Wrestling with Virginity

When I was a freshman in college I considered suicide. As much as I'd hated high school, I had college to look forward to. There was the promise of starting over and not having to be that guy. That virgin. Surely everyone knew. When they never see you with a girl, when you skip your prom, it isn't hard to tell. I wasn't the only one, and some even admitted it. But I would have laughed at every one of them if only I could have figured the damn thing out one time. Please, God, just once. Who was I until I achieved that defining experience of the reproductive act? A reviled beggar at the gates of manhood.

I deliberately went away to a notorious party school that was two-thirds female. I found myself an alligator in a pond stocked with fish, starving due to some congenital deficiency in my hunting instinct. Nubile nymphs looked clear past my lonely dorm room as they flitted to the women's showers in their short towels, tormenting me with the smells of their girly soaps and shampoos. They could sense I had no idea how to please them.

The library became my sanctuary. As I walked in one afternoon, I saw two ads on the bulletin board which stopped me dead in my tracks. The first was for something called "strip aerobics." I gathered with amazement that a local health club was offering pole dancing class for women in the guise of exercise. To be a fly on the wall while regular women would be gyrating like strippers! It could be girls in my classes! Professors! I couldn't believe society allowed it.

The next item was even more outrageous. "Open House at MWC (Mixed Wrestling Club)," read the flier. "Meet and wrestle the top session wrestlers from your area. Register for your own match." There was a picture of a man and woman circling each other on a wrestling mat, smiling casually as if they were starting an innocent tennis volley! I could see the appeal of mounting a woman, but were there women willing to participate? Something about the idea inflamed and infuriated a deep part of my psyche. It seemed everyone was liberated, parading their freak flags, while I was left in the cold.

I picked a volume of Balzac's Human Comedy from the shelf and retired to my customary reading room in a corner of the library. I walked in and saw Jen with a textbook and notes spread on the table in front of her. She was a tall, spindly brunette, but she had great curves, a pert ass and tits. Of all the girls I'd known, Jen had ventured the closest to my web. But it was just a joke.

It happened the week before. I woke in the middle of the night to the racket of some girls who lived on my floor. I recognized the voices of their clique, all gorgeous women who were barely polite to me. They must have been returning drunk from a frat party. Like in a dream, my door opened and Jen climbed into my bed. I had fallen asleep hours earlier, pleasing myself to her image in my mind, and now she was cooing and stroking my chest. She pulled down the covers. "You sleep naked?" She sounded surprised but not scandalized. "So do I."

I have no idea what I mumbled in response. It was unintelligible even to me. "DId you just say I smelled good?" she asked, grinning.

I hadn't, but she did so I said "Yes."

"Aww, Fred." This is finally it, I thought. The drought couldn't last forever. This is why I went to college. But she fended me off as I began groping her. "No, just put your hand here and spoon me. This is how you share your bed, poor thing." She clasped my hand and laid it on her soft, warm stomach. I inched my hand downward as far as I dared. Then she felt my dick poke her on the ass. She let out a naughty giggle as she sprang out of my bed and rushed from the room. She was like a princess who had dared some shocking act of condescension, touched some deformed beast just to tell the story. She kept giggling as she ran into the hallway, announcing triumphantly "He likes me!" "Gee, you think?" replied Sally from down the hall.

Now I had her alone. I sat down across from her. She saw me but gave no reaction, refusing to look up from her books. In the dead silence of the room I lost all nerve, but I went ahead out of stubbornness. "Will you go out with me?" I forced out, stiff as a board. I despised myself as I heard my words, knowing instantly the answer.

"No," she said, immediately and with finality, without looking up. I looked down and pretended to read as my emotions swirled. Should I get up and leave or would that make it worse? After a minute she gathered her books into her bag and started walking out without a word or look in my direction. I looked back and saw she was wearing tiny shorts with her pretty cheeks sticking out.

Without thinking, I gave her a slap on the ass, harder than I meant. She whirled, rushed toward me, put both hands on the back of my chair and pushed it onto the ground with me still in it. As I landed on my back with a loud crash, she pounced on my neck with her crotch pressed on my chin. Her shorts were so short I could see light brown pubic hairs poking out of the sides. Her thighs were clamped around my head. She began flexing them and the muscles dug into the sides of my skull, causing blinding surges of pain each time she squeezed. I started to moan in pain with each little flex, four times, five. I thought I might pass out and hoped I did. She looked down into my eyes. "You better pick yourself up before someone comes to find out what the noise was." My lithe captor released me and walked out.

***

Something in me snapped after that encounter. At first I tried to rationalize. She hadn't kicked my ass in a fair fight. She took advantage, which made her a bully, which made her a coward, or something. But I knew who started it and I knew who finished it. I lost whatever was left of my ego. My resentment of Jen mingled with a wish that she derived sexual satisfaction from what she did to me. Maybe I could excite a woman after all, if only through my humiliation. Was my fight with Jen the closest I would ever get to that mysterious god Pussy?

I found the flier from the MWC and logged onto their website. Their open house night was the next weekend, starting at midnight. Before I would have been terrified of being seen by someone I knew. But what pride did I have left? I opened the link to apply for a match. There were two options for a $50 deposit: you could apply to wrestle one of the pro session girls in an exhibition. Or, you could put yourself in a pool of wrestlers for the MCW matchmakers to choose from. A limited number of mixed-sex couples would be announced as competitive matches.

I thought about choosing the first option because it seemed less risky. If I lost I was a layman against a pro wrestler, albeit a woman. If I were specifically matched with a woman as a competitor and lost, that would be harder to explain. But I found that scenario more arousing. I liked the high stakes. If I won I intended to exercise my frustrations by thrusting my hips into my opponent. If I lost I would hopefully still get some contact like I had with Jen. I entered that I was 5'11", 170 pounds and had no wrestling experience. I wondered if anyone else was signing up.

***

Before I took the bus to the MCW event, naturally not telling a soul about it, I stopped in at the health club where strip aerobics was taking place. "Can you tell me which room you have strip aerobics in?" I asked a tiny woman with a pixie haircut at the desk. I sensed she was a lesbian, a cute one and in great shape. She had on a halter top that showed her perfect abs. Her name tag said "Sam."

"Why do you ask?" she asked sternly. I shriveled under her accusing crystal-blue gaze. I walked away and started looking on my own. I came to a dark tinted window and squinted to peer in. There were women of different sizes and colors and not a single one I wouldn't kill to make love to. I could see Jen grinding on a poll, essentially nude. The whole scene looked like a men's magazine.

"It's not for you," Sam said. She had followed me and was pulling me from the door. She clasped my hand as she led me away, then gave me a smack on the ass and a wink.

When I got to the bar holding wrestling night, I recognized this gym receptionist as the emcee. Evidently there was a cross-promotion with the gym. I arrived shaking with nerves. Why couldn't I be a normal college kid who had sex with women? Why was I trying to do this weird stuff instead? The people around seemed normal enough. It vaguely had the feel of a rodeo or a minor league game. Sam started with some pleasantries, throwing out an endless laundry list of plugs for session wrestlers, the venue, and everyone involved in the event. She introduced some good looking wrestlers. About half were weightlifters, too muscular for my taste. But there were stripper types who demonstrated they could make guys--those who'd signed up online--submit by squeezing their heads in their legs. What got me hard was seeing them pin bigger guys down. It looked pretty genuine. I was aware there were women who did martial arts, so it wasn't the craziest thing.

And of course, it reminded me of what happened in the library. I looked around and there was Jen. She gave me some eye contact for the first time in a while. Her mouth curled in an ironic smirk. "Jen, I'm starting to think you're stalking me. I've been seeing you everywhere: the dorm, the library...I should have known I'd run into you here."

"Uh, pretty sure you're stalking me," she said. "I also saw you at the gym an hour ago."

Sam took the microphone. "Coming to the stage we have two amateurs, both 5'9", 140 pounds: the lovely Jen...and Dan." I turned and Jen was gone. She came out on stage in a spandex wrestling outfit that covered more than her library outfit but highlighted her shape. I don't know where the fierce linx that had subdued me in the reading room went, but she didn't show up for her match. Dan got behind her and threw her around amorously. They were both giggling and having fun, mugging for the cheering crowd. At one point she reached back and smacked his ass. He pretended like it hurt as everyone laughed. Everyone but me. Either Dan was a better man than me or Jen's conquest of me was a fluke, her temper inspiring her use of my chair to land me beneath her. Sam soon announced Dan the winner. I looked from the corner of my eye to see him on top of her in the missionary position. There clothes were on, of course, but it was an obvious symbolic substitute. Looks better than nothing, I thought. Jen raised his arm and looked at him like a hero. To me he'd looked like a rapist. Today I cannot stand to watch wrestling videos where the man is dominant.

"I have a special surprise for you," announced Sam. "Before we have to leave you tonight, who would like to see me wrestle?" People howled and oohed and ahhed, all that pep rally crap I hated. "Okay, we have yours truly, your fave emcee, Sam-I-Am...Oh yes, I almost forgot, I'm five-one, 110 pounds even. My opponent will be, drum roll please, he is six feet and 175 pounds, give a warm welcome for Fred."

This was it. I had mixed emotions. On one hand, Sam was super attractive. But I wasn't born yesterday. For Sam to give away so much size must have meant she knew wrestling. Obviously she worked out. This was payback for my peeping tom incident at the gym, of course. Before I describe what followed, I want to make clear that this woman was a ringer. I looked her up afterward. She offers competitive wrestling to clients up to 200 pounds. She's a gymnast and fitness model. This was her life.

To this day, I maintain that I was doing well at the beginning. She tried to put me in a headlock and I knocked her arm away. She grabbed my arm and I twisted my wrist to wrench it free from her. I used my reach advantage to push her. Perhaps she had miscalculated how big a guy she could handle. But I started to realize with concern that she was the aggressor. She started to trip me, and at first I was able to catch my balance on an arm or leg and get back upright.

***

Then a lot of stuff happened. I admire those wrestling chroniclers who can pick apart a split second into a page of details. I can't tell you how she moved her leg to the right before my arm did...whatever. If I had that much presence of mind I suppose I would have fared better on the mat. I apologize to any readers who need that. But frankly some writers miss the forest for the trees with their choreography. I recall falling and then feeling excruciating pain.

I have very mixed feelings about however you describe what took place. On my darkest nights I've come a mouse-click from booking a session with Sam. I don't want to wrestle her; we had our match. But she had a certain confident aura I would find intriguing in a dominatrix. Take it from me, wrestling can be an exquisite form of humiliation. You're not tied up. You haven't agreed to be submissive. The person who's hurting you is within your reach, preventing you from taking revenge. I don't even know if she'd see me. But I pray for the strength not to apply. It would be to approve of her actions that night.

I would expect Sam to say she beat me with clean wrestling. But what about sportsmaniship? She started coaching me for the crowd's amusement: "You better tap. You're in trouble now, Fred. Tap out if you can't take it. Or you can say 'submit.' Just say 'tap'."

I understand why the crowd was so boisterous. She routed me in an entertaining fashion. The size difference was stark, although Sam added an inch and five pounds to my stats for the crowd, and I'll wonder to my last day whether she really weighed only 110.

I remember her lying on her side, clapping her top leg down on my head and neck, again and again like a stapler. She paused it straight in the air, and just before I could squirm away she came down like a guillotine with a coup de grace.

"I submit!" I cried.

She could have walked off and left it there. She didn't have to make tears come from my eyes before I even had time to tap. She didn't have to pull my boxers up the crack of my ass until they ripped. She didn't have to expose my ass to everyone and spank it red. She didn't have to show off by dragging me around by the feet. She certainly didn't have to grab the microphone while she was pinning me and yell "I met Fred today peeping in on strip aerobics class!" It gave the crowd license to laugh at and celebrate her cruelty.

I'll do Sam the justice of saying she didn't take make a target of my balls. Sort of. Her web site says she's queer, and since even straight women didn't like me, I assume she was distracted by no lusty feelings--while I was extremely turned on by her. We'll never know how much that affected my showing. I was glad she didn't reveal my genitals, but that may have been a sanitary issue: I had filled my shorts with my semen almost immediately after my fall. I was shriveled like a turtle during the entire beatdown but kept cumming. Some people under assault release their bladder and bowels. I drained my nuts.

By the end she was able to simply slam me on my side. I was startled and yelled which made people laugh. Sam stood over my prone figure and asked the crowd, "Should I kill him? Thumbs up or thumbs down." I heard unanimous chants of "kill him," followed by disappointed boos. It was finally over.

Surprisingly, considering the beating I endured, I felt fine by the next morning. Physically, that is. Tears were streaming down my face as I took the long walk from the bus stop back to the dorm.

"Fred, wait..." called Jen, trotting up to catch me. I looked back at our fight in a more forgiving light. She had overreacted to my provocation. And she let me off before anyone saw. It was the public way Sam used me that made it feel so personal.

"I'm sorry I slapped your ass," I said. "I really didn't mean to do it that hard."

"It wasn't hard," she said. "It was the principle."

She pushed down on the top of my head and pointed on the ground. We were under a lamppost and I was afraid we'd be seen. She unbuttoned herself and put her pussy against my mouth. I didn't know anything about licking pussy. I stuck my tongue in like I wanted to do with my dick. In and out. She didn't correct me and in about a minute she gave a quick groan and writhed.

I had done it. I made a woman cum with my mouth. Did that make me a man? It was something to live for. Jen smacked my ass as she walked away.