The “Italian Stallion” Chronicles
I have to document one of my favourite memories from the stage. I was prepping for the Italian Stallion Competition, and I’d hand-picked seven of the hottest guys on-site. Strong, charismatic, handsome, and—let’s just say—very well-endowed.
The catch? They had no clue what they were signing up for. I never share the details upfront; if I did, they’d probably bolt. First rule of sales: Never give away the twist too early.
Planning an event in the Mediterranean means respecting the Siesta. After the police paid us a visit on Day One because our music was a bit too “spirited” for the neighbors (oops, my bad!), I knew I had a tight 20-minute window to create absolute chaos before the quiet hour.
I originally wanted four men, but ended up with seven. Call me greedy, but I couldn’t send those three back to their sun loungers. With a quick assist from the gorgeous Elena on the Spicymatch team, we grabbed extra supplies and I sprinted to the stage.
The race was a classic:
- Down a beer.
- Eat half a banana.
- Smash out three push-ups.
- The Sabotage: Suit up in a signature Spicymatch orange string bikini.
- Blow up a condom until it explodes.
The beer and push-ups? Easy. They handled those like pros. But then came the bikinis.
Now, these are sexy, Brazilian-cut string sets. Suddenly, the race ground to a halt. These men—who are undisputed experts at taking bikinis off (often with their teeth)—were utterly baffled by how to put them on. It was pure, hilarious confusion.
By the end, not a single man had the set on correctly. We had “snakes” stuffed into tiny bottoms, tops worn inside-out, and one guy who just gave up and wrapped the whole thing around his head like a headband.
My man Mr.T managed to cross the finish line first, looking hot, dishevelled, and absolutely ridiculous. The crowd was roaring.
To get to the next round, I announced I needed some female “assistance” to help the boys fix their wardrobe malfunctions. I asked for seven volunteers; I got a stampede. The women stormed the stage like a professional wardrobe department on a Hollywood film set, eager to get their hands on our struggling Stallions.