Typical tale. It could happen to you. Two dudes meet in the locker room at the gym. One of them is older, more experienced, and understandably cocky, almost endearingly so. His body is sick, a thing molded like clay by an artist. Who is this experienced body bodacious? None other than Aryx Quinn (aka Tristan Baldwin), skin baked red from the California sun. He doesn't waste his time fighting for titles or bragging rights, not anymore. Quinn fights for stakes, or so he says, as he retrieves a bunch of condoms from within his locker, holding them up like the ultimate symbol of his desired win. Landon Mycles is the youthful studpuppy who happens to collide with Quinn. There's a light in his eyes, an eagerness that begs for a long, hot, sweaty fight to the finish. Asses on the line, the two men lockup, in what can only be the most sexually charged and mutually attracted pairing of two wrestlers in some time.
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Typical tale. It could happen to you. Two dudes meet in the locker room at the gym. One of them is older, more experienced, and understandably cocky, almost endearingly so. His body is sick, a thing molded like clay by an artist. Who is this experienced body bodacious? None other than Aryx Quinn (aka Tristan Baldwin), skin baked red from the California sun. He doesn't waste his time fighting for titles or bragging rights, not anymore. Quinn fights for stakes, or so he says, as he retrieves a bunch of condoms from within his locker, holding them up like the ultimate symbol of his desired win. Landon Mycles is the youthful studpuppy who happens to collide with Quinn. There's a light in his eyes, an eagerness that begs for a long, hot, sweaty fight to the finish. Asses on the line, the two men lockup, in what can only be the most sexually charged and mutually attracted pairing of two wrestlers in some time.
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