist.

The first memory was of the original treachery. On a school trip to France, Fran and I had fooled around a bit – in that teenage way, a few kisses here and there. Now holding hands on the bus as she slept on my shoulder, my naïve 13 year old self had assumed we had some understanding. I found out a couple of weeks later that she was now with Tom, my cousin, and they remained together to this day. It stung because seeing them was like looking in a mirror – though our bodies have changed, Tom and I have always been facially identical. At the time I wondered if perhaps Fran had just got confused between us.

I left no room for confusion now, as I pinned Fran down on the bed and she gasped as I bit her exposed neck. It was stiflingly hot and her breasts were plastered to my chest, sweat creating a natural lubricant as I went in for the kill.

I know my audience so will spare you the sex details, but suffice to say that as I entered her (seemingly a perfect fit), the second flashback hit me.

Tom and I sharing a room in Italy on our annual family road trip, around 15 or so, lying next to eachother and wanking off while watching the Miss Italia swimsuit contests. Those weird bro moments that were somehow acceptable in our teens. Our arms were linked around eachother’s shoulders in a half-hug as the other hand furiously beat off our recently acquired 7 inches.

As we got closer, we naturally tightened our grip on eachother, so that on one side we were touching all the way down our bodies. I remember the sound of our cotton briefs rubbing together as we lay side by side. When he came, in his ecstasy he grabbed a handful of my fledgling right pec with his free hand, which made me shoot too, and writhing there in the moment I bit down on his shoulder. With both our eyes closed, our evenly sized cockheads glanced off eachother, just for a second. When I opened my eyes I noticed we had a thin string of cum hanging between the two still hard, glistening members. His or mine?

Now as I was thrusting in and out of his fiancée, the only sounds our moans and the slapping of our meshed loins, the experience felt similar. Looking at myself on top of her in the wall mirror, it was like seeing Tom, an act of double penetration in absentia, our warring cocks hitting eachother aside as we fought to get Fran to climax.

Which brings me to memory three, which is impossible to forget as it happened the previous week. The family, including our grandfather, the Don, had found out I was bi. I hadn’t seen Tom, but I knew he was the culprit. He was one of the only people in the world who knew that secret, and only then because he had caught me once with a guy. I was now on the receiving end of messages across the family, and the priest for that matter, and I was dreading the next family meal where I, the golden child in a culture where appearances and machismo are so important, would be subject to the Italian inquisition.

So yeah, while what happened with Fran wasn’t planned, in the moment there was a certain degree of smugness in revenge. Let him get cuckolded by the fag.

But once it was over and Fran had left, I realised Ankara escort that our rivalry had morphed, become heightened. This wasn’t a sports medal or promotion or some other act of petty one-upmanship. We’d always both loved and hated eachother – but now we were playing hardball with eachother’s lives.

There was bound to be a reckoning. As you can see from my latest pics I have gained some significant mass between then and now – this is no coincidence. I started working out every day for the first time in my life.

Cut to two weeks later. Tom and Fran had their engagement party, which I didn’t attend. It looked bad, but I was in hiding, and took it out on the weights. A couple of days after that, I got a message out of the blue from Tom.

‘Hey cuz. Missed you at the party. Want to get a work out in tomo night? Your gym {muscle emoji]’

We rarely worked out together because it usually ended in someone trying to take too much weight and pulling a muscle. Something was up but I accepted and we set a time – 8pm.

The gym was practically empty save a few regulars, as I arrived in my lycra top and swimshorts that I had chosen because they accentuated every muscle. To that effect, I did a few sets of pushups while I waited for Tom to arrive.

I got up just in time to look natural when the door swung open, and Tom arrived with his brother, my other cousin Davide. Davide was nearly 10 years younger than us, the same age as my own brother, and so he didn’t really have a place in the ecosystem of our rivalry. He’s a good guy and I like him a lot.

Our curse of coordination continued as Tom was sporting an identical outfit, just a different colour top. I seethed as I saw that he filled it out perfectly – he always seemed to have the edge on me in physique no matter what I did. Ever the fat kid.

We exchanged pleasantaries under a veneer of normality, not hugging as usual but instead nodding as we stepped to eachother. There was clear tension in the air between us from the moment we were both in the same space.

Davide did a lot to pacify things, so I said everything I wanted to with my eyes as we began to work out. We were scoping eachother out from across the gym, upping our weights as we went from station to station and Davide ran on the treadmill, oblivious. Ridiculous for two adults, but there it was.

At one point we both reached for the same dumbbell and Tom grabbed my hand – I thought we might just go at it there and then, jacked up to our prime, everything unspoken but all understood. Instead he released my hand and grabbed the next weight up. Fucker.

Things continued like that for about an hour, until I called it and went to shower. Davide signalled he was going to run for a bit longer – no wonder that kid is so lanky.

I stripped off the lycra top with some difficulty, given the sweat levels, and headed for the shower cubicles. I caught myself in the mirror en route and flexed my pecs. Don’t you just love that post-gym pump? I turned on the water and still had my swimshorts on when I heard the lockerroom doors slam open.

It turns out that Fran had had a bout of catholic guilt, and revealed all about our night of passion on the day of the engagement party. That’s the hypocrisy of Italian relationships – the man can sleep around unrepentantly, but when his girlfriend cheats it’s a mark against his honour.

I barely had a moment to comprehend what was going on when Tom stormed into the cubicle and pulled the door shut behind him, the lock clicking into place. In the confined space we were nose to nose and, for the moment, alone, water running down my back.

“Nowhere to hide now, cunt” he said in Italian – using fica, which also means cunt-chaser. “I was ready to rip your fag balls off at the party.”

My blood was up and I hadn’t noticed that we were forehead to forehead, pressing against eachother. “What bro? what? what?” I found myself spitting into his mouth which was millimetres away from my own.

“I’ll fucking end you that’s what!” he scowled, grabbing me by the throat and pushing me back under the shower jet, hitting my head against the tile. He lay some thick punches to my abs with his free hand, as I reached to strangle him with both of mine, my large hands barely encompassing his chunky neck.

Releasing his hold he grabbed me by both of the pecs and somehow managed to lift me up against the wall and slam me against it repeatedly, him crying out in primal rage and exertion at lifting my 85KG in this way, and me crying out from the pain of his fistsful of my meaty chest. When he dropped me we clinched and exchanged body shots, knees and punches to the side in unison Ankara escort bayan in the cramped space.

We said nothing, the only sounds were the water and the grunts it took to give and receive the blows, and the thwacking of fist on flesh. I noticed that my chest was bleeding from where he’d grabbed me, as it dripped and spun down the plughole. Although we were body to body, for once where was no tenting of the shorts from either of us. This was a nasty fight.

I pulled down on his shirt from the back of his neck to choke him with it, and it ripped a little from the force. He instinctively grabbed at it and stepped back a little. I followed this up with a headbutt, allowing me the chance to unlock the door and get out of there. I was a little dizzy from the blows and wanted out. But Tom was having none of that, as I paced away from the showers he ran after me and tackled me from behind at the crotch the ground.

We clinched on the ground to get face to face again, sliding along the tile floor. He bit down on my neck, and I roared fiercely, wrapping both arms around his midsection in a phenomenal bearhug squeeze. Using all the force I could muster I flipped us both over and we fell headlong down a flight of 5 tiled stairs that separated the shower room from the main lockers. 170kg of pure Italian anger landed in the lockerroom, where now there were a couple of onlookers returning from the gym. These guys were scrawny and probably couldn’t have broken us up if they wanted to. But they were content to watch, with the occasional “Fuck!” and “This is serious”.

Actually this section from a WWE match gives some nice flavour, skip to 10:12:

Tom was now mounting me and had his hands around my neck. I punched into his chest hard and he released and fell on top me with a smack, his ripped shirt exposing his perfectly sculpted pecs that were now pressing into mine. Both of us now had our hands over eachother’s mouths and noses, smothering and clawing.

After some time writhing like this, I managed to flip this giant hunk of meat that at that moment felt like my mortal enemy over again by pulling on his shorts, so I was on him, water dripping everywhere, with my forearm against his throat. He grabbed a handful of hair and I matched him, bringing another headbutt down and pressing my full weight down on his body. We used our free arm for punches to the side, as our powerful legs locked up to a stalemate position.

At this point Davide came into the locker room. “What the fuck?” I heard somewhere behind me, as he moved in to restore order. Sanity momentarily returned and we pushed away from eachother, Davide standing between us. “Guys, whatever this is, stop!”

“You got exactly what you deserved” I spat at Tom, past his brother. “And she loved it too”.

That was enough to kick things off again, with us both trying to circle around Davide and the onlookers who were now in the way, to connect with eachother again. Tom literally threw his brother to one side while I ran around and scrambled over the benches to get to him, and we crashed into eachother once more, both of us letting out a gasp at the force hitting us. He pushed me away, grabbed a handful of hair and slugged me hard, which took me aback, but I returned it with quick jabs to his face which made him stagger too. We looked at eachother as if in a mirror, realising we had given eachother a bloody nose. Neither one of us was going to submit, and neither cared. It was just a gratuitous, primal slugfest.

We were going for another clinch when Davide got up and was between us again. “Just stop it now, or I’ll call dad down here”.

That brought us back to reality and we realised the ridiculousness of what we were doing. “You’re fucking done, faggot” Tom scowled past his brother. Grabbing a towel, they both left the gym, leaving me panting for breath in the locker room. When he’d gone, I could suddenly hear how fast my heart was beating, and a low growl that I must have been emitting the whole time.

Believe it or not, this fight was only the start of a crazy period in our family.

Tom and I got into the habit of exchanging some brutal trash talk via whatsapp, getting very creative with the insults. We both wanted to have a final resolution to this feud, which we knew would inevitably be a clash of the titans face off in private somewhere.

In the interim, Davide had told his father, my uncle Alessandro what had happened. I realised that he put two and two together when a week later I found him knocking on my door in London.

My uncle Alessandro always cut an imposing figure. He is the Don’s first son, a gym bunny and had practised Escort Ankara martial arts. Whenever I see him I’m reminded of a time when I was staying over at his house, and Tom and I were scrapping in bed late at night. I was straddling Tom and pinning his arms down over his head with what in those days was my superior weight (i.e. flab).

Sandro came in to tell us to shut up, he was trying to sleep. Like a true Italian, he slept in briefs. To my 10 year old self he looked huge, a bulging chest covered in dark hair, and thick heavy-set legs. When he saw that I was on top of his son, he strode over to the bed and threw me aside like a doll. “Think you’re the wrestling champion do you?” He replicated the move I was just doing, pinning down my arms with what felt like immeasurable force. I squirmed trying to get free, and remember my own briefs rubbing lamely against his huge dormant bulge. I kicked at his sides to no effect. “Accept defeat” he said, “and know that we are the top dogs in this family”. He meant it in a good natured way then, but given my golden child status with my grandparents I know he’s always hated my guts.

Standing face to face with him now 20 years later, he was greying but still a sight to behold. He occasionally worked out with my stepdad on top of his own regime. But in the meantime, I had grown too, and the fear of him thumping around Tom’s house that I used to feel was a distant memory.

“I need to have a word with you.”

We went into my living room, where I had a fire going. We remained standing as he began to lecture me, who did I think I was, I always thought I could get whatever I wanted, and so on. And then the line that struck me, “and I always knew you were a faggot”.

I was half tempted to reveal the gay-ass shit Tom and I had got up to when he last stayed in this very flat we were standing in, but I didn’t want to incriminate myself further.

I maintained that Tom struck first by outing me to the family, and he even attacked me first even though I had good cause to start some beef.

“Stealing someone’s woman is a whole other ballgame.” He said, and suddenly seemed to get much bigger. “It’s an insult to me as the head of the family”. Bitch please, it’ll be a sorry day when the Don passes away and that statement is actually true.

Getting quite pissed now, I said I’d heard enough and I think you’d better leave before you say something you truly regret.

“I don’t think you understand. You’ve insulted my family, and I’m here to remind you that we are the top dogs in this family, and we deserve respect.”

Now, what actually happened here is that from nowhere, my uncle laid a slap across my face that knocked me to the ground. He spat on me, dusted himself off, and left. This started a chain of events in my family that is still being borne out today.

However, for the sake of the story, let’s say he stayed. What would I have done? Of course it would be satisfying to turn the tables and kick his ass.

This blog has gone on long enough though, so I’ll just share some videos of how I imagine that going. If you’d like me to type it up into a story, just message me.

After the smackdown, things escalated between our families. When my stepdad, who’s English, heard about it, I knew he’d have words with my uncle. They’d had a failed business venture together and couldn’t stand eachother.

But, being family they still worked out together occasionally. I heard on the grapevine that there had been some sort of confrontation between them about what had happened, but I can’t confirm for sure if there was a fight. My stepdad wouldn’t tell me. For reference, my stepdad is huge. English guys tend to be stockier than Italians, and his manual work only exemplified that. I have often wondered who would win in a wrestle between them. Again if you’d like that to be explored, just message me.

Once the rumours of this confrontation spread among the males of the family, even Davide and my little brother got involved. He told me that they’d got into an argument at school about it, and ended up scrapping on the walk home to defend each brother’s honour. I got some of the details, it sounded very scrappy – kinda Fightplace style. Apparently it blew up again at home when they were hanging out after school that day. Being half English, my brother has some of the stockiness of his dad, which would give him some advantage. It’s funny to think of another cousin rivalry spawned by the first.

As we approached April and my shared birthday with the Don, I knew it was going to come to a head.

A small number of family members were flying back to our village in Italy for the celebration – the Don’s 80th.

Sure enough, I got a message from Tom saying he’s booked us a room. “Only one of us leaves as a true Marrone”.

But for that explosive conclusion you’ll have to wait for Cousins, Rivals Part 4: Alpha Showdown!

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