Thai taste
By Valis, feedback to: valisdick@hotmail.com
Bobby and I armwrestle against a mixed couple in Thailand

After the British tournee soulful Margo, whose heart size only rivals with
the circle of her biceps, gave us a week off. Bobby and I didn't hesitate
and booked a double room in Thailand capital for five nights. To finance
our vacations I rang the Circle to arrange a couples bout through the
active Thai's scholar armwrestling league. A merely nutritious bout, just
aimed to raise enough to cover our expenses. I trust Circle guys to pick
our rival couple, and when Bobby felt down on the Emperor size bed beaten
by jet lag he crushed a portrait format envelop with the program for next
night. Mixed matches are highly appreciated in Asia, were many competitions
bear no separate male and female classes. Bobby was scheduled against a
Thai junior champ. The Sue Li child was a superfly, so Bobby had some
weight edge, but her name sounded familiar to me. She was the brat who had
married, with special permission because of her age, a Norwegian guy who
had coached her into a strong man competition. She finished forelast, but
managed to put so much pressure on the big boys that one of them spread his
wrist in the farmers walk when she was about to overtake him. Manager-
husband declared after her astonishing performance she would be put on
specific strength training, and would start gym work to put on more weight.
For me they have reserved another surprise, a so-called Bull Nakano, the
national recordman of discus throw. I prayed athletics were not too much
developed in that country, and was not reassured when eventually I learnt
that, though his discus mark was rubbish, the guy in question was a fond
lover of finger fighting, a dirty class of single-finger armwrestling which
raised large audiences in the suburban taverns of Thai city. Rules were
single-pull right arm matches refereed by Thai armwrestling league officers
in stand-up sets. If there was a draw losers were paired in a tie break.
Sitting on the edge of the huge bed I made clear to Bobby, as I slipped out
my shirt and ripped off my tight jeans that the guy was dangerous, and if I
got injured Margo won't be happy, that she didn't deserve it after being so
kind with us, and that I had never went into serious finger wrestling
because 80% of the bouts were solved by medical decision, and the
practisers soon lived the sport abated by bone disease. When I finally
defeated my jeans, turned back to Bobby, amazed that my concerns didn't
make a impression on him. Face buried in the pillow he placidly slept. I
turned him gently but he didn't wake up. Put off his footwear and trousers
and covered him with the crimson velvet sheet.
Trusting the circle was not our only mistake. The match's night we had
dinner on a downtown bistro, and unable to understand the menu let the chef
pick for us. The chops of what could be any creeping animal bumped my
stomach walls all night long.
The Thai girl was about Bobby's reach but much skinnier. You could circle
her collar bone with two fingers. Yet amazingly round, ring-gymnast style
biceps swelled up each time she fought the pin that kept her hair-knot
clasped behind her neck. She dressed a seasoned sleeve-less shirt rather
intended for underwear, and she had overgrown it so much it did not make
contact with her electric blue sport shorts. Hand in hand I led my bare
breast strongboy to the stand. His leather wristguards glittered under the
spotlights as he waved to the female fans, compact flocks of mature Asian
women dreaming at the opportunity to test the youngster's toughness in
horizontal war. As the MC switched to the girl champ, her big blonde guy,
arms tucked on his broad chest, smiled to her loving and trustfully. Sue
Li's supporters were mostly teens sporting merchandise with their idol's
face, and also grown man fond of different pictures of her. After dinner I
had instructed Bobby a little bit on cobra gripping. I knew already she
sported large hands but they seemed even more impressive life. Yet I knew
by experience that tight grips didn't put Bobby off.  As they squared the
girl offered Bobby a palm-to-palm kiss, a sportive sign customable in the
Thai scholar league. They joined the hand heels and pressed the palms
lightly together. She added a subtle finger tip caress of her own that
tickled up his arm and down his torso. With the same delicious grin Lily
strangled the first bone in Bobby's thumb and twisted his hand to screw a
vicious grip. Bobby looked at the ref, an aged Thai gentleman, who approved
the move. Then he looked at me and I nodded as confidently as my stomach
ache allowed me to do. Lily's sculptured nails turned white and her fibres
jolted as she set the backpressure on. The ref wrapped the locked fists and
started the count down. Lily's eyes disappeared under folds of skin and she
let go a deaf groan on the jump. Her quick, massive reaction drove Bobby ¼
down. Eyes wide open he stared at me. His neck burning with the strain. ...
beast, he muttered. Instantly he received her second charge, that brought
him a further inch down. He anticipated the next one and bravely offset it
with a somewhat badly coordinated but vigorous effort. She relaxed and
smiled like a shy baby rabbit. Bobby felt his fist drifting away. As she
smiled the rest of her upper body had turned into living marble and swamped
the guy into a colossal tide of backpressure. Bobby lost control of his
fist as it kept approaching the rough cotton that half hide Lily's immature
chest. The flashes stung on the girls full power gun leading the back of
his squeezed hand closer and closer to her pointed breast. A fraction
before touch Bobby drop back his head. Was he fighting his best? I stopped
questioning when with a banshee yell he put Li back to starting point. The
silly guy stopped there. Nose frowned, Lily shifted her upperbody weight
leftwards and took the toll out of his tired arm, bending him half down.
Now, knock him sugar, shouted the loving giant. Seemed to me the sweetie
was putting an awful lot of power behind her strain. I figured myself
armwrestling her and having trouble to stop all that raw power. After all,
she had outclassed half hundred fresh, determined girls all along the
country in sheer strength competition, sometimes twice her bulk, sometimes
five in a row. I caught Bobby staring at the bulk in his rivals otherwise
skinny limb. He found amazing how large it could endlessly grow. To be
honest Lily would beat by now either Bobby or me in a bodybuilding contest.
Yet my boy bravely retaliated. At that stage in the battle even blonde
colossus seemed at unease. That naughty freckled boy was given her iron
sweety a hell of a fight. The Asian teenagers started chorusing the anthem
that had led Lily to the scholar national title, something that occured
only in the really tough bouts. For a couple of minutes a total stalemate
reigned on stage. Lily's colossal strength didn't flow that well anymore.
The grown women supporting my boy came back to life, standing on their
benches, waving their jewelry stuffed fists, and outcrying Lily's army of
teens. Bobby improvised a combo of jolting and wrenching moves that
punished hard her championship limb. His own biceps had immensely develop
reaching a size just slightly smaller than hers, or perhaps it was same
size, but her bony frame made her muscles look larger. OK, we should
reconsider the bodubuilding contest; her biceps may be larger, but
bodybuilding judges also balance and simmetry, and my young Apolo beats her
by far on those compartments. Loosing initiative was tough for the
ironkitten but much tougher for her giant husband, who started dribbling
incomprehensible selfcontradicting instructions. Bobby switched to an
inverted grip to the peg and compacted himself for an ultimate all-power
charge with everything he had left. The blow cracked Lily's endurance. As
her young strongwife collapsed the Nordic giant punched the table. The
younggirl, beaten by someone her age by first time in her life, broke in
tears and covered her face under her huge panther paws, weeping loudly. The
crowd went mad but Bobby didn't celebrate. He rather leaned forth and
pinched her chin. She threw her trembling arms around him crying even
louder.
What a sight, the Thai young champ weepin on Bobby's shoulder, the snake
(or whatever) chops tumbling around my stomach and the Thai press trying to
arrange dates with the redhair guy from the west. When I recovered from the
thrill I had tha square, all jaw mug of Bull Tamako before my eyes. The
Nordic giant pulled her suffering tiny wife off Bobby's hug and I elbowed
Bobby out of the stand. The MC made the introductions. The crowd booed
Tamako so loud they really scared ME. I was received with just a mild
applause. He was the star. His fair grip surprised me but at the jump I was
dazzlingly put into a nasty cobra driven by his fore and medium finger, so
painful I had to yield half way to keep my joints safe. Once he had gained
the upper hand he secured it with his bodyweight and waited for me to tire
up, releasing just enough strain to keep me down. All I could see was his
huge round shoulder with the dragon tattoo before my eyes. Ten seconds
later I conceeded. Perhaps I should try discus throw.
Then I realized the steel kitten was already stretching to face me and
Bobby frozen watching her warming up. I shout at him for a towell and he
flushed.
I tried to forget Bobby's silly eyes and concentrate in preserving my
muscular tone. All I needed was her fist close and anticipate to her
tricks. She simply could not bend me in a fair muscular exchange. She
trotted to the stand and palm-kissed my hand. I realized her fingers were
longer than mine. She letme grab her and lock with steel nerve, but the
grim has faded. It was her chance to bend a Western pro. Her gate to glory.
And she was determined to take me, to give me her best shot. She sighted
and looked down as her limb got harder and harder. I strained and jumped.
And nothing happened. I checked her possition, she hadn't moved, hadn't
shifted hadn't dived, simply I couldn't bend her. She inspected the floor
and let waves of power travel down his arm to squeeze my fist. She was
hurting me! Blood blocked in my neck, sight got foggy. She was going for a
contest of endurance, she was trying to outlast me. That Eastern mental
training of suffering and pain control. Mind master matter. A sweat bead
dribbled down her chin and splashed on the floor. At least she was human.
At once she raised her face and challenged me. With incredibly stern tone
he worded out: you can't take me, I'm gonna beat you. I am the stronger. A
single aim invaded me, delete that insultant face out of my sight. I
strained tougher and tougher, sapping vigour from sheer hate. However, not
only her arm took everything I put on her, much worse, her challenging
stare remained the same. I moaned aloud, desperately collecting power from
my deepest innards, broking in sweat as well. Cmon, if I could bend Bobby
and he had bent her then I should... A synchronous gasp of amazement echoed
in the crowd. I looked at my fist and... dam' she had worked a one inch
edge on me. I released the peg and leaned on my thick, sweat-glittering
thigh. My jaws jolted as my abs squeezed further strength out from my
middle riff. She shook her head. No, you can't, you can't. I felt dizzy. My
sight went foggier and foggier. How long have we been struggling? I didn't
dare to look at Bobby. He might not be watching me. At once I yielded two
fists and could only stopped her a fraction above the pad. None of us had
tilted or dived, our shoulders were perfectly squared, it was pure muscular
war. To her credit, she didn't leap to finish me up. Somewhat short of
leverage she released a brutal grunt, unable to make touch the pad. Keeping
my solid defence I stretched my fingers and secured a tighter grip on her
large, bony fist. Then I glanced at Bobby. He was watching ME. Slowly but
steady I rallied up and took the momentum to bend Lily down. Much earlier
than I smashed her fist to the pad she raised her flushed soaked face and
nodded at me. She simply had no more fuel to go. I turned to Bobby and
grabbed his hips tight. He reached my neck and ignoring the ref leg
scissored my waist and gave me a long, thorough lip massage. With him
hanging on my chest like a koala we shook hands with the rivals and run
backdoors for a taxi to the hotel suit. For the remaining four days we
locked ourselves in the room, ordering just common, cheap, western food.