OUTTAKES FROM THE TARA TRILOGY
by Raxx
 

The following are outtakes from the TRUE STORY told previously in "The
Tara Trilogy", which you can find on this site under miscellaneous
stories. (Search for "This is the Tara Trilogy, Part 1: "I Can Take You";
The Tara Trilogy, Part 2: "The Mat"; and The Tara Trilogy, Part 3: "The
Fight." Any questions or comments can be emailed to the author:
kraxxll@yahoo.com  These stories are completely true--only the names have
been changed.
 
Author's preface: I thought I had said everything I had to say about my
humiliating wrestling relationship with Tara in "The Trilogy", but
looking back recently at the stories, I felt more detail was necessary to
flesh out the wrestling matches that were mostly glossed over in Part
2:"The Mat." The bouts I had with Tara comprising that section took
place over a span of nearly 8 months. We wrestled literally dozens of
times, and other than my one victory described in Part 2, she beat me
every single time.
 
Tara stood 5'6" and weighed no more than 110 pounds. I was 5'10" and at
least 50 pounds heavier. I previously had readers of the Tara Trilogy ask
me if Tara had any martial arts training. Her only knowledge came from a
6-week introductory Aikido course she had once taken at a local community
college. I would like to use this as an excuse for my many defeats at her
hands, but as she used to remind me, she never did any sparring, and
never actually executed any throws in class. Only the basic movements and
philosophy were taught over the course of the classes she took (six in
all.) It is, however, an indication of her extraordinary athleticism and
fighting acumen, that she understood the basics of the form and no doubt
applied its framework during our matches. (I do remember her saying after
one time she deftly threw me to the floor "Wow--I think I just got you
with an Aikido move.") But the truth is, she never even earned a
beginner's belt level in Aikido. Her dominance over me can't be explained
away by an unfair advantage of martial arts skills.
 
For those who don't want to look up the Trilogy for context (although I
urge you to  do so; the story explains itself best with the necessary
background and psychological/emotional stresses involved) I will briefly
describe here that Tara was an extremely athletic, thin, large-breasted
and pretty (in an unconventional fashion; no cover model to be sure)
woman, with long, wild black hair. These wrestling matches took place in
her apartment, and because there was no mat--at least initially; again,
see Part 2 for how that came about--we agreed to spare our knees the
carpet-burn of floor wrestling and settled upon a best-of-7 series of
throws to determine a winner. Whoever threw the other to the floor 4
times first won the match. These "outtakes" are details from some of the
most memorable bouts we had that you won't find in Part 2:
 
1) SO CLOSE:  In the early days of our matches, I really did come close
to beating her. One night, with Tara dressed in her traditional fighting
costume of black bikini underwear and sleeveless white-ribbed T-shirt, I
moved in fast and grabbed her shoulders--avoiding her lightning fast leg
sweeps--to send her to the floor three times in a row. Then I got cocky.
"At least put up a fight, Tara", I said. Tara was not the least
intimidated. She just made a dismissive sound and started her
cat-and-mouse game: I kept trying to get a lock on her shoulders again
but she was now ducking and weaving out of the way, forcing me to chase
her around the room. Tara's greatest strength was that she never, EVER
got tired. She had the conditioning of a marathoner. Conversely, stamina
was my great achilles heel. I got tired quickly, and my breathing would
become labored before I would even realize it was happening. My arms
would get heavier and my movements slower with each attempt to get in
close and overpower Tara. She knew this and played me like a fiddle. Even
when I could get close, Tara used her wiry strength to keep her arms
moving...she was adept at using swift and jerky movements to fend me
off...I just couldn't get a clean hold of her no matter how hard I tried.
It was doubly frustrating because I was one throw from winning the match.
Finally, after what seemed like 20 full minutes of futility on my part,
Tara stood in place and let me grab her, but by now I was in HER trap.
She whipped her right leg around my left knee, locked it, pulled back,
and shoved hard on my shoulder, and I was thrust down to the floor. I was
technically still ahead 3 throws to 1, but we both knew it was over.
Getting back to my feet was a fight in itself, and Tara was waiting for
me. As soon as I was up, she grabbed my wrist, twisted it hard and bent
me backwards. I looked like I was trying to get under a limbo bar. She
kicked out my left leg and sent me down again. I had sweat dripping down
my nose to the floor and couldn't catch my breath. I saw Tara's feet
right by my face and knew if I got back up where I was she would just
throw me down again, so I tried to quickly crawl away and get away from
her but she followed me wherever I went, and finally I realized I had no
choice but to get up and try to back off from her clutches once I was on
my feet. No chance. She was just playing with me. When I got to my feet
(unsteadily), she dropped down, grabbed my right thigh in both her arms
and lifted my leg up and up until she had tipped me back over. I landed
so hard on my back I thought I wouldn't be able to get back up, but I
heard Tara say "Come on, Michael, it's tied 3-3...don't you want to see
if you can win the tie-breaker?" I eventually got to my feet and Tara
said "Take a minute...if I throw you now it'll be too easy." I was livid
at this insult but also knew I needed the time. I walked slowly around
the room until I got my breath back to normal, but I still felt drained
and weak as a kitten. When we started again, Tara moved in with complete
confidence, batted away my hand as I tried to grab her, and sent me down
with a perfectly timed leg sweep.
Final score: Tara 4, Michael 3.
 
2) THE BED WRESTLE: As I said, we decided on a best-of-7 throws format,
but every once in a while I couldn't resist trying to pin Tara down when
we were on her bed. I figured here I would have a distinct advantage with
my greater weight and strength, and she wouldn't be able to use her
quickness, leg-work, and escape tactics. But again I underestimated her.
One night we got into a pretty serious tussle. I nearly had her pinned 3
different times, but she managed to wriggle away and go into a defensive
"turtle" shell each time. The longer the match went on, the more I felt
my strength ebb away, and of course, Tara was counting on this. At one
point I had her locked up as she was on hands and knees--me over her with
a tight grip around her stomach and totally on top of her back. She had
nowhere to go. But Tara pushed with all her might upwards and even though
she moved me only slightly, when her weight went back forward towards the
headboard of the bed, she reached an arm up and grabbed around the back
of my neck and in one fluid motion, flipped me over her back. My legs
smashed into the headboard and before I could get my bearings Tara leapt
onto my chest, knees over my biceps, grabbed my wrists and locked them
down behind my head. My legs were still in the air resting against the
headboard and wall. I was bent in two, unable to move. Tara counted
slowly to 3, and that was it. Pinned by a 110-pound girl.
 
3) IN A SKIRT:  This may have been my most humiliating loss of all. We
had come back from an event related to her work, and we had to dress up a
little, something Tara, a natural tomboy, hated to do. She was wearing a
tight black skirt and white, buttoned-down work blouse and heels--which
she really despised. She looked like any white collar office worker--kind
of nice, actually, to see her in more formal clothes for a change, but it
had her in a bad mood. The event itself was a lecture and boring beyond
belief, so when we got back to her apartment I was itching to get
physical and challenged her to a bout. She wanted no part of it. "I'm
tired, Michael", she said. "I just want to go to bed. No wrestling
tonight." "Oh, come on, don't wimp out on me. Are you worried this is the
night I'll beat you?" She just scoffed at that. "As if", she said. "Well,
come on then, if you're so sure you can beat me", I said, and started to
get out of my clothes to put on the shorts and T-shirt I normally
wrestled her in. To my surprise, she sighed and said "Fine", but only
slipped off her heels and got into a fighting stance. "Aren't you going
to change?", I asked. "Don't need to", she said. "Let's just get this
over with." This was something totally different. Tara normally took
quite a while getting ready to wrestle me, gathering her long, wild black
hair into a tight ponytail, taking off all her jewelry, and slipping into
that black bikini bottom and sleeveless white T-shirt. She dispensed with
all of that this time, and it made me more than a little angry. "How are
you going to move in that tight skirt? I don't want you using that as an
excuse." She just said "Michael, it won't be a problem. If you insist on
wrestling tonight, it's now or never. Are YOU going to wimp out?" And
that was all I needed to hear. I went right after her, but Tara was, as
she implied, more than ready. She executed a perfect standing wrist throw
and had me on my back on the floor in less than 3 seconds. "That's one",
she said. I was more cautious in my next attack, but was unnerved that
Tara wasn't trying to bob and weave and tire me out as usual. She
centered herself in one spot and waited for me to move in. This time when
I approached she took both her arms and quickly got them between mine,
violently shoving them out to my sides. In the next instant she had
grabbed under my left shoulder, quickly twisted her body, and
effortlessly slung me across her hip onto the floor. 2-0, and not even 3
minutes had gone by.  I looked at her from my spot on the floor. She was
waiting with a bored look on her face, hands on her hips, slim-looking in
her tight black skirt. My next approach was to try to grab her head and
put her in a headlock, and I thought for sure I had her. My right arm was
less than an inch from the back of her neck when she deftly ducked her
head under and away, leaving me grabbing at air, as she locked her leg
around mine and nailed me with one of her patented leg sweeps. Tara
lightly moved some of her long hair away from her face and waited for me
to get back to my feet. I was one throw away from being swept to defeat
by a girl in a skirt, and I had no clue what to do next. Tara saw the
fear in my eyes and said "You want to quit while you're behind, Michael?"
I couldn't even think of a reply, so i just shook my head "no" and
started to circle her, looking for an opening. Again, she stood stock
still and waited for me. I moved behind her and grabbed her in a bear
hug. All I had to do was lean back and throw her down, but her arm shot
up quickly to my wrist and she started working the sensitive area beneath
the base, loosening my grip. Suddenly I felt her get hold of my fngers
and she bent them back, sending a jolt of pain through my body. I let go
of her and in the next instant she had taken control of my wrist, turned
herself completely around so she was facing me now, and with a tremendous
first up then down motion she flipped me from my feet onto the floor.
"Told you it wouldn't take long", she said. It hadn't. Tara had defeated
me in less than 5 minutes, but knowing she did it while still dressed in
her skirt and blouse was to me the most humiliating part.
Final score: Tara 4, Michael 0. 
 
4) IT GETS ROUGHER: This match happened not long after the "skirt" bout,
and is in many ways a kind of preview to Part 3 of the Tara Trilogy ("The
Fight.") I should have remembered this match when the Fight went down,
and if I had, perhaps I could have saved myself the severe beating I
sustained, along with the complete and utter loss of any dignaty I had
left. But hindsight is 20-20. This bout was near the end, when things
went horribly wrong, and I guess it was inevitable. As I wrote about in
Part 2, after some fairly competitive matches with Tara, I suffered an
increasing number of very humiliating losses, with Tara winning quite
often in 4-0 sweeps. This night, I was particularly frustrated because I
had gotten off to a good start, gaining the first throw, and even the
second. But even though I was up 2-0, the effort to get there had left
me, as always, seriously fatigued...while Tara seemed not to have broken
a sweat and had all the energy she displayed at the beginning of the
match. True to form, she won the next two throws and it was obvious to
both of us that things would end, as always, with me exhausted and on the
floor and Tara standing over me with a smug look on her face. But
frustration drove me on, keeping better judgment (conceding the match) at
bay. I was flailing in effort to get Tara "wrapped up"...the hardest
thing to do was always to just get her in my grasp; she was in constant
movement, wiry-strong and elusive. But now I had a tight grip on her
right arm and was trying to use my left to get around her back and draw
her in close. Each effort was rebuffed...she jerked away at the last
moment, or batted my arm away with her free hand. Finally, in a fit of
fury and frustration I whipped my arm around as fast and hard as I could
and ended up slapping her bare back (she was fighting me this night in
only a sports bra and bikini bottom) extremely hard. We had set rules at
the beginning that no slaps, punches, or direct kicks to the
body--tripping was allowed-- would be tolerated, and I had just violated
this rule badly. Tara winced and let out an angry "What the hell?", but I
kept going, which just made her madder. Next thing I knew she had shot
out her free left arm directly into my chest. Tara had long, slim, arms,
with almost no muscle definition to them at all. I used to jokingly call
them "pipe cleaners", but Tara had a power to her that had nothing to do
with rippling biceps or showy "definition". This blow to my chest knocked
me backwards and caused me to release her right arm, and it bloody well
hurt to boot. But I was still fixated on winning the match. It was 2-2,
and I stupidly thought I still had a chance, and my next move was the
height of foollishness: I struck back with a push of my own. Of course,
by now I was out of breath and slow, and I barely knicked Tara on the
shoulder with my shove as she dodged the strike, but it gave her license
to strike back, and it was devastating. Tara was thin as a reed and only
110 lbs., but she had quickness and speed to burn. I felt another shot to
my chest with her open palm (I didn't actually see it) and then another
up around my shoulder than spun me halfway around, and then I felt
my whole body give way as she leg-swept me to the floor. Tara was still
pissed about my breaking of the agreed rules. "So we can hit now, is that
what you want?" I was still on the floor when she delivered the question,
and again, my ego and sense of frustration impeded any common sense on my
part. "Whatever", I said. "All I did was slap your back a bit...if you
can't take a slap, just say so." "Oh, I can take a slap, Michael", Tara
said. "Let's see if you can." When I got back to my feet I was met with
two clean shots to the face with her open hand. One was a right. I forget
if she followed up with the right again or nailed me with her left hand,
but all I know is it stung and was so quick I couldn't even think of
blocking or ducking out of the way. I remember putting my head down like
a boxer and covering up with my forearms in front of my face, but that
just meant I couldn't see what her next move was. She got behind me,
locked her right leg behind my left knee, took her right arm and put it
across my chest and pulled back with leg and arm at the same time in a
hard, sharp motion. I landed flat on my back and didn't get up for
several minutes. When I did Tara was checking her back in the mlirror to
see if I had left a mark. "We said no hitting, Michael. I'd remember that
next time if I were you."
Final score: Tara 4, Michael 2.
 
5) THE HEADLOCK: Again, an embarrassing defeat that came near the end.
Again, I was heading towards a 4-0 floor-wiping by Tara. Mouth-breathing,
sweating, lumbering like an oaf after her 3rd throw, I staggered around
the room while Tara lingered in front of her mirror, un-doing and then
re-tying her ponytail, making a show of being not the slightest bit
winded or even interested in the outcome of the match. When she finally
deigned to get back to the contest, she complained of being bored with
tossing me around and mused out loud about trying something new. After i
put up a brief and ineffective defensive parry, Tara worked me into a
headlock. I was too weak at this point to break her wiry grip. Had she
been stronger, it would have ended quicker, and I would have preferred
that. Instead, because she was not particularly strong (at least in the
muscle-mass sense) in her arms, I was able to resist her squeezing to the
point of making me submit, but all this did was prolong the agony. She
started leading me on a walk around and around the room, with my neck
bent and vice-gripped, telling me to give up, while all I could do in
response was breathe through my teeth and grunt here and there. Tara was
in no rush. She knew it was just a matter of time before she wore me
down. Finally, I felt my knees shake and I slowly dropped to the floor.
But Tara kept her grip until I was on my knees. Then she let go, and as I
gasped for air, she placed her foot on my back and gently shoved me
face-first to the floor. "I guess that counts as a throw", she said, and
went back to the mirror and shook out her long, black hair.
Final score: Tara 4, Michael 0.
 
6) BATTLE FOR THE KEYS:  Again, towards the end ,when it seemed we were
bickering and arguing all the time. I know it was my fault. I was so
frustrated at my complete inability to defeat this skinny girl I was
sullen and snarky with her all the time. Drinking a lot, too. One night
we were getting ready to go out to a friend's party. Tara put on her
black leather jacket. The blazer that hugged her arms and accentuated her
wild raven hair. She looked so fucking hot in that jacket. Ass-hugging
jeans and her black boots, too that added another two inches to her
height at least. It only made me angrier somehow when she looked this
good...like it was bad enough I was getting my ass kicked by a girl, when
she looked her sexiest it just emphasized her femininity and made it seem
that much worse. I started drinking beers well before it was time to go.
I'd been up to four already. Tara had a couple, but just lites. We argued
about something--I can't even remember what--and then I said "Fuck this,
let's just go already", and grabbed the keys.
Tara says "You're not driving, Michael. You're already drunk."
"You've been drinking too...so what?"
"Not like you have. Give me the keys."
"No fucking way. I'm driving."
"Michael..."
"No discussion. Let's go."
"Tell you what--I'll wrestle you for it."
"What?"
"Wrestling match. Right now. One throw. Whoever wins gets to drive."
I was pretty shocked by this. I almost always issued the wrestling
challenges, always thinking maybe the next one would be the one for me to
finally win. I usually had to talk Tara into taking me on. Now she was
calling me out.
"What's the matter, Michael? Can't risk losing to your girlfriend again?
I'm giving you an advantage--one throw means you only need to take me
down once...I won't be able to wear you down like I always do. Are you
really that scared?"
"Like hell I am. You're on."
Tara couldn't surpress a smile and dropped into her fighting stance. She
was smiling because she knew what I also knew but couldn't
admit....sober, I had little chance against her. Drunk? I was a snowball
in hell. I flew at Tara as fast and hard as I could. I remember a flash
of black leather, then the sensation of my arm being twisted around to
the small of my back. With her other hand Tara shoved me into the wall
like a cop collaring a perp. If I hadn't gotten my left hand up to the
wall just in the nick of time I would have had my face smashed in. In the
next second, without releasing my twisted arm, Tara grabbed the back of
my shirt and threw me down onto the floor. Note that she didn't use her
leg to trip me this time. She simply reared back and threw me with her
arms. I fell awkwardly and sprained my wrist. While I writhed there
rubbing it Tara stood over me and said "Keys." I staggered to my feet and
fished them out of my pocket and handed them over. Tara said "Let's go."
"I'm not going."
"Fine. Sit here and sulk. I'll see you later, but don't wait up."
"You're not going either."
"Excuse me?"
"If I'm not going, you're not going."
Tara just said "You must be joking."
I stupidly replied "Try me."
"So how are you going to stop me, Michael? Huh? What is big bad Michael
going to do to stop little bitty Tara from going to this party?"
"I'm warning you...."
Tara laughed and said "Oh, that is hilarious", and started walking
towards me with intent to injure--and with extreme prejudice. I saw her
coming, felt my still sore wrist, and began backing up till I was at the
edge of the couch. Tara was standing inches from me, hands on her hips,
staring right at me.
"You want to make a move, Michael?"
I was looking at my feet, face burning. "No."
"What? Couldn't hear you."
"No."
"Sit down then."
I sat down.
Tara turned on her heel and grabbed the keys again. "Like I said--don't
wait up."
Come to think of it, this was more humiliating even than the skirt.
Final score: Tara 1, Michael 0.
 
These are the highlights I didn't have time to include in Part 2. Again,
I urge anyone interested to read the Trilogy for context. Comments or
questions are welcome at the email address listed in the intro. I needed
to write the truth about these incidents, as painful to my psyche as they
still are. It helps, if only a little.