The Tara Trilogy, Part Two: The Mat




Part two of a true story about an off-again, on-again couple who
developed a serious wrestling rivalry during the course of their
relationship.
 
Michael couldn't sleep, though he felt a heavy fatigue in both body and
mind.
 
The right side of his body still ached where he had landed following
Tara's wrist throw only a few hours earlier, and he knew it would feel
even worse in the morning. He listened to the sound of Tara's shallow,
gentle breathing as she slept peacefully next to him. Her wild
raven-black hair spilled over her pillow, and one bone-white, smooth,
long arm was visible above the covers. Michael stared at her arm and
puzzled for what seemed like the millionth time how this slender
appendage could have been part of an arsenal of equally unassuming body
parts that combined to defeat him...no, he thought, own up to
it...humiliate him in a wrestling match.
 
He stared at the ceiling, sighed. He felt for his own right arm, clenched
his fist and flexed, feeling his bicep with his left hand. No one would
confuse him for a body builder, but his bicep was rock hard, solid,
impressive even. An accomplished soccer player and all around athlete, he
had always been proud of his body, perhaps even a little vain, but no
more. He felt weak as a kitten now, and was thankful that at least he had
been able to rise to the occassion when he and Tara made love following
the match.
 
But really, he argued with himself--was that ever going to be a problem?
Much as you'd hate to admit it...much as you tell yourself you'd do
anything to avoid getting thrown repeatedly by a 110-pound girl, there is
a part of you that is more than just turned on by that. A part of you
that has only to think for a second of Tara in her black sports bra,
locking a slim white leg around yours before thrusting you helplessly to
the floor; the slightest ripple of a muscle presenting itself in her
lanky arms as she ties her hair back in a ponytail; the smug hint of a
smile as she stands above you, long, skinny legs planted firmly, watching
and waiting for you to get up in a futile attempt to counter-attack, only
to toss you back to the carpet like a pizza chef deftly whipping kneaded
dough through the air.
 
Shut up! he told himself....just shut your damn brain. It wasn't that
bad...she didn't dominate you that much. You did throw her twice
yourself, once very hard, and really, you only lost because she
out-lasted you. You expended too much energy too early and she was more
strategic, letting you tire yourself before moving in. And weren't you
hesitant? Didn't you pause, even if briefly, after you threw her,
concerned you had been too rough? The floor, the surrounding
furniture...this was no boxing ring, it was an apartment, a makeshift
combat arena with encumbering obstacles everywhere. Surely this changed
your approach. Surely, it kept you from fighting as hard as you
could--certainly less aggressively than Tara, who showed no reserve
whatsoever in her efforts to defeat you.
 
Michael rubbed his tired eyes and cursed himself for still caring about
this so much, for not focusing instead on what Tara most certainly would
come daybreak: what were they doing, sleeping with each other again? Are
they a couple again, or is this just a friendship "with benefits"--with a
battle of the sexes thrown in--something Michael knew without asking Tara
would not want. He rolled over in frustration, and tried yet again to get
some sleep.
 
Michael woke to the comforting smell and sizzling sound of frying bacon.
Tara was standing at the stove in the kitchenette, cooking breakfast,
dressed in a sleeveless white ribbed T-shirt, and the same black bikini
bottom she had wrestled him in. Michael felt an immediate stirring in his
groin as he watched her. She spoke to him without looking up from the
frying pan.
 
"I thought you'd never get up. It's almost 11."
 
Michael lifted himself up on his left arm and felt a jolt of pain shoot
up his side, making him draw in his breath in a sharp hiss. This made
Tara look up. "Are you OK?"
 
"Fine", said Michael as he slowly rose from the bed and went to the
mirror to examine his side. There was a deep bruise combined with a
raspberry-carpet-burn, a mocking reminder, he thought, of the wrist throw
that did the most damage and basically assured Tara a victory in their
wrestling contest.
 
Tara watched him check out his bruise, and tried not to smile. "There's
some aspirin in the medicine cabinet", she said. "And some eggs and bacon
will make you feel better, too."
 
Michael mumbled a thanks and retrieved the aspirin.
 
They didn't speak during breakfast, though Michael was thankful for the
food and did start to feel better. He offered to clean the dishes and
when he was done, tried to address the twin elephants in the living room.
 
"So", he said.
"So", Tara repeated.
"I wish I knew what to say."
"We can't do this anymore, Michael. And I know it's my fault, I'm the one
who called you..."
"But I came right over, didn't I? I couldn't wait to take you on again."
"What? Jesus Christ, Michael, are you talking about wrestling?"
 
Michael realized he'd chosen the wrong elephant. Tara got up from the
table and turned her back to him. "You are such an idiot", she said.
"Wait, Tara, I'm sorry...I know you're talking about us, and where we're
going...I'm just tired, I'm not thinking straight."
"It sounds to me like you're thinking. It's just that all you care about
is your stupid bruised ego."
"Look, Tara, that's a little unfair. You did call me to come over, and
you used a wrestling challenge to do it. You were as ready to wrestle as
I was."
"Yeah, OK, Michael, but what did you think--that we would wrestle and
then you'd just go back home? You know why I really wanted you here, and
the only reason I lured you with promises to kick your ass is because
that's all you could talk about for like a month. You were challenging me
to a match almost every day, and I hoped you would quit and just ask to
be with me instead, and when you didn't, I grasped for this obsession you
have with proving you can beat me, and shame on me for doing that, but I
just wanted to have you here with me, OK? Now you know."
 
Michael finally felt a shame not related to having lost to a girl in a
wrestling match. He saw in a flash how dense he'd been about Tara's
feelings toward him, and he felt like a heel. He got up and walked over
to Tara and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her gently toward
him.
 
"Look, Tara, I'm sorry. I do want to be with you again, and I think we
can make it work if we both try. I just...it's hard for me to put into
words, but you know how competitive I am...how seriously I take our
soccer games, and how i always try to win....and I know you're the same
way...when you said you could take me at wrestling--and then proved
it--it just drove me crazy. It's all I could think about, and it's still
very hard for me to come to terms with."
 
"Why? What is the big deal?"
 
"Come on, Tara, please. Do I have to spell it out for you? I've got 4
inches of height on you and at least 50 or 60 pounds. And at the risk of
sounding completely sexist--you're a girl. Guys don't lose wrestling
matches to girls."
 
"Michael, I grew up with 3 brothers, and I beat the crap out of all of
them on a regular basis. We fought all the time. We wrestled, we had
boxing matches....that's how we settle differences in Irish families. Do
you have any idea how many times I gave my brother Tommy a bloody nose
and sent him crying to Mom? It didn't matter that I was a girl. I was
expected to defend myself the same as them."
 
"That's different, Tara. You were just kids then. I'm a grown man, and
you're a woman, and there's no way a grown woman should be able to beat a
grown man in a wrestling contest. You think you could still take your
brothers in a fight now that you're older?"
 
Tara shook her head, and chuckled a little. "Michael, if any of my
brothers were stupid enough to pick a fight with me now, I have no doubt
it would end with them on the floor, wishing they hadn't messed with me.
And just for the record, the last time I beat up Tommy was when he was
leaving for his junior year of college and tried to steal some of my CD
collection to take with him. That fight ended with him face down on the
floor while I held his arm twisted behind his back. He begged me to let
him go before I would."
 
Now Michael shook his head. "Yeah, well, I'm guessing Tommy isn't
particularly strong or athletic. I am."
 
"You are, Michael. I don't want you to think that I think otherwise. But
facts are facts, and I still beat you, didn't I?"
 
"Yeah", said Michael, and he couldn't look Tara in the eye as he said it.
"You did. But Tara, I have to be honest with you. I want another chance.
This is important to me, maybe at a level you can't understand. And it's
not why I want to be with you--it's just something I hope you can allow
for me if we're together. It's part of how I see myself--being a good
athlete, being strong. I also think it's something that attracts both of
us to each other. I remember the first time I saw you play soccer, and
outwork a guy for the ball--I have to tell you, it excited me like you
wouldn't believe."
 
This made Tara smile. "So it's not a turn-off for you if I beat you at
wrestling?"
"Oh, god, Tara...just the opposite. But I still want to beat you. Very
badly."
"Well, that's good to know", she said. "Because you know me well enough
by now to know that if I'm challenged at something, I give it my all.
Every time. And the fact is, Michael, I enjoyed putting you in your
place. You were so sure I couldn't beat you, and it felt great when I
did."
"So, you'll give me another shot?"
"Yes, but Michael, it's going to be up to you to deal with the outcome.
If you become so obsessed with trying to beat me that it becomes the most
important thing in our relationship, i want no part of it. You have to be
more attentive to me as a boyfriend than the last time we went out. I may
be able to kick ass, but i'm also a girl who likes to be treated special,
and feel like my boyfriend cares about me. And I know there are other
girls out there who are prettier than me, and girls in the soccer league
who flirt with you. Just don't take me for granted."
 
"I won't", said Michael, and he meant it. "And just to be clear--it's OK
if I ask for a rematch some time?"
 
Tara smiled but didn't say anything. She leaned in to kiss him, and
Michael felt her large, firm breasts press against his chest. He started
to get hard and was even a little woozy when she slowly pulled out of her
kiss...so much so that he didn't  notice she had wrapped her leg around
his. By the time he did she was already drawing it back and locking his
arm, leaning into his shoulder, and tossing him to the floor. Michael
stared up at her, and Tara winked at him.
 
 "Sure. But maybe you should wait til you've had time to recover from the
last whupping I gave you."
 
But Michael wasted little time seeking his revenge. The very next week he
challenged Tara to a wrestling match after they came home from a dinner
out on the town. Tara accepted and went into the bathroom to change. She
came out in skin-tight black leotard leggings and a sleeveless white
T-shirt. Michael felt a shiver of desire run through his body. "That's
not fair", he said. "You look so hot in that, it's an unfair advantage."
 
"Deal with it, Michael. I'm a 110-pound girl taking on a  170-pound guy,
remember? I should get SOME advantages, don't you think?"
 
Michael's desire was replaced with irritation at Tara
tauntingly reminding him of his weight and gender advantage. Not only did
she wrestle well physically, she clearly knew how to get inside Michael's
head as well.
 
They agreed that the carpet was still too rough on their knees and skin
for floor-wrestling, so the match would be decided by best of 7 throws.
Whoever threw the other 4 times first would be the winner.
 
Michael fought well, and managed to throw Tara twice. But in the end, the
match was decided much as the last one was, with Tara fending off
Michael's attacks and counter-attacks long enough to tire him out, and
when his movements became slower and more telegraphed, she moved in with
lightning precision and took him down. Two were wrist throws in which
Michael was literally corkscrewed to the floor in swift, sure motions. He
succumbed once to a clean leg sweep, and the final blow was a
slinging throw across Tara's hip that sent him rolling a good 3 feet,
nearly knocking him into the far living room wall.
 
Over the course of the next couple of months, Michael challenged Tara
repeatedly, growing more determined and frustrated in equal measure in
his attempts to get a win. But to Michael's increasing irritation, he
wasn't getting any closer to beating her, in fact, quite the opposite.
Tara kept a running journal of their 'scores" in the best of 7 matches,
and in the beginning there were a good number of "TARA 4, MICHAEL 2,"
even "TARA 4, MICHAEL 3" results, but as the weeks wore on the scores
most often read "TARA 4, MICHAEL 1", until eventually a series of clean
4-0 sweeps by Tara started showing up.
 
It was in these matches that Tara expressed a kind of boredom with the
proceedings, as if she didn't even need to try very hard to win. She
would often check her hair in the mirror in between sending Michael to
the floor and waiting for him to get up, and ask him questions during the
times in the match when he was most out of breath, saying things like "Do
you think i would look good in a mini-skirt?", right before executing a
leg sweep or wrist throw.
 
For Michael, it was his "Dickens period"--the best of times, and the
worst of times. The sex with Tara was amazing. He was more turned on than
ever, seeing her slender naked figure, feeling her thin toned thighs, all
the time realizing this seemingly gentle, harmless figure was capable of
performing intimidating martial feats he was helpless to repel.
 
But his ego was almost completely deflated, and his resentment was
growing. He started making excuses that he kept to himself for why he
kept losing. Eventually, he convinced himself that if he could just get
Tara on a wrestling mat, he would be more willing to throw her with full
force, knowing she wouldn't get hurt hitting a hard floor. He also knew
that he had a better chance against her if he could get her on the floor
and use his weight against her. In throws, she used her quickness,
judo-like leverage, and wiles to bring him down. On a mat, Michael told
himself, she'd have no chance.
 
He told her, "i'm going to buy a wrestling mat. I want our next match to
be on it."
Tara was skeptical. "I knew this was too good to be true", she said.
"You're not able to deal with losing to me, are you?"
"I am", Michael said angrily, "But we haven't had a REAL wrestling match
yet. You've never actually PINNED me, have you? This would be a true
marker of who's really the better wrestler."
 
Tara just rolled her eyes, and said "If you're willing to lug a freaking
wrestling mat all the way over here, knock yourself out."
 
A week later Michael did just that. He was full of adrenaline, and
determined to make the most of this chance.
 
They still started standing, as with the best of 7 throws. This match
would be determined by a pin or submission, however, and the number of
throws would not matter.
 
Tara came at Michael harder than he thought she would, and ankle-tripped
him to the mat. But she didn't follow him to it. After a brief struggle,
she managed a leg sweep, but again stayed on her feet.
 
Michael got up and feigned as if he was taking a step back, then lunged
forward. He caught Tara like a linebacker unimpeded to the quarterback
and slammed her to the mat. She let out a gasp of air, and seemd to be
winded. Michael thought for less than a microsecond whether she was OK,
realizing this may be his only chance. He scrambled atop her, straddling
her on either side, and putting the full force of his upper body weight
on her as she struggled to get free. Catching her wrists was the hardest
part. She kept flailing her arms side to side and twisting out of his
grasp when he did grab them. She was also bucking under him like a bronco
but Michael's weight was too much for her.
 
He finally got a strong hold of her wrists and began to force her arms
down. With almost no muscle definition visible in her arms, it was hard
to tell just how she held him off so long. Michael was grunting and
pushing and sweating with every ounce of his strength to force her arms
down, and when he finally had her arms pinned, a kind of mad triumph took
hold in him.
 
He repeated "Yes! Yes!" out loud into Tara's face.
 
She looked up at him and said "Congratulations. You finally beat me. Now
get off me."
 
But Michael wasn't about to let this moment pass just yet.
 
"I don't think so", he said. "Here's what you're going to do. You're
going to admit that I'm your physical superior, and THEN i'll let you
up."
 
"You're joking", said Tara.
 
"I'm not", he replied, "And here's some extra incentive for you." Michael
took Tara's wrists and forced them under his thighs as he moved up on her
chest. Now he had her arms pinned underneath his legs and his hands were
free.
 
"Say I'm your physical superior, Tara, or i'll slap that pretty little
face of yours."
 
Tara got a dark look in her eye. "I'm warning you, Michael."
 
"You're in no position to do that", he said. "And lightly slapped her
face with his right hand."
 
"Say it", he said, and slapped her other cheek with his left, a little
harder.
 
Tara just stared at him. "Say it!", repeated Michael, and slapped her
harder still.
 
Now Tara started bucking again, moving Michael slightly, but enough to
throw off his attempts to slap her face, which started to miss. She was
wriggling her arms as well, forcing Michael to concentrate on keeping his
legs tight on her arms. He continued to yell "Say it!" and trying to slap
her, until Tara pried one arm free and began to block his strikes. The
bucking continued and just as Michael felt Tara might get him off her, he
got up.
 
"Fine", he said. "Doesn't matter that you didn't say it. I proved I am
your physical superior. I pinned you, Tara. You lose, I win."
 
Michael was breathing heavily as he spoke, knowing his bragging sounded
hollow and forced.
 
Tara was now standing, giving him a hard look. "Two out of three,
Michael", she said.
 
"What? No, we're done here."
 
"What's the matter, Michael? Don't you want to prove this wasn't just a
fluke? Surely if all it took was a wrestling mat to change things around,
that's all you need, right?"
 
Michael tried to gauge whether he could pull it off again. All he had to
do was get on top of her again. He could do it.
 
Tara began re-tying her ponytail, looking directly into Michael's eyes.
"All these weeks, michael, I've never refused ONE of your wrestling
challenges. I'm making one now. I challenge you to a wrestling match,
making this a best 2 out of 3. You won the first, now it's time for the
second. Unless you want to pussy out."
 
That's what made Michael agree. "You want 2 out of 3, Tara? You got it."
 
They walked toward each other in the center of the mat. Michael decided
to go with what worked for him before, leaping at Tara, trying to knock
her down with a tackle. But like a matador toying with a charging bull,
she sidestepped his attack and deftly guided his momentum along, tripping
him as he went by and knocking him to the mat. Michael was grateful for
the forgiving padding, knowing if he had landed on the floor it would
have hurt a lot more. But as he got to his feet he started to wonder how
he was going to get Tara into a ground contest, and he was concerned as
well about his achilles heel in all these matches with her--his dwindling
stamina. He had expended a lot of energy in the previous match,
especially since he didn't expect another one.
 
He got back up and decided to go slowly, allow his energy to return
before making a run at pinning her. But Tara wasn't about to let that
happen. She was on him in a flash, striking him twice in the chest with
quick, stiff straight-arm shots that knocked Michael backward. Before he
could recover his footing, Tara grabbed Michael's left arm in both of
hers and pinned it to his side. Then she twisted her hips and slung the
trapped arm hard across her body, and Michael felt himself lifted off his
feet, around Tara's hip, and onto the mat where he landed with a hard
thud. He tried to sit up to get re-oriented, but he suddenly felt a
pressure around his neck. Tara had him from behind, one forearm under his
neck, her other arm braced against the back of his head. She had him in a
half-nelson. She was sitting behind him on the mat and as he struggled to
break her arm lock on his neck he watched as her legs came around either
side of his body and clamped across his mid-section. Michael was having
trouble breathing. He grunted and struggled as Tara tightened her grip.
But Michael's hands were free and he was just able to get an arm up to
loosen Tara's hold on his neck. He spun free and scrambled away from her,
getting to his feet as fast as he could.
 
But as he rose to his feet he felt dizzy, and there were spots before his
eyes due to the lack of air from Tara's hold. He could barely see what
came next, rather he felt the familiar helplessness that came with one of
Tara's legs locking the back of his knee, pulling back sharply, and the
mat rushing up to his face as he was thrown yet again.
 
Tara was on him in an instant, grabbing the top of his right shoulder in
both her hands and pushing on it to roll him over onto his back. Then she
lifted herself ever so slightly in the air and brought her knees down
hard on Michael's upper chest, knocking the wind from him. He could offer
no resistance as she next grabbed his wrists and thrust his arms
underneath her legs, clamped down hard on either side of his upper torso.
All Tara's body weight was concentrated on Michaels' chest. She was
sitting on top of him, his arms pinned solidly beneath her slim but
wiry-strong legs. Michael's legs were free, but he found he had little
energy to move them. He looked at Tara's face, only inches now from his.
Tara spoke to him calmly, but with a sinister tone.
 
"I think you know what's going to happen now, Michael."
 
Michael's voice came out in a weak whisper "I won't say it", he said.
 
"Fine by me", said Tara, as she drew back one long, slim arm and brought
her hand flying across Michael's face. The blow stung, and Michael
winced.
 
"Say I'm your physical superior, Michael, and I'll let you up."
 
Michael tried to move his arms, but all he could do was wiggle his
fingers as Tara had her legs firmly on top of his wrists. He tried to
buck her off, but was too drained of energy. She answered his efforts
with another slap across the face, harder this time, followed by another,
then another.
 
Michael felt his eyes begin to water with the force of the blows. Tears
began streaming out the sides of his eyes. "Say I'm your physical
superior, Michael. It's the only way you're getting up." The slaps
continued on either side of his face, each harder than the one before it.
 
Michael could not bear to utter those humiliating words, but he began to
worry about damage to his face. What if he got a black eye from Tara's
strikes, or a split lip? How would he explain it at work, or to his
friends? This fear overcame his pride. "Stop", he pleaded, "Please...I'll
say it."
 
Tara paused with her hand in mid-strike.
 
"Tara is..", he said, his voice barely above a whisper, which prompted
another slap to the face. "Louder than that", she said.
 
Michael raised his voice. "Tara is my....physical superior", he said, his
voice breaking with the pain and humiliation of the admission.
 
Tara got off him and Michael immediately felt his face with his now freed
hands. He turned over slowly on the mat and saw his tears puddle onto the
blue padding. Slowly, he limped over to the mirror and looked at his
face. It was crimson from Tara's blows, and puffy around the eyes from
his tears but otherwise there didn't seem to be any obvious scarring. He
hung his head and started to walk towards the bathroom to clean himself
up when he heard Tara say "Where do you think you're going? This match is
best 2 out of 3, remember?"
 
Michael started to back away as Tara moved toward him. He put his hands
up in a defensive gesture and was just able to say "no, no more" before
Tara grabbed his left wrist in both her hands and jerked it towards her,
twisting down then upwards, kicking out Michael's left leg at the same
time.
 
He fell to the mat in a twisted heap, with Tara still clutching his
wrist. "Don't worry", she said "I'll make this quick." Tara shoved her
foot into the middle of Michael's back, forcing him face down onto the
mat. She then started to twist the wrist in both her hands, pulling his
arm upward toward her, and Michael felt a jolt of pain travel up his arm.
 
He yelled out for her to stop, and Tara said, "I'm only going to say this
once, Michael: Don't you ever....EVER...slap or hit me again. Do you
understand?"
 
"Yes...yes...please STOP!"
 
"Say you submit"
 
"I submit!"
 
"Say i'm you're physical superior."
 
"You're my physical superior!!!"
 
Tara released his wrist and it fell with a slap to the mat.
 
Michael shut his eyes and tried to block it all out. He tried to choke
back the sobs welling in his throat, and was only moderately able to do
so.
 
After he was able to get up, Tara made him fold up and put away the mat.
 
They spoke very little to each other the rest of the evening, and that
night was the first time since they began wrestling each other that they
did not make love afterward.