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Old 25-Oct-18, 00:49
luchalibre luchalibre is offline
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Default The Meet

The meet started like a regular meet would. We arrived on the same bus, threw the straps of our gym bags over our shoulders and marched out into the frigid cold. Our visible breath poured out of our mouths and noses like we were steam engines. When we opened the gym doors the multi-layered echoes escaped their confines: the handful of fans who came early chatting in the stands, the squeak of wrestling shoes on mats as our opponents warmed up. A little warm air welcomed us and we hurried inside while a couple men in the stands noticed us and gave a halfhearted cheer.
Like any other meet, we went straight down to the locker rooms and put on our red singlets and our grey sweats over top of those while our coach gave extemporaneous advice which we half listened to. With our sweats on and our hoods up, we filed back up the stairs and into the gym, took possession of one of the wrestling mats and started warm ups. It was like dozens of other meets we had wrestled, only this time our opponents had tits.
A girls wrestling team from India was starting a tour across America and had scheduled us for a meet. Their coach, also a female, was scheduling only boys teams to get her girls ready for some elite international competition or something like that. The details had only come to me through the grapevine; I could only attest to the seven figures in blue sweats rolling around on the mat next to ours, and from what showed of their faces with their hoods pulled up, it did indeed look like we were going to be wrestling girls.
The news had provoked an unusual amount of bravado among us in the week leading up to the event. Boasts of exploits on the mat flew freely through the air, as did boasts of conquests after the meet was over. This evening, with the reality of it upon us, our team was quieter than normal. We stretched and went through our routine as the stands filled up, but nobody spoke.
You could feel the nervousness of the guy next to you. Every meet and tournament made you nervous, but this time, a loss was a loss to a girl. In a wrestling match. And while we felt pretty sure we were going to win – sweep them in seven matches – we were wrestling by the girls’ rules, which simply awarded the win to the wrestler with the most pin time over three three-minute periods. The unfamiliar format was just enough to unsettle our confidence. The same Pete who the day before had predicted his opponent would get to taste some American dick after the contest had nothing further to add today. He just shot and lifted, shot and lifted, and dripped the occasional drop of sweat from the end of his nose.
If our team was quieter than normal, the stands were louder. Our parents and friends were all there, of course, but this night there were suddenly new wrestling fans who had never bothered coming to a meet before. A boisterous atmosphere took hold of the gym, and the PA announcer recited stats and news and gave a greeting to our foreign visitors. As time wound down, the cheerleaders even filed into the gym and added to the noise. The wrestling team never got cheerleaders.
Jack, our 115 pounder, stepped up to the mat and took off his sweats while the ref spoke to the two head coaches at the scorer’s table. Jack’s opponent got to the mat first, wearing her team’s white singlet with orange and green striping at the edges. Her team’s tiny cheering section, the ones who had managed to come from the other side of the planet, roared their support.
She pranced around a bit, her long black hair done up in a bun. She was slender, almost as flat as the wall, but her legs looked smooth and well-muscled. I had never thought about how tight and form fitting a singlet was, how thin the material was, until that moment when one look at the crotch confirmed the gender of Jack’s opponent.
Jack joined her on the mat in his red singlet. The wrestlers shook hands and stepped on their respective lines. The ref blew his whistle and the first intergender match began.
Jack was one of our better wrestlers. He wasn’t undefeated, but he didn’t lose often. We were surprised, therefore, when after a minute he still hadn’t taken his wrestler down, and frankly didn’t look like a threat to do so. After two minutes he still had no take down, and in fact was being harried relentlessly by a girl wrestler increasing the pressure. At two and a half minutes, the unthinkable happened: she got in good and deep on a double leg, lifted and dropped him to the mat.
The small Indian cheering section went wild. The Americans were silent, even our cheerleaders. I think my jaw was probably wide open.
Jack rolled to his belly and she scooted up onto his back and started grappling for control of his hands. Jack was better on the mat than he was on his feet, though, and she didn’t make a lot of headway. He didn’t escape, but time was short and he made it out of the period alright.
“Lucky for him about the rules,” said Pete, who, I discovered, was sitting next to me. I hadn’t been paying any attention to anything except the unusual contest playing out in front of us. In a normal match Jack would have been down 2-0, but with the new rules it was still a tie at zero.
The referee tossed the chip and it landed green side up. The girl chose for Jack to go down and her to be on top to start the second period. You didn’t see that very often in our meets, but with the new rules it made sense.
Jack went down on all fours and the Indian girl took top position. Any hopes we had of an explosive, immediate escape, the kind Jack was famous for, disappeared pretty quickly. He tried coming up but she kept taking him back down to the mat. After half a minute of furious activity, after a final breath-expelling thud to the mat, Jack’s efforts waned and then she went to work.
By a minute in she had him down on his belly, her weight pressed on top of him. She ground her forearm into the back of his head while she fought to control a wrist, then switched forearms and fought for the other wrist. Jack thwarted her efforts for a time, but eventually she got his left arm and pulled it back behind his back. She tried to leverage him onto his back, but Jack kept his right hand out and extended and both legs spread wide. He wasn’t going anywhere that way.
It was coming back to his knees that was his mistake. Without getting his left arm back under his own control, he came to his knees, and she pounced without hesitation. Grabbing his neck from under his body with her right arm, and keeping his left arm in a weak and useless position, she leveraged and torqued and flipped him over onto his back. The Indians roared as her right arm encircled his head and forced his face into her armpit. His left arm was pinned under his own back and the girls left arm kept it there. The ref signaled the pin and the digital scoreboard started counting up the seconds in the girl’s box.
We yelled to Jack, but really, what advice can you give to a pinned wrestler? Fight? Work? Squirm? He knows that already. Our yelling just made the gym a little louder.
Jack’s legs kicked as he flailed around, but after twenty seconds of pin time, it dawned on us and Jack at the same time that his strategy needed to change to the new format. His pinned shoulder blades were not an instant loss. Rather than squirm to keep a shoulder blade up, he needed to get himself in position to get free. He lay more still on the mat and fought to stretch his bent left arm out, and when he achieved that he got it out from under his own back.
The girl responded by snaking her arm under his armpit and clasping her hands underneath, so that one arm held his face into her armpit while the other secured his upper left arm. But this left Jack free to reciprocate, and as she squeezed his neck in her grip, he clasped his hands behind her head and under her arm in the same way. She was a good wrestler, but Jack was stronger in the upper body. He squeezed her harder than she squeezed him and made enough space for himself to bridge up on his head. From there, it was just a matter of flipping around and putting her in the same position she had just had him in. This he accomplished after 48 seconds of pin time, with 2:08 elapsed in the second period.
The American fans finally came to life, and the Indians went from cheering to screaming. The cheerleaders jumped, we wrestlers pounded the floor, our coach leapt into the air and hollered. It was the girl’s turn to flail and taste a little armpit, and when the clock reached zero, Jack was up 52-48.
He released her and the girl shook her head as she got up. She bounced up and down a couple times and got onto all fours in the middle of the mat. Jack assumed the top position. A moment of nervous quiet hung in the air: Jack was leading, but she had wrestled the better match so far. But Jack was on top, and that was his best position. The referee blew the whistle.
She was out almost before we could blink. She surged forward, rolled through and Jack lost his grip. Both wrestlers were on their feet again. Just like last time, she was the stronger wrestler in the neutral position.
She pursued him all over the mat and Jack was taxed to his limits to defend himself. At first he managed, but the girl’s energy never flagged and Jack, about a minute into the period, grew tired. She snapped his head down and when Jack, from his knees now, lifted his head up to try to regain his feet before she could scurry around behind him, she did something we had never seen before. Instead of trying to get behind him, she jumped up while grabbing his head and clamped her legs around his neck and jaw in a front head scissor.
She fell on her butt and propped herself up with her hands while her thighs squeezed Jack’s ears. Jack was at a loss as to what to do and so were we. We didn’t even yell encouragement. Several “What the fucks?” sounded out, from wrestlers and fans alike.
“I thought the armpit was bad,” said Pete.
“She’s all sweaty, too,” said Mike, who was due up next and not looking at all confident.
Jack eventually came to his feet, but his opponent kept her grip on his head with her thighs. Her hands were still on the mat, but her hips were up in the air. For a brief moment I caught a glimpse of Jack’s eyes peeping over top of the girl’s crotch. His forehead was red and a vein bulged. His nose and mouth were buried in a place I didn’t want to think about. Not under those circumstances.
With a supreme effort, the weakening and oxygen deprived boy hurled himself forward and the Indian girl was pushed back to the mat. The crowd responded as the ref signalled the pin. The score reached 55-48, but then the girl did another thing we had never seen before: she used Jack’s momentum to roll backwards and carry his head with her legs over top. His body was forced to follow suit, and suddenly Jack was on his back again. This time he had a girl’s pelvis on his face, her thighs clamped tight on his ears and her legs underneath him all the way down to his lower back. She increased the pressure by propping herself up with her hands lifting her torso up and driving her hips down into his face. Jack flailed uselessly.
Her score began to climb. Jack grabbed at her thighs but couldn’t think of anything else to do. Neither could I. Neither could coach. The score hit 55-55. She grabbed his right hand with both her hands and yanked it up, extending it into a weak position over his head and she held it down with both her hands. Then she grabbed his other hand and gave it the same treatment.
Jack’s legs were useless, his arms were in a weak position and his breathing was hampered. Inevitably, he grew weak. The score was 68-55. From my position I could see his chin peeking out from underneath the crotch of the girl pinning him. His mouth was wide open and his chest heaved as he struggled to breath. Her labia bulged against the thin, tight fabric of the white singlet, and as she pressed down on his face, her labia dipped into his wide open mouth.
The Indian fans started a chant which none of us could understand. They waved their hands back and forth in unison in some Hindu taunt at the defeated male. The girl beamed radiantly at her teammates who were on their feet and pumping their fists. She looked to the Indian fans, probably to her parents, and giggled.
With a minute left the score reached 88-55. It wasn’t mathematically over, but it was over. Jack had stopped flailing. In exchange for this the girl released a little pressure on his face. Her labia came up out of his mouth. We could only stare in silence while we waited for the clock to run out and Jack lay in abject humiliation, not only beaten by a girl but forced to have her crotch on his face as she pinned him in a way none of us had even dreamed of, much less seen.
When the score reached 148-55 the horn blew. The girl released Jack’s wrists but it took her a moment to extricate herself from the unusual geometry she had forced him into. When she was up, Jack rolled over onto his belly and, after a long delay while she waited for him in the center of the mat, came to his feet. Head sunk low, he took position on the other side of the ref, who raised the girl’s arm in victory. While she jumped up and down delightedly Jack hurried to the locker rooms and out of sight.
While we all looked around in wonder, while the Indian fans filled the room with roars and echoes and feet stomping on the metal bleachers, Mike doffed his sweats and stood with coach on the mat’s edge...

To Be Continued...
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  #2  
Old 25-Oct-18, 09:51
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mixfightor mixfightor is offline
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Default Re: The Meet

Oh, wow. I really hope a few more of the Indian girls know that technique. Thank you so much for writing such a well described and technical story. I can't wait to read more of it.
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Old 25-Oct-18, 22:49
luchalibre luchalibre is offline
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Default Re: The Meet

While we all looked around in wonder, while the Indian fans filled the room with roars and echoes and feet stomping on the metal bleachers, Mike doffed his sweats and stood with coach on the mat’s edge, ready, or at least present, for the 125 pound match. The cheerleaders were all huddled up, their foreheads almost pressed together, giggling about something. Many times I had seen a gaggle of girls passing secrets back and forth and wondered what they were talking about. I knew what was going on now, I just prayed they wouldn’t be giggling at me before the night was over.
Suddenly, I was angry. Angry for Jack and nervous for myself. What kind of nerve did they have to be laughing about Jack’s loss? They were cheerleaders for our team, for crying out loud! Maybe some bonds are stronger than school ties.
Mike was in the center of the mat, facing a girl who was half a foot shorter but a great deal thicker. Her thighs were almost as large as his waste and I wondered how exactly she had made weight. Mike looked like a stick figure next to her, even though he towered over her.
Her style proved to be defensive, and Mike was an aggressive wrestler. She kept her body tight and compact while Mike worked her head, worked her arms, shot for her legs. She stopped each attack.
The round grew old and no one had established any sort of advantage. Neither had scored by either scoring system. With half a minute to go Mike took yet another shot at her right leg, but this time his form was off. He extended himself too much and the girl sprawled out. Mike was down on both knees and kissing the mat, hanging on to her leg with both extended arms. She pressed her hip down on his head and slowly Mike’s grip loosened. Coach screamed at him, but if you get yourself in that position your best bet is to hold on and wait for the ref to whistle a stalemate. But Mike was not holding on.
His grip finally broke and she snaked her right arm under his left armpit, grabbed his left triceps with her left hand and torqued. She twisted those thick hips and squeezed with her arms for all she was worth. The look on her face was positively feral and Mike could not withstand more than a couple seconds. First his shoulders twisted over, then his torso followed and eventually his hips came around. He fell onto his back while she lay perpendicular to him, chest on his shoulder and arm wrapped around his head. Another introduction to an Indian armpit.
But Mike was in luck, because just as he tilted over the ref blew the whistle and ended round one. The Americans reacted with relief, the Indians with a groan of foiled triumph. The girl slapped her hands together in frustration as she popped up. Mike took a second to catch his breath and came up more slowly.
After winning the toss, he took the top position for the second round. He did his best to break her down but her thick body was too much for him, and eventually she grabbed a spindly leg and managed to reverse their positions. Now Mike was on all fours on bottom and she behind him. It was a two point reversal by our usual rules, but here it gained her no points. It did, however, put her right where she wanted to be.
Her robust body broke him down. She worked his head. She tried for a cradle. She fought to control his arms. In truth, Mike did a great job of defending. He could not get to his feet – every time he tried she just squeezed and thrust him into the mat – but he did not let her gain a serious advantage.
A couple times they rolled out of bounds and returned to the center for a restart. It was beginning to look like the score would be tied after the second round, but near the end Mike began to flag. The girl finally sneaked an arm under his armpit and over his neck. When she secured his far wrist with her other hand she once again applied torque.
Mike’s poor body crumpled. He had spent so much energy in defense that he could resist no longer. She twisted him over onto his back and then swung her feet around so that their bodies formed one line. She ground her chin into his chest as her arms kept him trapped like vines choking the life out of a tree. Her breasts pressed down on his face and as she squeezed her buttocks clenched under the tight thin fabric of her wrestling singlet.
The Indian crowd roared as their wrestler went up 17-0. Once again, when the round ended she bounced up and he lay on his back, his chest pumping up and down like a piston. He finally turned over, not even bothering to stand, and went down on all fours in the center of the mat. The girl, a malevolent grin playing with her lips, got on top. We were about to go down two games to none to a group of girls.
Every face on our team was pale white, like men waiting on Death Row. The cheerleaders were not cheering anymore, each girl raptly attentive to the spectacle in the center of the gym. All the crowd noise came from the foreigners.
The ref took his position and whistled. That thick body went to work on Mike once more. The results were similar except that he was more tired and this time he could not wrestle for the tie. Once he got to his feet but she wrapped her arms around his waist, lifted and slammed him back to the mat. The air shot out of his lungs with an audible gush and his body seemed to go limp.
She moved to increase her lead. Planting one hand on the mat between his legs, she came across his face with her other forearm and bent his head down towards his left knee, which she was bringing to meet his head with her other hand. Mike was going to be put in the cradle, although it really didn’t matter at this point. He had lost already. He was at least lucky to be in a cradle and not with his nose jammed in some Hindu meat crevice like Jack had been forced to endure.
She tried to pull Mike back into her and expose his back to the mat, but he kept his hips flat to the ground and would not budge. As tired as he was, he summoned all the strength of his core muscles and fought to stay face down. It was an admirable effort in a match that was lost and she should have been content to stay in the stalemate. But she got greedy.
If you have an opponent in the cradle and he won’t go back, there’s another way to get him on his back. Just roll forward, like a somersault. As long as you keep your grip, he’s coming with you and will wind up in the same position. She rolled forward. Mike went with her. But she didn’t keep her grip.
Just as he was coming over top of her, right at her most vulnerable point, Mike kicked out and broke her clasp. It was just a matter of falling on top of her and she was already on her back. Suddenly, the American crowd roared. At least the men did. It was a roar strangely devoid of the altos and sopranos. But it rumbled loudly and I realized I was on my feet with the rest of my teammates.
Mike squeezed her hard as his counter started to count a point per second. There was just over a minute to go in the final round, and his score climbed past ten, drawing ever nearer to the 17 points his opponent had scored on him. This would have been the appropriate moment for the cheerleaders to jump up and down so we could see under their skirts and pretend it was their panties, but the traitorous bitches just stood and watched. One or two of them even looked concerned.
Mike’s score hit 17 and pushed past. The Indian girl was trying to bridge and grappling with Mike’s hands to loosen his grip. The score hit 22 and she finally managed to roll over onto her belly with her male opponent remaining on top. Three quarters of a minute remained in the match, and Mike, impossibly, was leading.
As time drained away the boy and girl struggled on the mat, he on top and she fighting to come up. With half a minute to go she reversed him again. Each member of the Indian crowd screamed advice to their wrestler. The basses and baritones thundered on the American side while the altos and sopranos maintained a disturbing neutrality.
Mike sank his hips low and spread his arms and legs out while she tried to flip him. More seconds ticked off. She then went for his arms but he tucked them tight to his body. Fans on both sides began to stomp on the bleachers. The seconds reached 5 and the Indian girl, plainly disgusted, got off of Mike, ripped off her head gear and threw it to the mat as the last seconds expired. Baritone cheers filled the air as the ref raised Mike’s arm in the center of the mat.
While Mike returned to hearty congratulations from his teammates – except Jack, who had not returned from the locker room – Ricky stepped onto the mat with his 135 pounds. His opponent was slightly taller than him...

To Be Continued...
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  #4  
Old 26-Oct-18, 17:58
kman3uk kman3uk is offline
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Default Re: The Meet

Great start. Looking forward to reading the rest.
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Old 01-Nov-18, 03:49
EricRRobert EricRRobert is online now
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Default Re: The Meet

I'm still holding out hope for a Chapter Three!
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Old 15-Jun-19, 18:38
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Default Re: The Meet

So anything new on this story?
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