Maria was gurgling hideously now her windpipe was throttled in Agnes' hammerchoke-hold. "Somebody gives up, before they're injured." "We don't fight for points or pins," he replied, cheerfully. "Who's the referee? Who's keeping score?" "Chuck," I whispered to the wrinkled Hercules. The two "doms" cursed each other the holds they clamped on looked unfamiliar, and dangerous. Maria battled her in the first brutal contest. Removing my clothes, I stacked them in a meticulous pile. "Absolutely!" I agreed, a trifle too loudly.Įmbarrassed, I retreated to a corner. "Our clients like to wrestle, so we stay in shape by practicing with each other."
"We're all dominatrixes," Maria informed me. "I'm sure he's a perv, or he wouldn't be here." "What's your business?" I asked, gregariously. "All day long, no phone calls," she lamented. She was commiserating with Maria, a Latina lesbian. Voyeurs, I decided.Īgnes, wearing only panties, was doing yoga postures on the enormous blue mat. Two nerdy banker types sat in a corner, in gray suits. The speaker was a well-built elderly man, rubbing Wesson oil on his powerful chest. They know fancy stuff, but we play by different rules." "The college boy is here," Josephine announced, when I opened the door. Two decades later, the goal hasn't changed. I'm too spastic to run, or throw a ball my only option was the smelly, boring sport. Why did I bother? I wanted a varsity letter, so I could date cheerleaders.
STORIES OBESE GAY MEN WRESTLING SPEEDOS AND NUDE SKIN
I hated the pimples that bloomed under my greasy chinstrap, the sadistic opponents who grew goatees so they could scrub skin off my back, the practice inferno where we perspired in plastic ponchos to keep our weight down, the "gladiator pit" where I was humilated in public matches every Friday. Transmission Theater offers "Incredibly Strange Wrestling" - hipsters throw tortillas at the contestants. There are Gay Men's Wrestling Clubs, and a San Francisco Women's Wrestling Society. They gave me an address,an unsavory block in the Mission. They glanced at each other, conspiratorially. Josephine's leather miniskit revealed taut quadriceps. Agnes was 6 feet tall, with chiseled forearms.
Their pretty lips curled in amused sneers.