Wrestling
My girlfriend and I were just sitting around one rainy weekend, and enjoying some quiet time together, reading, cooking, etc... On Sunday, after a wonderful, late brunch, Sarah was reading on the sofa, and I was watching tv, sitting on the other end of the sofa, and flipping channels on the remote. A novel concept for me, but I was doing OK.
As I was flipping around, I usually don't stop for more than a couple seconds on most channels, and just cruise on through. I stopped for an inordinately long time on the wrestling channel, and just watched for a minute as the ring girl paraded around the ring, scantily clad of course, carrying the number of the round.
Sarah looked at the tv, and then at me, and said something snide, like, "find something you like to watch after all," full well knowing I hate that wrestling garbage.
Well, I couldn't easily deny the pause in the channel surfing, and so I admitted guilt, and said that it wasn't all bad.
That strategy didn't work well, and I got 'the look' for a moment, accompanied by the 'head shake.' A bad combination.
Trying to make amends, I tried to change the subject and talk about real wrestling, the greco-roman kind, like in the olympics and collegiate level sports, real sports with real athletes. This sparked her interest, because Sarah liked to watch muscled men in tight tights grappling and clenching. She said it got her juices flowing. Sort of like football used to be with her. I know... she confessed to me one time when being tied up and tortured with feathers and honey dust. But that's another story...
Hmmm.....this could be interesting, I thought to myself. We could turn this into an interesting afternoon after all. An idea is born. Some home-style wrestling. With some different rules. I proposed a contest, because I know she hates to lose at anything and is constantly reminding me how strong she is and how women can compete with men in some sports.
So we shake and agree on the basic ground rules. 1 minute rounds. Loser loses a piece of clothing. Winner chooses start position for next round. No cheap shots (ie biting, pinching, hitting below the belt).
So on to round 1...
You start on top (which is how I like it anyhow), and you manage to get your legs around me, and lean close to hold me from getting any leverage. Pretty strong, for a girl anyhow. I try to shake you off me, and you hold tight. Those thin legs don't do justice to their strength, especially when wrapped around something (maybe later it will be my head!)
I am starting to struggle a little more, getting sort of worried that this may not be as easy as I thought. You are pretty strong. Maybe I underestimated your resolve too. I won't make that mistake. I should have known you would be determined, not to lose (although I can't imagine how bad losing would be).
One minute clicks off the clock and I haven't extricated myself from your hold.
"OK mister. Off with the shirt. Nice and slow like." Your gangster impression needs a little work.
I turn around and raise my shirt from being tucked into the shorts, and pull it over my head, letting every inch get exposed more and more, so you can see my stomach, my chest, and then my shoulders. I turn sideways, giving you my best
gut-sucking, muscle-flexing pose.
"Not bad, looks good to me. Think those muscles can put up a fight though?"
"Let's just try again. No one likes a gloater. So, what's the rule on positions for round 2?"
"Winner chooses, remember?"
I can see that smile in your eyes that signals some idea up your sleeve.
"So, how do you want me this time?"
"Just wait a minute. I'm thinking."
A minute passes and I see your mind reeling with your wicked plan.
"OK. On your stomach. And I want both your hands behind your back."
"Hey,wait just a minute! That's a pretty tough position to start from. I'm not sure that's fair."
"Oh sure it is. You would have thought of something equally difficult. That is if you had won round one. Which you didn't."
Shit, right, I guess. This would be more challenging than I thought.
So off I go, lying down on my stomach, and I slowly relinquish both hands to you and you take a moment and plan your approach (or attack). I feel you lay on top of my back and grab my hands with yours and hold them tightly . Just feeling your body on mine is stimulating. And somehow, this position of being held down, is more than just a little arousing. I shift a little, to get ready, and to give my growing cock some more room. Rearranging things, as it were.
"Ready?" I ask.
"Ready whenever you are. I'll watch the clock for a minute. I think I can see it better than you."
"Thanks for that reminder."
I feel your legs brace on either side of me, and I find I can't get any leverage. I twist and turn, trying to throw you off my back. I try to pull my arms free, but your grasp and their position is not easy. Damn! Getting beat. SHIT! I keep struggling, feeling your breath close on the back of my neck.
Rolling, twisting harder does not dislodge your grasp. One minute is not long. Just can't get position. You have chosen the start wisely.
"That's it! HA! One minute is up. Now I get to see some more skin. Off with the shorts!"
"Just try and hide your glee a little. Give a defeated guy a little room. Pretty good, for a girl."
I turn sideways again, and start to slide my shorts off my hips. And I have to pull the waistband out first, off and away from my cock, which is very hard now, and sticking up and out from my thighs. I don't turn to let you see my state fully yet. I bend down and slide the shorts all the way down to my feet. I am quite excited by this show, surprisingly so. And being nude in front of you fully
clothed makes it even more exciting.
Round 3
so where was I?....
You had just won round one and two, and got me to take off my shorts, and now here I am, naked, hard, hot, and a more than a little pissed at losing. There is no way to hide my erection from you, and I am so excited I am dripping a little from the end of my cock. You are looking brazenly at me, and admiring my body, still pretty good after these years, and smiling at how hard you can make me, with ease.
"Pretty excited, aren't we?" you ask, innocently.
"You just have this way of making me so crazy."