The Line-Wrestling Lovers By Stacy Barehugger A new form of competitive mixed wrestling! Clothes or oil are optional. Description of the author and his work (FOR THOSE INTERESTED): I, Stacy Barehugger, am a man who proudly owns a slightly feminine first name. For my writing, I use a thought-provoking last name. I am an author and sometimes illustrator of primarily mixed and sometimes female vs. female wrestling stories, I hope one day to release a book on such matters - including a philosophy on why some men want women to wrestle them at times even more than they might want to make love to them. I am available through Diana the Valkyrie's Bearhug discussion forum. Usually, my stories are about men and strong women who very competitively, and often erotically, wrestle each other. The women do not always win, but they nonetheless prove that they are pound-for-pound NOT the so-called "weaker sex". In fact, sometimes they are the masters of using sex as a weapon in their struggles, and always - they are brave. Although my stories have varying levels of sex and violence (and sometimes neither), usually no character gets more hurt than he or she might want to or deserve to. There is usually a powerful combination of eroticism and competition in the games that the combatants play that is mutually enjoyed between them, with the suspense maintained by making it not easy to predict which of two equally-matched combatants will defeat each other. Sometimes as well, the fight is fought to a draw - proving the equality of the fighters. And sometimes the story is simply about a man who loves to feel the true power of a woman exerted on him. So although my stories feature fleshy female fighters, they strive to be respectful toward women, celebrating their untold potentials, rather than exploitive. I apologize ahead of time if in reading one of my my stories you have found it to rehash material and concepts that I have already used in other stories. It was done for the benefit of those who might not have read any of my previous stories. I would recommend my erotic stories, as well as many of the other fine erotic stories in Diana's story section, to men and (I would imagine a few) women who have close and immediate access either to a cold shower, or each other. The Line-Wrestling Lovers The crowd sat quitely around the sunken pit, intensely absorbed with a scene of entangled fighting flesh below. A well-muscled man and almost equally well-muscled woman wrestled each other nude and oiled up by their own sweat, intimately embracing each other and writhing together, and sliding and slapping flesh together while uttering grunts and groans of both exertion and erotic pleasure. The crowd applauded the woman when she managed to apply a solid pin on the man. They applauded when he screamed while being held in that pin. His scream came partly from the pain of choking himself against the woman's meaty arm as he tried to twist against it, partly out of exertion, partly out of frustration from the failure of his attempt, and partly from his struggle against his own desire to be, as he was, so intimately held by the warm-bodied woman. The man rested a few moments, but then to the delight and applause of the audience - this time for him - he attempted another twist. The applause continued as the man finally escaped the unusually strong limbs of the female wrestler and scattered away from her to the other side of a visible line that bisected the pit. Even more whoops and hollars were expressed when, despite the man's best efforts in his escape, he got tackled by the woman and effectively and skillfully forced into a pin by her. The audience appreciated the eroticism of what they saw, which to the unitiated might look like something any other club might offer - a sex show with a wrestling gimmick, but what the more initiated audience members appreciated even more than the eroticism, or even the sex that went on in the pit, was the real competition that was going on there, where prize money was often offered as an incentive to the winner. The club, you see, was an underground fight club, and the "pit", as it was called, was its centerpiece. The pit was a large, square- shaped array of wrestling mats sunken a few feet below the floor level in order to give the specators a good overhead view of the bisecting line and any wrestlers who braved a fight there. The sunken level also served to keep the spectators distant and out of site enough from the wrestlers in order to afford them a certain sense of partial privacy in their most intimate of struggles. Usually a thin plastic covered the mats and the walls of the pit to accomodate the the sweat of the wrestlers, or any other oils or fluids that may have been introduced into the battle. I was too exhausted to fight the female wrestler who now had me firmly pinned to the mats, so I decided to conserve my energy and rest for a while. After all, this was not an ordinary wrestling game where pins or submissions counted for anything. This was instead a race against time to try to win by forcing your opponent, and yourself, to literally cross a line drawn accross the mat dividing it in two halves, and to stay on your side of that line for as long as possible, whenever possible, during a predetermined limited duration of the match. Unfortunately for me right now, I found myself on my opponent's side of the line. I almost saved myself by keeping my hand touching the line, but my opponent quickly noticed this and grabbed my wrist, muscling it away from the line and pinning it above my head while the rest of my body writhed underneath hers. I cherished that arm-to-arm struggle. As simple as such a struggle may have seemed compared to more complex, strategic wrestling; it had the element of male flesh on female flesh competition - with all the straining and sweating that goes on. When my arm finally lost its strength to hers, it felt as if it was being raped by her arm, and being seduced by it to accept its situation. Energy that was both electrical and sexual in nature seemed to flow between our flesh as it rubbed together. Being fully pinned by the woman, then, felt closer to a lightning strike! How could someone so beautiful, with a touch that was so soft and warm, come to dominate me so? At least, up until this point, I had stayed pretty much even with her, as neither of us was able to force the other to cross the line for very long. Thanks to a video camera pointed down the stretch of the line, video tape would reveal just how far ahead one of us would be of the other after the match was done. But for now, there was still lots of time. All I needed to do was regain my energy and be more aggressive with this well-toned and well-tanned female athlete. This was easier said than done, since she was wasting no time in employing sexual tactics to reward my immobility and diffuse my very will to struggle out from underneath her. Perhaps I should not have been so unexpectant of being under this woman's contol. Perhaps I underestimated the abilities of my opponent - a woman who I once saw grab another strong woman who was trying to stay on her side of the line and hip- tossed her onto the other side, and then proceed to not only pin her, but exhaust her by sexually stimulating her. Despite the pinned woman's best efforts to escape (she was NOT known to be lesbian), the woman on top managed to use a gyrating clitorus-to- clitorus movement that gave the pinned, squeeling, wide-eyed woman what members of the club called a "clit-fit" - but that's another story. I saw my opponent's sexual attack coming toward me as soon as her face hovered close to mine. Her kiss engulfed my whole mouth. It was passionate, and it took my breathe away. But more intense than this was my anticipation of her sexual aggression, and the way, finally, that she forcefully thrusted her hips upon mine and firmly constricted my penis in her vagina. She was paralysing me with pleasure. She was raping me, in a way, and I didn't want her to stop. Perhaps agreeing to wrestle her in the nude, wearing nothing more than a condom, put me at a disadvantage. My penis was like a leash to a dog for her to pull on. I felt like her love slave - happy to oblige her and to be under her control, and losing all sense of any need to fight her. What she was doing to me made me feel as if my brain was sweating. There was no use in trying to fight it. My only hope was to ejaculate as quickly as possible, and if that didn't tire me out too much, maybe I would then regain my focus, and hopefully some energy. But how long, I wondered, would it be before I lost myself in this woman again? It was a game of intimately entangled, sweaty, glistening, heaving, bodies competing sensually - almost painlessly - with what little pain there was somehow feeling good, as if it signalled the coming of even greater pleasures. The wrestling hybridized both freestyle and submission style, although the submission-type holds were used to immobilize your opponent and not to gain a submission, with one exception being the sleeper hold - a tough hold to accomplish if your opponent is always staying in front of you with an eye on you, as is encouraged in this sort of wrestling. It was understood between the wresters that any other submission hold could be only lightly constricted on a wrestler to counteract his or her attempt to escape the hold. If such a hold was made intolerable to a wrestler (usually by mistake rather than intent), he or she could tap out, and the hold would be loosened, but not relinquished completely. Of course, a persistent tap-out would signal a need to stop the match, which would, of course, always be respected. As for tapping out from a forcefully constricted sleeper, the hold would have to be relinquished and the wrestlers would have to resume their match just as it is started - standing up and facing each other from their respective sides accross the line. It was fun to struggle against the young woman - to test her. Ironically, it was sometimes the most fun when I was on the receiving end of a hold. I lusted to feel the muscular girl's power exerted on me. Perhaps that was a weakness of mine - in danger of making me diverted from the task at hand. It was the sort of thing that made me act irrationally in wanting to allow rather than avoid getting trapped into certain sensual holds that drained my energy. One such sensual move was the strong woman's bearhug. Although I possessed the slightly greater upper body strength, I loved to bluff my way into making her think that perhaps she had the edge over me in the hug. It made her more confident and aggressive, and I liked that. But for whatever disadvantages of wanting to feel her power gave me, there was also, on the other hand, the advantage that it made me less afraid to be in the thick of the struggle with her. The large amount of safety involved in this sort of fight made me mostly unafraid to face even the most awesomely powerful of opponents, which might not have been the case if the fight had allowed more use of painful submission holds. Less fear and more enjoyment of the fight, as such, seemed to fuel my strength. I finally managed to ejaculate and break out of the amazon's pin. We both came together again, wrapping our limbs around each other and falling accross the line and on our sides. We just embraced each other there, with our legs scissoring each other's legs, immobilized for many minutes with neither of us gaining a time advantage over the other. Perhaps the girl was just trying to maintain her previous time gain over me by riding out the rest of the match on a neutral ground. Although we were not having sex with each other in this mutual entanglement, the feeling of flesh struggling with flesh, and bodies overheating, quickly aroused me once again. Perhaps, I thought, I could use my sexual energy to pin her on my side of the line. How ironic it was that I found myself actually competing with an individual in a combative situation by allowing, without inhibition, my tongue to feast on her ever-stiffening sweat- soaked breasts. For a while, I made my opponent essentially forget that this was competition more than lovemaking. But if truth be known, I had forgotten as well, and she was not as easily diverted by such sexual maneuvres as I. What she may have lacked a little in strength compared to mine she seemed to make up for in skill, speed, and, it would seem, a sexual mastery over me. After a while, she seemed to sense what holds I liked being put in the most, and the fact that I would put up little resistance to those holds. The breast-smother, for instance, was such a hold. A referee would determine if a wrestler was being too rough in an otherwise sensual and stategic fight - using a particular submission hold. But the breast-smother was a semi-legal hold that was for the most part allowed. Finally, late in the match, I managed to gain a time advantage over my opponent by keeping her in my zone, muscling against her with everything I had. I vigorously bearhugged her and sexually penatrated her at the same time, while she somehow muscled me into a pin, and hip-thrusted both of us into a potent sexual release. At this point, we had wrestled to complete exhaustion, and complete bliss, as the increasing heat between our bodies was compensated by the sweet sweat of sex covering them - making us seem as if we were in an oil wrestling match, which in a way we were. Some wrestlers, in fact, preferred to oil up at the beginning of the match. But whether she was covered in bottled oil or her own sweat, I loved how my opponent looked in this wet way - like a greased-up fitness model whose muscles, like that of a bodybuilder's, were nicely accentuated by the oily surface, but counterbalanced by just as impressively accentuated feminine curves. It was a unique pleasure to slide againt a muscular woman's oily body. I felt at times as if I was, in a way, swimming in it. We wrestled arm-to-arm until both of us were hovering over the bisecting line. We fell to the line on the ground there, and wrestled closely and passionately into many bodily entanglements. We swam in each other's bodies - feeling wave after wave of erotic sensation pass through us. I had somehow managed to maintain my time advantage, while my opponent somehow eventually managed to gain an immense advantage over me in terms of control. Holding me in a full nelson, this awesome woman proceeded to gently rub the back of her leg and her gigantic calf muscle against my crotch. With every gentle, teasing rub, I let out a guttal "Uh". "Uh uh uh uh uh" I repeated, partly from the pleasure, and partly from the exertion of straining my muscles against the woman's - trying to escape her. I let out a low growling "Rrr!" to express my frustration of realizing that I was going no where expending my precious energy. There was nothing better for me to do now was to relax and let my opponent milk out all my remaining seamen, and energy. Had a blow job been allowed in this game, my chances of defeating my sexually agressive opponent would have been drastically reduced. My penis throbed with a near-painful itch. "Uh uh uh" I continued, until I let out a long exertion of breath in a low sigh as my body finally and involuntarily relaxed from orgasm. At this point, I felt my opponent quickly switch her hold on me without giving me time to counteract. I now found myself trapped within a well-placed sleeper hold, and feeling more exhausted than I ever had been before in my struggle. If a much more brutal battle had been allowed, my exposed, protruding weakness might have been more painfully exploited. Perhaps, when the chips are really down, a man is not really so superior a fighter against a smaller woman as is perhaps typically thought. I believe that in a hypothetical battle to the death against my opponent, she could have killed me with a sleeper hold. After all, she knew how to apply it quite expertly without exerting much of her untypically great female strength - adding extra support to the hold by making sure that, using her right arm to choke me, she also hooked the inside of her left elbow with her right hand and placed her left hand firmly behind my head. She knew how to apply the sleeper hold in such a way that her opponent only felt the flesh of her arm against his neck with no pain at all - passing out within seconds should he not tap out first. I loved the feeling of danger when being placed in this hold - not for the fact that she WOULD kill me or even hurt me, but for the fact that technically, she COULD. It was, after all, a hold that required more skill than strength. With the allowance of the sleeper hold, any wrestling match in the pit was two battles being fought simultaneously - one being an attempt to gain the most time of holding your opponent captive in your zone, and the other was an attempt to gain the most sleeper submissions. Both battles were scored separately. It was not uncommon for each of two closely matched athletes to have both one and lost one of these two battles within the same match. A sleeper could be used to force your opponent closer back to the line if you wanted him or her there. Or, in the rare case that someone was sleepered to unconsciousness, the "knocked out" wrestler could be easily forced into his or her opponent's zone and lose the time it took to "wake up". If allowing myself too much time and pleasure within a breast smother was my first big mistake, then the audience now witnessed my last. Had I tapped out of the sleeper hold, I might have maintained the slight time advantage I had over my opponent. But my male pride got in the way and made me stubborn in my desperate struggle to claw at my opponent's lovely, slippery arms. Although I did not hear it, the audience cheered to see a woman manhandle me until my eyes slowly closed and my arms slowly dropped at my sides, and held me gently there on her side of the line while precious seconds ticked, giving the female wrestler a good time advantage by the time I woke up. The tide had been reversed. The rest of the fight was hard- fought, and I equalled the sleeper score by gaining one submisson, but in terms of the time score, I could not reverse the tide. My female opponent may not have proven herself to be beyond my equal in her wrestling ability, given that we had fought only one match - and a close match at that, but, nevertheless, for this match, she won. Hell, maybe she WAS the better wrestler! But I was not unhappy, and I congratulated her with a kiss. Fortunately, ours was a fight between two people for the love of the fight rather than for any hate of each other. Whether I won or lost, one thing I knew for sure - I loved this game of eroticism and competition. It was a game that showed that a woman can be just as tough as a man in her naked glory, and brave enough to engage in sexual battle with him, and even enjoy it. It was a game that satisfied both winner and loser with a great experience and a hell of a workout. It was a game that provided a form of video entertainment for people who wanted something more than simple pornography, or staged wrestling with inhibitted eroticism. In this game, I did not simply want to win, but I wanted to improve to a point where I might defeat a woman who might have previously defeated me, and then to find, hopefully, an even stronger woman capable of defeating me. I loved the honesty of the game, in that I could look at my opponent and know, at the end of a closely fought match, that she was indeed a close match to me - likely an equal of my wrestling expertise and power, and as such, in a way, a female measure of myself. This is one of the most intimate, honest, uninhibited combat games ever - a new form of excitement! It is a game in the underground that they call "line-wrestling". The End. Author's note: My concept of "line-wrestling", or, really, "immobilization wrestling", stemmed from an idea of hybridizing submission-style wrestling with free-style in such a way that the competition was more exciting, and perhaps honest, than free-style, but safer than submission-style. The sexual aspect of this sort of wrestling was added for the sake of this story, but in reality, the term "line-wrestling" could be applied to a form of wrestling game that could be enjoyed by athletes at a high school or college level, and even quite possibly be demonstrated to a mainstream public. Perhaps it is worthy of another story in this vein. The simple "line" makes this game quite portable. A girl and a boy enjoying the beach, for instance, would not need much more than a line drawn in the sand to have a friendly tussle.