The Art of Losing Pro-Style (Part One.)
By
Jayne
Simone slammed into the small changing room and made for her locker. She sat down on the nearby bench, her face set in a cross between apoplexy and dejection.
Yet again, she had lost. She always lost. She was paid by the promoters to lose; but lose while making it look realistic. The money was lousy but the hours weren’t bad. It was work, at least. And in this economic climate, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Welcome to the miserable world of a professional wrestling jobber.
Simone brushed her long brown hair back and breathed in deeply. Outside she could still hear the crowds cheering for their favourite. The collective voices roared in the small stadium, making the building almost shudder.
“Enjoy it while you still can, Gaynor,” bitched Simone to herself as she untied her white wrestling boots. “It only lasts for so long.” She eased her boots off, her face tired from her exertions and the countless flips and throws from twenty minutes of athletic melodrama. She felt sweaty and just wanted to get out of the clinging blue swimsuit. Skin tight and sexy, it felt constraining and damp with perspiration. Sweat sheened her cleavage and she towelled down. Gaynor had thrown her around the ring then posted her – a little bit too hard for her liking. Her adoring crowd had cheered as they’d run through the whole farcical script. The script which inevitably ended the same: a body-slam and Gaynor - or whoever – splashed down on top of her. Simone St Clair flattened against the canvas in a cross-press.
Pinfall! Grappling Gaynor wins again!
But she had survived another match, yet wondered how many years you could keep this up. She wasn’t getting any younger, and at thirty-nine, it would be soon time to pack it all in.
She stripped off and padded over towards the shower at the far end of the room. It was a lonely walk in a shoddy building of rusting lockers and worn out benches. Even the cracked-tiled floor looked past its prime.
Simone twiddled the shower control and shivered as the cold water hit her naked body. She shuddered and stepped back. The plumbing made its usual groaning sounds as the water surged through the ancient pipes. Eventually some hot water made an appearance. It took five minutes. But when it did, was she grateful for it.
She soaped and washed the exertions away, shampooing her hair. She was so involved in her ablutions that she didn’t sense that Gaynor had stepped into the shower.
“Great match, Simone,” said a confident voice behind her. “You lose so well.”
Simone looked round and saw Gaynor stood beneath the shower head. Her eyes were closed and the warm water sheened her athletic body. Gaynor’s hair was long and red, a vibrant shade of henna red. It cascaded down and partially covered her full breasts. She was certainly an attractive wrestler, and it didn’t surprise Simone why she was so popular with the men in the audience. Not as if Simone was secondary in beauty, far from it. But the promoters were more focusing on certain stars in the grappling game. And since Simone had bad mouthed one of the organisers after he got a little too touchy-feely, she found herself relegated to jobber: a female wrestler paid to lose.
“Yeah, I do,” said Simone. “And thanks for the vicious posting I got tonight. My back still hurts.”
Gaynor smiled. It held little remorse. “Well, we have to make it all look realistic for the crowd. They love a bit of reality in their wrestling.”
“Not that much reality, Gaynor,” countered Simone sternly. “I didn’t pound you out there on the canvas.”
“But, sweetheart, you’re a jobber and that’s what jobbers are for – to lose to a better wrestler,” said Gaynor arrogantly. “If you can’t stand the heat – well – you know how the saying goes?”
Simone let out a cynical snort. The sound was so scornful that it made Gaynor open her eyes.
“Sorry, did I say something to amuse you, little miss jobber?” said Gaynor as she rested her hands on her hips.
Simone, not feeling in the slightest intimidated, stepped up to her opponent of the evening. Gaynor felt a little off-balance. She wasn’t used to being spoken back to. They were alone and Simone seemed annoyed. The small cubicle felt even smaller as Simone stepped closer, nearer. It felt positively claustrophobic. Under the warm shower, the atmosphere grew intense.
Gaynor stood her ground.
Simone’s tits touched Gaynor’s, giving gently at the nipples, as the two women faced each other naked.
Their bodies were wet and glistening as Simone locked stares with her rival. It was a cold and intent stare; the stare of a person who had had enough.
“Gaynor, you win every time because I am paid to lose,” said Simone directly. “It is all scripted; it’s all a fake performance. You know it and I know it. Nothing out there tonight was for real. We grapple for the men to give them a turn-on. Tits and ass rolling around a ring gets the men in and they pay well. That’s all we are, Gaynor: just tits and ass.”
Gaynor stepped back and was blocked by the tiled wall behind her. Simone stepped forward, her tits stabbing into Gaynor’s mounds again.
“Maybe you’d like to try me for real?” said Gaynor as she instinctively locked fingers with Simone and pushed back. “I’m always ready for that if you are.”
Gaynor was strong and Simone gave ground, backing away as she grunted against their impromptu fingerlock strength test. The two women groaned softly and grappled in the confines of the shower, their feet gently slipping on the wet tiles. Simone and Gaynor rested their foreheads together, fingers still knotted as they strained in their wet privacy.
“Hell, you are strong, Simone,” grunted Gaynor as she felt her wrists being inched backwards.
Simone gasped and felt Gaynor’s wet orbs jiggle and jounce against her own. The mood was combative yet sexually charged. But Simone wanted to teach this arrogant cow a lesson, and Gaynor was losing ground and her legs were starting to buckle. Simone smiled and saw the pain of defeat in Gaynor’s eyes. Gaynor was looking up, beseechingly. She let out a cry of supplication as Simone began using her upper body strength to bend Gaynor backwards. Victory was close, and Simone was enjoying the taste of it.
Just then the changing room door opened and two cleaners came in.
Gaynor and Simone broke apart, ending their naked grapple. Simone and Gaynor turned and resumed their shower before Simone stepped out and left Gaynor to stew on her loss.
Simone smiled to her-self. “Now you know how it feels, girl, to really lose.”
Gaynor stood with her back against the wall. Her mouth was open in shock. She had actually been bested by some jobber, and in the shower!
Gaynor imagined the worst scenarios possible. Would Simone go and tell the other wrestlers that she had intimidated her in the shower? Would she mock and laugh and boast her tiny victory to the league?
“Bitch!”
Gaynor stepped out of the shower and paced over to Simone, who was towelling herself dry. She stood in front of Simone, still naked, and smiled at the cleaners as they left the room.
“Well, come on then – challenge me!” said Gaynor belligerently. “Let’s do it for real in the ring – woman versus woman.”
Simone leaned back and smiled. She simply said: “You’re on. I’ll match you any time. You name it, I’ll be there.” Simone passed a mobile number over to her. “That’s my phone number. I’ll be waiting.”
Gaynor cursed and punched the locker nearest to her. It didn’t even make Simone flinch. Simone had clearly had enough of losing, and was trying to prove something.
“Okay,” said Gaynor. “You want it, fair enough.” She snatched the piece of paper from Simone’s fingers and turned.
And with that, she went over to her locker and got dressed. The two women didn’t speak any more. It was evident that neither had anything more to say to the other. Now it was all about settling differences. Gaynor shot her opponent a nasty look as she left the room. Simone was going to wish she hadn’t started what she can’t finish. And Gaynor fumed down the corridor and out into the car park.
*
Julie let out a groan as Simone piled on the hammerlock. She clenched her teeth as the pain tore into her bicep. Simone was behind her, grappling topless. She wore red bikini briefs and black wrestling boots. Julie loved to wrestle topless and wore equally skimpy bikini briefs in dark blue. Like Simone, she wore black calf-high wrestling boots, and she was trying to struggle her escape.
Julie was a former professional wrestler who now trained rookies. In the gym, she normally wore a red swimsuit. But in private, in her home gym, she would enjoy the freedom of topless female wrestling with her closet wrestling friends.
Simone didn’t mind either way. Sexually, she was bi, not as if that mattered. But she liked wrestling Julie bare-breasted. It was fun and natural and less constrictive.
Julie was forty-five and quit the wrestling profession two years back, being content to train others. She was a very good wrestler and kept Simone on her toes. But Simone had improved well over the years. From that callow eighteen year old that looked like a frightened deer caught in someone’s headlights, Julie had seen Simone become a top athlete. The proof-of-the-pudding was indeed in the eating, and now Simone was forcing Julie to her knees.
Simone followed the older wrestler down towards the canvas.
Suddenly, Julie reached back and cupped Simone’s skull. She threw Simone into a snap-mare, and laughed as the younger wrestler let out a shrill cry of frustration.
Over she went and slammed onto the canvas.
Simone opened her eyes and was stood staring up at the spotlights, the sweat starting to sheen her generous orbs. Hair splayed out, Julie was onto her fallen foe. A toned body spread across her own. Damp flesh lubricated damp flesh as a supine Simone saw Julie looking down at her, face-to-face.
Julie gripped Simone’s struggling wrists and held her solidly. Pushing her pubic bone hard against Simone’s, inadvertently, but still sensually positioned in a full-body-pin.
Like lovers locked in gentle coitus, they ground and strained, each letting out a soft grunt as they wrestled. Julie smiled down at her younger opponent, besting her, piling on the pressure. But Simone was jutting and banging her hips against Julie’s to displace her. Julie felt Simone’s sweaty belly beneath her own, their mingling perspiration making the hold slippery and hard to maintain. Julie’s body began to slip. Her grips were starting to fail, too. Eventually, with a feral cry, Simone rolled Julie onto her side, then her back.
Julie let out a scream of despair as Simone grasped Julie’s head and forced her into a side headlock.
Julie’s world was plunged into a sweaty darkness. Damp skin and grunts and straining gasps punctuated her senses. It was agonising and uncomfortable. But Julie was long used to wrestling. She took and gave pain as all wrestlers learned to. And now she was riding the agony out.
Simone’s beautiful face was glistening with perspiration. Her long wavy hair was damp and tousled, partially covering her bare tits. Julie was indeed a great wrestler, and she was enjoying the sparring session.
Julie was reaching over in desperation, fingers trying to locate whatever they could. Like a blind person, she groped and found Simone’s jaw and face, then pushed for all she was worth. Simone groaned and tried to pile on more pressure, but Julie was strong. Julie was pushing and gently escaping from Simone’s headlock, until finally she was out and pulled Simone’s hair backwards.
Simone was in near shock. “What!”
But it was too late. She was jerked back and fell into Julie’s waiting head-scissors.
Julie let out an animalistic cry and snapped her legs tightly around Simone’s head, locking her ankles expertly to make the hold consummate.
Julie lay on her side, and then sat up on her bum, her legs vined powerfully around Simone’s head.
“Damn and blast, Julie!” Cursed Simone as she gripped Julie’s wet thighs. “That was cheating!”
“Ah ah! What did I once tell you when you first started wrestling?” said Julie educationally. “I taught you to expect anything in wrestling – even dirty tricks.”
Simone slapped the canvas in angst. Julie tightened the vice as Simone pounded the ground in frustration. Her black wrestling boots drummed a desperate rhythm. Julie leaned back luxuriously and began to rock her body on her arms, agitating Simone.
“Argh – Julie! Pack it in will you?” cried Simone. Julie shrugged and released her opponent and let Simone escape.
Simone rolled onto her knees, holding her head. Julie stayed where she was and crossed her legs in a yoga position, her arms spread to support her.
“So, when are you wrestling Gaynor?” asked Julie as Simone rubbed her pained neck. “Looks like this could turn nasty by the sounds of it.”
“When she finally rings me on the phone,” said Simone as she got up. “I wonder if she will call me? Be interesting if she does.”
Julie got to her feet and walked over to the red corner of the ring. She bent down and picked up a bottle of water and drank a mouthful, enjoying its reviving coolness. She picked up a towel and wiped the perspiration from her full breasts.
Simone went to her corner and turned to face her mentor, her arms spread along the top of the ropes, back against the padded corner.
Julie looked in great shape for a middle-aged woman. She was very toned and always looked to be at the peak of fitness. Julie’s hair was tousled and damp. They had wrestled hard for around thirty minutes, testing their stamina. Simone loved to wrestle her mentor and always learned something new after their spar.
“I’ll act as a second, if you want,” said Julie as she was ready to leave the ring. “I’ll be there for you on the day if you want.”
Simone said that would be great. But they still hadn’t decided on a venue. Julie asked her to wrestle here. It was in the basement of her home and it was private. Why not use her personal ring? It made better sense than to use the stadium’s – and it would be away from prying eyes.
Simone agreed. It did make sense. But Gaynor hadn’t rang her yet. So the match was still up in the air. Nothing was concrete yet.
Julie smiled. “Oh, she’ll ring you. Gaynor is arrogant and is probably still smarting from how you handled her.”
Simone shrugged. That was Gaynor’s problem. “I’ll cross that bridge when it comes,” she said.
Simone towelled the sweat from her face and swung herself through the ropes. She walked over towards Julie and embraced her. Julie hugged her friend back.
“Come on,” said Julie. “Let’s clean up and go out for a Chinese meal. I’m hungry.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Simone. And as the two wrestlers walked back to the bathroom, Simone’s phone rang.
Simone looked down and immediately recognised the number. She locked looks with Julie and smiled.
Gaynor was game after all.....
