A jobber’s favorite dominant heels

While my readers patiently wait for a new story, I thought I’d put together a list of my all-time favorite heels, the guys who frightened jobbers, destroyed them, and gave this young jobber a boner growing up and years of pleasure as an adult. And, thanks to the magic of youtube, I continue to dream and fantasize about these real men. In no particular order…

New story hopefully coming soon

So hopefully I’ll have a new story up in the coming…weeks. It’s called Jobber-Con. Comic-Con got me thinking of having a convention like that, but for jobbers, the heels who crush them, the fans who love them, the folks who mock them and everyone in between.

More real-life jobber humiliation: Meeting a heel

When I was 23, I met a guy through a wrestling website. He had a real wrestling ring in his basement. Ropes, turnbuckles, everything. He was in his early 50s and big, 6-4 or so, 300 pounds probably. I was 6-3, 215 pounds but ripe for a picking by a dominant heel. I’d never done anything like this before but had fascinated about it for YEARS. Basically, ever since my friend had lifted me up on my head and exposed my “panties.” Watching pro wrestling growing up, loving the jobbers, I dreamed of being a real pro but knew that would never happen, likely. But also didn’t think I’d meet anyone who understood my desires.

So finding this guy on the website was amazing. Before meeting him, I bought a pair of bikini swimming trunks. Baby blue. Tyr brand, actually, that fit my ass incredibly. Skimpy, but not too skimpy. A little skimpier than regular trunks but just slightly more coverage than the briefest of brief trunks that Chaz would wear. Covered my ass but rode up when I moved, the way I like it on my jobbers that I write my fictional stories about. I bought it at a sporting good store in a mall. Went there on my way to met the man. Was so horny, so craving abuse and humiliation for my jobber desires. As I stood in front of the trunks, I just pictured this man grabbing them and seeing me in them, exposed. A sales associate, in her mid 20s or so, cheerfully asked if she could help me with anything. I grabbed a few pairs of trunks and asked if I could try them on. She said sure and said most guys don’t try them on because they’re too embarrassed or something to do it. They just grab them. Yeah, most guys. Not jobbers.

My first real-life jobber humiliation

A bit about how I got started in real life with being obsessed with being a jobber.

When I was in fifth grade, I playfully wrestled my best friend, who lived across the street. We always watched the Legends of World Class Championship Wrestling on ESPN. So one summer day we start wrestling around. At one point, he brought me between his knees. He wasn’t standing, just kneeling, so it was like a mini pile driver. But he lifted me up for a piledriver/suplex. But he did it by slapping both of my buttcheeks, grasping my shorts and pulling up harshly. I wasn’t expecting that and as I was lifted onto my head, my tight green briefs could be seen by him. And he said, “Nice panties.” I was so embarrassed, but was helpless, just standing on my head as he fell backward. It didn’t really hurt but I played it out, like a jobber would. He dominated the whole match. We somehow fell into jobber/heel roles even though we didn’t know what they were. He kept doing that move and I kept allowing it, each time feeling my green briefs on display. At one time he said he wanted to try a real suplex but I was scared to have the trunks grabbed even more and demurred. Not to mention it probably would have been impossible for him to pull off and he might have broken my neck.

New story: Diary of a Heel

Hey all. New story up. DIARY OF A HEEL. Filled with the tales of a heel’s career. With special appearances by: Red Tyler, Tommy Angel, Joe Cruz, Ron Cumberledge, Trent Knight, Chris Hawn, Tom Zenk, a jobber orgy, handcuffs, Madusa Micili, Stephanie McMahon…and more! Hope you enjoy this 20,000-word opus. Let me know what you think!

DIARY OF A HEEL
SEPTEMBER 21, 1988
Dear Diary,
What the fuck. Just kidding. This isn’t some pussy’s diary. Don’t even know why I’m doing this. Guess because it’s lonely on the road being a pro wrestler and when I’m not fucking hookers or beating up wannabes in hick bars, I have a lot of downtime. So might as well talk about my career a bit. Maybe some day some archeologist will discover this and see what a wrestling heel was like in this country in the late 20th century.

Anyway, me. Bad Billy Butcher’s my name. It was William Butcher. The Bad and Billy were added by promoters. I’m 31 years old right now, been in this business 12 god damn years. I’m a heel, a bad guy. About 6-2, 250 pounds, strong, bit of a gut. I wear black trunks and black boots. Occasionally I’ll wear a mustache.

Love beating up jobbers. I’ve never won a major title but I’m always in some pretty good matches. I’m known as a great worker and a master of execution. I can do any move, any hold, any slam. And I enjoy my work. Lord do I enjoy it. Nothing better than a young jobber who’s practically just out of diapers and now he’s being paraded around in front of thousands – or dozens – of people in little spandex trunks. I love kicking their ass, spitting on them, yanking their trunks up their ass, slapping them and, sometimes when the mood strikes me, making them suck my cock later in the night, back in the locker room. I was married at 18 cause we had a kid, but we divorced at 20. Don’t talk to my ex much and that’s fine. I got my wrestling. All I need.

Anyway, had my first match with the NWA today. In their little TBS Georgia studio with Tony Schiavone on the call. Maybe three dozen people crammed into that little place. But I like it already. So close, so intimate, the crowd really gets to see me as I work over the jobbers. Wrestled this little blonde fairy named Tommy Angel. You’ve seen him getting worked over every week on TBS. Maybe 210 pounds and wears the skimpiest little white spandex trunks you’ve ever seen. Before the match in the locker room, the little fucker came up to me to shake my hand, welcome me to the organization and wish me good luck in the match.

New story coming by March 15

A quick update. I’ll have a new story up here by March 15. Figure if I set a deadline that should motivate me to do it. It’s called “Diary of a Heel.”

Basically, it’s written in diary form by an unnamed heel. An unnamed heel who will have a lot in common with guys like Bob Orton, Arn Anderson, Barry Windham and Terry Funk. In other words, an old school heel who loved delivering punishment and humiliation to little jobber boys. It’ll be written from a heel’s perspective but believe me, will be alllllll about jobber domination. But for those who like things from the heel’s point of view and their psychology (and feel like maybe some of my recent stories didn’t have enough of that), I think you’ll like it. For those who like their jobbers being humiliated in front of women, you’ll like it, I think. For those who love their jobbers being trotted out in front of crowds in small trunks to be used and jeered at, I think you’ll like it.

And there will be just enough locker room and out of the ring scenes as well, for those who like seeing their jobbers dominated outside the squared circle.

Also, if you haven’t read it, bookmark this site: http://www.wrestlingarsenal.net/wordpress/

No one understands the psychology of old-school squash wrestling like the awesome keeper of that site, who, I’m very proud to say, has said I helped inspire some of his lines and posts. He’s definitely inspired many of mine.

Update, miscellaneous

Hey all. I’m working on a story or two but have no idea when they will be finished. My apologies. Hopefully not too long and I’ve used a lot of the ideas and fantasies that some people have suggested.

Was just thinking how my biggest dream in life, from the time I was like 14, was to be a humiliated jobber. What a dream, huh? Even now I’d love to find a promoter who would turn me into a jobber and have me perform at local events in small trunks, have me dominated, abused, wedgied, laughed at and emasculated by a dominant, tough, bully of a heel. So if there are any promoters out there interested in an eager jobber…

Then again, real life does, of course, intrude and who knows if I could really go after it. A decade ago I emailed with a promoter who said he could do some of those things for me but at the time I could not leave my job and it was in a different part of the country. Now I wish I had.

Anyway, if any wrestlers want to treat me like the jobbers in my stories, in private or especially in public, email me. Not certain I can meet up but will try.

And like I said, will hopefully have some new stories up in the coming weeks. Thanks for reading.

Story: His mommy made him a jobber

Hey all. As promised, new story (changed the working title). Love to hear from people in the comments or emails. Hope you enjoy! At the end of the story, I included some videos of matches that have inspired this story and the other ones on this blog.

HIS MOMMY MADE HIM A JOBBER
Shane Tyler turned 18 in August. He’d graduated from high school in June. At Christmas he sat around the tree with his mom Victoria, twin sister Allison, dad Mike and their grandma Florence. Victoria, as always, passed out the presents. Allison had about 10. Grandma had six or seven. Victoria had six or seven. Dad got none. Shane only got one. One single box. A big box. But still just one.

“Mom, what the fuck is this?” he asked.

“That’s your present, honey,” Victoria responded. Victoria was 36. She’d had her twins when she was just 18 and she maintained her physical beauty. Red-haired, big tits, tight ass, a domineering figure. Her husband had been a high school jock but mentally weak. It’d been pretty easy to coerce him into the family business. Her own mom, the kids’ grandma, had been a top wrestling promoter back in the day. Grandma had turned her own husband – now deceased – into a wrestling jobber whore. They didn’t have skimpy trunks back then but he never won a match, always losing to the likes of Bruno Sammartino and Killer Kowalski. He’d been buried in a pair of black trunks and white boots.

Some polls and questions for readers

Just a quick poll for visitors here. Nothing scientific, no Zogby, or Gallup here. Simply curious. Are you a male or female? And some other questions.

I’m assuming the vast, vast, vast majority of visitors are males, guys who search out jobber-heel/wrestling stories, or guys who stumble on it accidentally and go “What the hell, this isn’t what I’m looking for!” and the odd female who comes across the page. I have so many fetishes related to my jobber fantasies, most of which I’ve chronicled in the stories on this blog. I love being dominated – and writing stories like this – by men, being the jobber boy in skimpy trunks controlled and used by a strong male heel. But a big thing of mine is also being humiliated by women and failing that, in front of women. Love the videos of hot girls in the crowd watching a jobber get crushed, wedgied, dominated, humiliated by a superior man.

So, a quick poll and feel free to leave any comments too or email me at rookiejobber@yahoo.com (and I still promise a story soon. If not this week, next. If I don’t get it this week, as punishment I will suplex myself 11 times, though I’m not exactly sure how).

Thanks all! And as always, love to get emails or read comments from readers.

Working on a new story

Hopefully will be done in a week or so.

A FAMILY OF JOBBERS

It’s the story of 20-year-old Shane Tyler. His grandpa was a jobber. His dad was a jobber. He said he’d never follow in the family footsteps, even though his sister always beat him up growing up. But on Christmas Day, two months after his 18th birthday, his mom gave him only three presents: pink wrestling trunks, knee pads, and white boots. It was time for his life of humiliation and degradation to begin – in private and in the wrestling ring. He was off to the world of professional wrestling, where heels like Terry Funk, Kevin Sullivan, Nikolai Volkoff, Mike Rotunda and many more waited for the newest pussy jobber in pink.

My Husband’s a Jobber

New story time. Hope you all like it. As always, I LOVE hearing from those who read it. Thanks for taking the time to read it, it’s a new jobber but same old humiliations.

MY HUSBAND’S A JOBBER

I suppose the videotapes should have given me a clue. My name’s Kara Dawson. I’m 27 years old. I’m 5-8, 115 pounds, blonde hair. Married to Mark Dawson. He’s 28, 6-1, 215 pounds. Brown hair. Pretty hot guy. We dated from the time we were 20 and have been married three years. I thought it was an all right marriage.

He had a good job and seemed loving. Okay, the sex sucked. He had a four-inch dick. When hard. And he didn’t know what he was doing; if he lasted three minutes inside me it was a record. I didn’t know if he could ever give me kids but maybe one day we’d adopt. Whatever.

But it turns out I just didn’t know what really got him off. A year after we got married, I needed a videotape. He had a bunch of unlabeled tapes and I figured I could use one of those. Just to be sure, I watched what was on them. It was pro wrestling. In all the years I’d lived with him, Mark had never watched wrestling in front of me. I fast-forwarded through a few matches, hoping to find something I could tape over. But the entire tape was wrestling. I took another tape. Same thing. Now it seemed weird. Why didn’t he ever say he watched pro wrestling?

In fact, one time I was watching a taping and asked him if he ever watched and he walked up and said he didn’t “watch that stupid shit.” Growing up with two brothers, my sister and I were forced to watch wrestling with them. I wasn’t that excited about it as a kid but we watched it every Saturday and on Mondays. I do remember thinking it was pretty funny that all those hot guys were running around in their underwear. Seemed a little, what’s the word, gay. And Mark had tapes full of those types of matches. The fuck? Strike that, four tapes, as each one I checked was filled with matches.

In everyone I saw, it looked like one guy getting dominated by the other. Weird. I asked him about it and he stumbled and mumbled, finally saying it was on some tapes he’d bought a few years ago. They were supposed to be Patriots football games but the guy sent him the wrong ones. I believed him, naively. I basically forgot about it, although in the back of my mind I always wondered if he had a thing for watching sweaty guys in speedos roll around with each other. My masculine Mark. A football player in college. Tough guy. All the girls loved him. Ha.

Fast-forward a few years. Mark goes out and I hop on the computer. He had accidentally left his screens open. And his email, jobberwannabe@gmail.com. What the hell? I read through every message he wrote and received. Hundreds of them. Messages to him and from him. They were all to men it looked like, and he talked about wanting to be something called a “jobber.” He talked about how much he liked watching jobbers get humiliated and dominated in the ring. He fantasized about being beaten up, punched, his hair pulled, while wearing wrestling trunks. He had joined yahoo groups that showed pictures of pro wrestlers in various states of submission. He was obsessed with a guy named Tom Zenk and Tommy Angel and Red Tyler.

New story coming: My husband’s a jobber

I really appreciate everyone who contacts me and leaves a comment here, sorry if I don’t get to everyone as quickly as I should. Just to give a heads-up. In the next week or so, I’ll have a new story posted. MY HUSBAND’S A JOBBER.

What will it be about? Oh, the usual. Jobbers, humiliation, embarrassing trunks, public degradation, domination, body slams, suplexes, cruel heels, physical abuse, cuckolding, emotional abuse, jeering crowds, etc. A woman discovers her husband’s jobber fetish and turns him into what he thought he always wanted: a jobber in pink trunks. Reality proves to be much more humiliating than he could have ever imagined.