Then I met Dimitri. We started off as sparring partners. It led to more. It was inevitable. For me. Not so much for Dimitri. He’s so caught up in Catholic guilt trips and an over protective mother hovering over him, and damn Latin machismo, and his wife. He doesn’t love her. Not really. If he loved her, he wouldn’t go roaming the streets at night fucking strangers in alleys and hating himself. They are together because they are supposed to be. Because the big macho fighting champ is supposed to have a hot blond pedazo de culo like her. She’s hot stuff and she knows it. She thinks she deserves a man like Dimitri, handsome, hung, successful, a champion. But she doesn’t really love him. She won't ever love him. Not like I do.

The damn shit of it is that he loves me, too. He said so… when he was ******. When he was out of it enough to be honest with himself. It's just. It’s killing me. Bastian tries to help. It’s his job to keep me on top of my game. There is a lot riding on this championship. A whole lot. So yesterday he brought me a fucktoy. I have groupies. Who knew? Well, Bastian did.

So he comes in with this cute little Columbian named Milo… wearing glasses. I could pick him up with one hand and throw him across the room. He would probably let me, too. Just being in the same room with me is a dream come true for the little fag. That’s cool! I’m horny and I needed a hole to fuck. I took him back to my room and stripped him. I fucked his throat balls deep and he barely gagged. He’s good.

Then I held him down by his throat and fucked his ass like a freight train. He wanted me? I showed him what a real fighter is. I don’t know what he expected. I didn’t care. I pounded him until he screamed, but he never said stop. Either he’s a real fan, or a total pig. I hope he’s both. I’m going to wear him out.