Marco is not afraid of big, bad Wolf. The guys hairy and muscular all right, but Marco is making his mark at Thunders Arena one big-chested lout at a time. With his now familiar wise-guy attitude and style, Marco accuses the barefoot Wolf of stealing his customers and makes cracks about what the darkly handsome musclebears boyfriend likes to do with Wolfs big titties. Wolf is good-natured about the gibes, confident that his size and strength can overpower the mouthy roughneck from Pennsylvania. Maybe he knows something, or maybe he just hasnt watched enough of Marcos earlier fights, in which this kid has cut his way through meat-monsters like Dominic, Dozer, and Lupe like they were made of cheese.

Marco goads Wolf into a shoving contest. Wolf drives his knee to Marcos midsection and shoves him facedown to the mat, delivering a forearm smash to the spine. He snaps Marcos arm back in a chickenwing, but releases without trying for a pin or submission. He asks the young hothead what his name is and then mocks him, claiming the name Marco means boy, though in what language he never says. Actually the name Marco derives from Mars, the Roman god of war, a derivation Wolf may want to take seriously before pushing any more of the compact bruisers buttons.

The two compare biceps and thighs. Wolf teases Marco for his skinny legs, and Marco pokes and clutches a thick slab of Wolfs quadriceps, concluding that if it jiggles, its fat. Marco swoops in and grabs Wolf around the waist from behind, driving him to his knees. Reaching between the big mans thighs, Marco clasps hands and flips him over and into a pinning position. You got such big legs, why dont you just kick out? Marco taunts. He presses belly to belly, locking Wolfs legs into his, and pulling wrists over head he attempts the classic (and steamy) schoolboy pin. Wolf muscles his way out of the pin but fails to reverse. Marco hauls him up off his feet in a reverse bear hug, an impressive display of Marcos surprising strength.

Now its Wolfs turn to ride Marcos back, again driving him facedown to the mat and twisting his arm. Like them big titties on your fuckin back? he says, obviously enjoying the ride as well as his opponents writhing discomfort. But again, inexplicably, Wolf lets the youngster go, offering him another chance. Wolf may want to be careful about how many chances he gives Marco, whose prowess is matched only by his opportunism. Marco talks so much about titties Wolf squeegees Marcos face against his bristly chest hair. Gross, Marco grumbles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Marco drops Wolf to the mat but finds himself immediately caught in a front headlock. He pulls free, though, and climbs up Wolfs body, seats himself on his hairy chest, and triumphantly wags his crotch in the big mans face while pinning his wrists over his head.

Give and take like this characterizes the match. Marco teases Wolf over the bulge in his gear (Pistol Pete down there, eh?), prompting Wolf to pay back the earlier schoolboy pin (Big bad wolf gonna put this in your face). The usual oneupmanship and capers dominate what is mostly a leisurely, friendly tussle, with the rough edges one can expect when two male egos butt heads for the title of manliest man in the room. Wedgies, double head scissors, bear hugs, and grudging body worship sort out who is going to be the ultimate alpha dog, a glory claimed when one of these guys unequivocally submits the other with a nerve-wrenching arm bar with a wicked sleeper to top off the night.

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