Dolly
By BOS  cashley216@woh.rr.com 



The life was getting old for Dolly. The constant travel from town to town. The
same hotels in every town. The sleazy arenas. The drunken, stupid crowds. The
second rate opponents, girls who should have been slinging hash someplace but
thought the wrestling life would be more glamorous. Dolly knew that once upon
a time in their lives each one of these chicks had been told by someone that
she had some athletic ability. Dolly wondered who that asshole was. Was it the
same clown with each girl, or were there a lot of these numbskulls running
around? Who was it that was making her feel every time she got in the ring
like she'd better worry about the possibility of being sued for harming a
defenseless girl.

Now she was on her way to a college town in the Rocky Mountain states that
didn't even have an airport. It was raining, and she didn't want to be driving
the mountain roads at night. So she was taking a train. She didn't mind that;
maybe she'd get lucky. what the hell, it was a college town, wasn't it?

She got herself an over-priced drink at the club car and went looking around.
There were interesting looking young men here and there, but none that seemed
all that exciting. Through one car, then another Dolly kept looking. In the
third car down, Dolly found a group of pleasantly boisterous, generally drunk
young men. Must be some sort of team, Dolly thought, noting their fit
physiques. But they came in all different shapes and sizes, and she couldn't
quite figure out their sport. She took a seat next to one who was sitting
alone. "Guess I'm surrounded by a bunch of Jocks," she said, by way of
breaking the ice. She learned from her companion that the sport was track and
field. She took a sip of her drink and contemplated, then set about trying to
determine conversationally just where she might find the weight men.

She was indirect about it, and her companion was chatting amiably when the
door at the end of the car which Dolly was facing opened and there entered a
stream of young men, apparently looking for a more or less empty car, where
all of them might settle together.

The thought entered Dolly's mind immediately, but she laughed at herself. It
was just wishful thinking Dolly assured Dolly. But when she took another look
she realized she had been right: They were the wrestling team. She'd know that
build anywhere The thick necks, the wide hips (as jocks go), the thick thighs.
Overall muscularity, but no exceptional definition. Then there were the short
haircuts, designed to facilitate the wearing of headgear. The fact that they
ranged from tiny to huge cinched it.

As they disappeared through the other door, Dolly downed her drink and excused
herself from her current companion, not noticing whether she had interrupted
him or how he responded. Before she caught up with them, she stopped at
another club car to get a refill, then she set about looking for the
heavyweight. Jesus, what a hunk, she thought upon first seeing him. Six foot
four if he's an inch. 225, 230. Nothing but muscle. If any of these kids could
make her night. interesting, he was the best bet.

She saw him take a seat by himself and stretch out along it. It was as if the
guys had some unspoken agreement that the big guy got two seats. Dolly
reversed the back of the seat in front of him so that she could sit on it
facing him. "Might as well be friendly," she said as she smiled at him and sat
down.

His eyes went immediately to her huge bosom, but Dolly had taken that
eventuality for granted. It was the only part of her anatomy that was not
covered by her tight, black pantsuit. It was also, if did say so herself,
fantastic. Besides, men -- especially boys, actually -- seemed to think that
they could stare at it without being obvious, given that it was so close to
her face.

"You look kind of down," Dolly said, though it was not true. Besides being a
pun,she had always found it to be a great ice-breaker with men; it gave them
an opportunity to tell you their troubles, which they loved to do. Since she
was old enough to be this kid's mother, it seemed particularly appropriate.

Tell her his troubles he did. One was with his girlfriend. It might even be
over, he said. Dolly asked him what the problem was, but he expressed
reluctance to talk about it. "It's kinda personal," he said.

"''Maybe I can help," Dolly said "I've been through it all". He demurred.

"It's about sex, isn't it?" she said.

"I can't really talk about it," he said,

"Well, let's see," she said. "In this day and age, I can't believe she won't
do it." She watched him for a reaction and concluded that she hadn't gone
wrong yet. "And I'd be very surprised if the problem is you won't do it." He
laughed. That was good. "So maybe there's something one of you -- probably you
-- want to do and the other doesn't."

"You're pretty smart," he said.

"You mean she won't go down on you?" Dolly ventured, thinking that if that
wasn't it, he would say so. He said nothing. "Tell her if she'll do you,
you'll do her. I could promise her she'd love it." The boy said something
under his breath. When Dolly asked him to repeat it, he declined. But by then
Dolly realized what he had said.

"That's her idea," it was.

Dolly had to digest this a while before she realized what it meant. He
wouldn't go down on her. She filed this information and changed the subject.

Another one of the boy's problems was, it turned out, that he was facing
graduation and had no job prospects, nor anything he particularly wanted to do
for a living. "I'm a wrestler," he said. "That's what I do. It's all I can do,
It's all I want to do."

"So do it," Dolly said,

"Yeah, right," he said. "You want to pay me?"

"I mean professional wrestling," she said. The boy laughed sardonically and
took-a big swig of the drink he was holding, "What's so funny?" Dolly asked.

He was patient with her. Her misconception was one that was very common among
people who don't know anything about wrestling. "It's a whole different
thing," he said. "That professional stuff is all fake. I'm an athlete, not a
clown." More information for Dolly to file. She nursed her drink thoughtfully.

"I hear you can make pretty good money," she said,

"It wouldn't be worth it," he said. "Professional wrestlers are the dregs of
the earth. And the biggest fakes make the money, not the real wrestlers."

She took another swig of her drink. Then she leaned over toward the boy.
"What's your name?" she asked, extending her hand for shaking. Jock Walter, he
told her, extending his hand. "Mine's Dolly Splay," she said. "Mean anything
to you?"

He thought as they shook hands. She held on to his longer than normal. "No,"
he said, tentatively. "I don't think so."

"You seem to know so much about professional wrestling," she said, still
holding his hand. "I thought you might have heard of me." He looked confused.
She tightened her grip, placing her thumb on a strategic spot on the back of
his hand. "I'm the world champion of ladies' wrestling." He grimaced in pain.

"Whoops," he said. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean I think they're the dregs of
the world. I just mean ..." She squeezed and he started sliding down his seat.

"You've got a lot to learn, my young friend," Dolly said, standing up and
increasing the pressure. He slid to his knees, his eyes now at the level of
her tightly covered crotch. "And I'm going to do you the favor of teaching
you. She eased the pressure on his hand, and he stood up. Then she turned her
back on him, still holding his hand in hers, and said, "Come with me." He
followed her awkwardly, his hand extended out in front of him. The other
wrestlers watched curiously as Dolly and Jock left.

The 5" 1", 145 pound woman pulled the heavyweight after her purposefully
through one car after another. Finally, in a very narrow halfway, Jock grabbed
a doorknob with his free hand, stopped walking and pulled his hand out of
Dolly's grip. She stopped and turned to face him. Suddenly she was on him. She
drove both her palms into his chest and flattened him against the corner they
had just negotiated. She dug her right fist into his gut and wrapped her left
hand around his neck and pulled his head down, almost to her semi-bare left
shoulder. "Do you want me to teach you right here?" she said softly in his
ear. Getting no response, she dug her right fist deeper into his put. "Yes or
no!" she spat.

"No," he said. Still holding him like that, she said, "Give me your hand." He
hesitated. She made him aware of the fact that her knees were between his
legs. "Now!" she said. He put his right hand in hers, and she once again
turned her back on him and pulled him after her. 'When they reached her
compartment, Dolly opened the door and pushed the younger man in before her.

The sight Jock saw when he woke up was one that he knew -- instantly, somehow
-- would remain high in his consciousness for the rest of his life. He saw
legs, mainly. The backs of legs. Naked legs. All the way up from feet to ass.
A woman's legs, no question about that. Jock knew enough about himself to
realize that any time he saw nakedness, he tended to assume it was female
nakedness, at least for an instant. But in this case there was no question
about it. These legs were short and they were wide, but they were definitely
all woman. They were hairless and meaty and altogether inviting, but maybe it
was the ass which really made it clear that he was looking at a woman. He
could only see the bottom half of it; the rest was covered by a shirt, black.
He couldn't see the torso of the person in question. She was, he began to
understand, leaning away from him, her head sticking out the window of the
train. That ass, so tantalizingly, teasingly revealed was as smooth and lush
and substantial as the attached limbs. And if there was any doubt about the
gender of his companion -- and there simply was not, it was instantly,
intuitively obvious to Jock -- it would have been removed by the very angle of
her pose. A male appendage, if it was there, would have made itself apparent
to Jock, given the angle of his vision, i.e., upward from the floor.

Jock did not know why he was on the floor. He thought about that as the woman
in front of him remained in her position, pointing her ass at him, or so it
seemed to Jock. At first he didn't even know where he was. He thought he was
dreaming, given the unlikely evidence of his eyes. He remembered a woman, and
he recalled being on a train. He could feel the train now, couldn't he? He was
walking down this hall -- no, the train -- with her, then ... Then? He
couldn't remember. He thought he would try to talk. In dreams he could never
seem to talk.

"What's happening?" he said. That seemed easy enough. The woman turned around,
and upon seeing her face, everything came back to Jock, at least up to the
time they entered Dolly's compartment.

Dolly turned and leaned casually back against the window sill, her loose black
nightshirt struggling to cover her crotch, a struggle to which the lady was
apparently indifferent.

"Well, sleeping beauty arises," she said. "You want to know what happened?
Well, I'll tell you what happened, Stud -- excuse me-- Jock. I knew it was
something like that." She was walking slowly toward him. "Well, you found
yourself alone with this lady phony. And then you just sort of fainted. At
first I thought you were just faking, you know, because I was just faking,
just pretending to teach you a little something -- for your own good, you
understand."

As she approached, Jock sat up. Or tried to. Dolly swept one of his hands off
the floor, depriving him of some of his support. She put the same bare foot
with which she had done that on his massive chest and brought him to his
original position. She kept her foot in place as she continued her narrative.
He stared up, at her.

"And so I put you in this phony little thing of a hold we use when we are just
pretending up, there in the ring me and my girlfriends, you know. But I guess
I got carried away. You know, forgot I wasn't dealing with another phony
wrestler. You know, when I do it on them, they just pretend to faint. How was
I supposed to know that if you do it on a real wrestler he really faints. You
learn something every day," she shrugged, dramatically expanding Jock's view
of her central area.

"You tricked me," Jock said

Those were the wrong words. What Dolly had wanted to hear was, "I take it all
back."

She didn't respond immediately to what he did say, just stood there staring at
him, letting him stare at her, thinking. Finally she said, "Well, I guess you
might say that, sweetheart. But I've got a million of 'em."

She sat on his chest. "For example, before you leave here, I'm going to trick
you into putting your head in my muff and doing whatever I want you to do and
staying down there for as long as I want you too. That's one of my better
tricks. I figure as long as I'm doing you the favor of providing this
education about us phonies, I might as well do one for your girlfriend.
Sometimes I'm just too thoughtful for my own good."

"Now just how are you going to do that?" Jock asked.

She smiled. "Does a magician reveal how he does his tricks?" She got off the
young man, turned her back on him and walked back to the window which she had
been looking out when Jock first came to. Without turning back to face him,
she said, "Get up."

Jock tore his eyes away from her rearend and did as she told him. Still facing
away, the lady said, "For my first trick, I'm going to hang you out this
window until you beg me to pull you back." Now she turned back to him. "Watch
closely," she said.

She approached him slowly, slowly waving her arms in front of him -- as if she
were a magician demonstrating that there was nothing up her sleeve.

By now, of course, young Jock understood that the little, middle-aged lady in
front of him was a force to be reckoned with. So he was on his guard. He knew
she would soon dispense with that arm waving stuff and step into action. She
tricked him, though. She acted before she stopped weaving her arms. She weaved
one unobtrusively between his left arm and his side. He had flown over her
sturdy hip and landed with a thud on his back before he was really ready to
engage. Reflexively, the man began to sit up. But Dolly -- long used to this
pattern, having thrown more than a few young bodies over that same hip --
simply let his head come up until his hair was in her hand. Then she snapped
him back down hard, his head hitting the floor. This time he did not rise so
fast, instead he lay wondering if his head was seriously hurt.

Dolly, who knew that it was not, stepped around to the side of the prostrate
young man and raised her foot above his chest. So high did she raise it that
her knee almost touched her protuberant chest. The dazed young man saw the
bottom of the lady's foot poised flatly above his chest. He also more or less
saw the soft underside of Dolly's fleshy thigh and her crotch. He had hardly
even begun to turn away when her foot came down onto his chest.

Again, Dolly knew that kind of blow would not really hurt a stud like Jock.
But it would shake up anyone. Jock was not used to these kinds of moves. They
certainly weren't the sort of thing he had to deal with in collegiate
wrestling, wherein any move designed solely to cause some sort of physical
discomfort is illegal. When he turned to his left in reaction to the pain,
both real and expected, Dolly encouraged him with a nudge from her naked foot
to his broad back. Before Jock knew it, he was lying on his face and the
little lady was sitting on his back. She thought about going for a pin right
there by slipping her arm between one of his arms and his neck and using that
half nelson to turn him over. But she knew that would be precisely the sort of
thing he could handle, because it would be a very collegiate maneuver.

As she sat there on him, what Jock did, as soon as he got himself together
enough to do something was to attempt to stand up. I should've known, thought
Dolly. Macho Man is going to show me how strong he is, how my weight is like
nothing to him. Dolly decided to show him what nothing really was. She removed
herself from him with a felicity he would not have expected -- as if her move
was actually part of his, it almost seemed to him -- and at the moment when
Jock's weight was about evenly distributed between his feet and his hands, she
grabbed the young man's belt at the back and drove him forward until he landed
in a heap in a corner of the small room, aided, as she was, by his difficulty
in keeping his balance on a moving train. His head hit the wall, but not
terribly hard.

Dolly followed up with yet another move that Jock had never had to deal with
before. Reaching one hand up, between his thighs and one hand around his
waist, she had his belt undone before he knew what she was up to. Scooting
backwards she rucked his pants first, then his briefs, down to his knees. She
straightened up and was pulling his pants down farther when he frantically
reached down between his legs. Noting his movement with the instantaneous
reaction time that had served her so well all these years, Dolly wound each of
her arms around one of his ankles, thus locking his feet under her armpits. At
the same time she stepped forward and gave his head a little nudge with her
foot, propelling it in the direction in which he was reaching. The result was
the young mans head was under her when Dolly sat down again. He was doubled up
in a narrow V, his face between the fleshy lady's legs and between her
buttocks, and his legs under her arms.

His long feet almost touched his head. His naked crotch came to life in front
of her. She smiled. This kid has enough troubles trying to defend himself
against me, he doesn't need that, she thought. But she couldn't resist giving
her rearend a little wiggle and watching him grow some more. Then, just as she
knew the boy was really getting into this, the lady wrestler was off him. And
his pants were off him, in her hands. She felt his fingers slide reluctantly
off her thighs as she stood up and stepped away from him.

Now they were even, both naked--from the waist down (except that the boy had
his shoes and socks on), their shirts precariously and fitfully covering their
more private parts.

Dolly dangled the boy's pants over his face until he reached for them. Then,
in one motion, she snapped the pants out of his reach and snapped her foot
into his belly. She stood over him and watched in satisfaction as he doubled
up. Trying to keep his eye on her now -- aware of just how dangerous she was
-- Jock watched from his doubled over, fetal-type position as the little lady
turned her back on him dramatically, flung his pants over her shoulder, as if
she was Sinatra carrying an overcoat, and walked slowly -- hips swaying
impudently and sometimes revealingly -- away from him. It was not a very long
walk. The room was small enough that it could only have one end: the window to
which Dolly had earlier alluded.

She turned to face him and extended her right arm out the window, the boy's
pants dangling from it. "Hey, wait a minute," Jock said as he climbed to his
feet while trying to keep himself covered.

Dolly reassured him "Don't worry, sweetheart," she said. "I'm not going to
drop them if you don't want me to. You can make that desire known simply by
taking a little stroll on over here and trying to get them. But I must warn
you: If you come near me, I'm going to hang you out there just like this."

Jock hesitated. "What's the matter, heavyweight!" Dolly asked. "You're not
afraid I can do it, are you?" By now she was looking almost straight up in
order to make eye contact. Jock said, "How do I know you won't drop them if I
come near you?"

"What you know is that I will drop them if you don't," Dolly reassured him.
So, bending forward in a conventional wrestler's position --- that just
happened to allow his sweatshirt to hang down far enough to cover his crotch
-- Jock came at her. Slowly. He wanted to find something of hers to grab onto
so he could quickly pull her toward him, before she could drop his pants. But
he knew he would have to be lightning quick. Jock prided himself on being
faster than your typical heavyweight. But Dolly wasn't giving him anything to
grab. She kept her arms close to her body and just kept whispering, "Careful,"
to the 200-pounder coming at her.

Suddenly, to his total surprise, Dolly grabbed him specifically his
sweatshirt. Jock, showing clearly his respect for his lady opponent,
immediately and instinctively backed off. His shirt came off in Dolly's hand,
over the head of the bent over young man. Now he wore only his shoes and
socks. As self-conscious as he was worried about his clothes -- his shirt
having joined his pants outside -- he turned sideways to try to hide as much
of himself as possible while attacking Dolly. The spectacle made the lady
laugh. Angered at that and figuring her laughter would slow her reactions,
Jock decided to make his move. He took a swipe at her nearest leg, just as he
might in a collegiate match -- should he ever find himself matched against a
half naked, little middle-aged woman.

He succeeded in grabbing the naked ankle, and he pulled hard on it toward the
room, hoping his clothing would enter. But Dolly managed to grab the window
sill with the hand that held Jock's clothes. She also managed to get off
another move that was new to Jock. With her free leg she kicked him in the
face. Jock was tough, though, and he hung on to the lady's foot. But the kick
had enough of an effect on Jock to allow Dolly to pull her leg back toward
herself somewhat; enough to allow her to step with her free foot on top of
Jock's head, which --- collegiate style -- was down near the floor, next to
her captured leg. Under the circumstances -- specifically that he found his
face being expertly mashed into the floor -- Jock decided to retreat. He tried
to take Dolly's foot with him and thus pull her away from the window. However,
Dolly knew how to free herself from a grasp with the best of them. After she
twisted her ankle just so, Jock found himself back where he had started,
staring at the woman at the window. Naked, essentially.

By now Dolly knew that the boy was so fixated on the problem of getting her
away from the window that if she suddenly were to change the nature of his
task, he would not be able to adjust quickly. So when she smoothly dropped
down to grab his leg, he never had a chance. Before his inexperienced mind had
even computed what was happening, he was hopping around on one foot, the other
being firmly in the little lady's grasp. Using his horizontal leg as a
steering mechanism, Dolly needed only to add a strategic, disorienting goose
of her new friend's naked bottom section to propel him toward the window. And
when she scooped up his other ankle so that now, once again, each of his
ankles was held securely under one of the lady's armpits -- all of a sudden he
was, indeed, as predicted, hanging out the window.

Upside down.

And naked.

His clothes were lying safely on the floor of the compartment, where Dolly had
discarded them in favor of his big, naked leg. The first one.

Jock's responses to this development were varied, if predictable. He began
with an inarticulate howl that reflected his concern that Dolly might not be
in as full control as she thought and might lose him. Soon, however, he was
managing to put entire words together. First in the form of commands aimed at
Dolly. Then, after he had apparently gained a finer appreciation of the limits
of his influence in this situation, in the form of inquiries into the state of
Dolly's sanity. Then with pleas. Then with concessions. Then with promises of
future behavior on his part that Dolly would find satisfactory.

But words did not form the centerpiece of his behavior during his unmodified,
unlimited hang-out. He also engaged in frantic physical struggles. First to
get back inside. Then, failing that, to protect his more vulnerable parts.
Then to find something to hold onto. Then back to square one, trying to get
back in.

When she pulled the boy back into safety, he was exhausted. He lay at her
feet, pulling himself back together, unconcerned for the moment at least with
the exposure of his backside. Dolly stood over him, her legs straddling his,
her arms folded under her chest. The boy lay on his left leg, his massive,
heaving chest turned toward the floor.

She could take him now, she contemplated. She could plop her naked bottom down
on his hip and flip him over onto his back. Then she could take his measure,
see whether he was capable of putting up a fight should she try to sit on his
face. But she knew he was not at his best. She wanted him to be full of energy
when he found himself confronted with her femininity. Besides, they had a long
trip ahead of them.

Dolly went over to the only seat in the compartment, a padded, bench which
would normally sit two or three people. She sprawled along it, her head
resting an one of the arms, her naked legs extended roughly toward the male
heap. She watched him recover. Her ankles were crossed, and her body was
covered only down to her hips. He could not have seen her crotch, even if he
were looking at it. But it would not have taken much to reveal it to him.

"The folks who come to the arena to see me work over the girls wouldn't stand
for this kind of delay, lover," she said to the boy whose back was still
turned toward her. "The girls recover much faster than this, or they'd be out
of a job. If you can't wrestle, the least you've got to be able to do is
recover fast and come back for more. But then the girls think the beating I'm
putting on them is phony, so maybe it doesn't hurt so much."

Jock slowly rolled over and faced Dolly, his hand covering his crotch. His
eyes traveled over her legs, up to her face, then down to the pile of cloth
that lay next to the seat at the same end as Dolly's head. Dolly, seeing the
boy's eyes go to his clothes, quickly scooped up said material and placed it
behind her head and reclined back onto it. Then, controlling his eyes and his
thoughts, she slid her outside leg up the seat until her knee was bent at
almost a ninety degree angle and her foot was flat on the seat. Naturally, the
boy's eyes went to the female flesh that had been revealed by this adjustment
-- the lady's nearest buttock (or most of it), not to mention the underside of
her nearest thigh and the inside of her other one.

Jock became aroused to a degree his hand could not conceal, and he faced his
eyes away from lower Dolly. He looked around for something to cover himself
with, but there was nothing. Should he try to get his clothes away from the
reclining lady? The thought flashed -- or started to flash --- through his
mind that he was reluctant to try. But he quickly finessed the question by
telling himself that it was silly to be concerned with covering himself. What
was he, a kid or something?

He saw Dolly's little smile and decided that she was amused by his hard-on and
his attempt to cover himself. He decided to get this issue resolved. He
suddenly stood up, directly in front of Dolly, facing her, and put his hands
on his hips. He let her have a full view of his entire body, including his
elongation.

Dolly let out a low whistle. "Not bad, sweetheart," she said. You like it,
being worked over by a lady?"

Jock was intent on regaining his masculinity. "I like what I see," he said.

"Terrific, because pretty soon you're going to be getting the closest view of
a lady it is possible to get," Dolly said. He didn't respond. "Tell you what,
sweetheart. You say you like what you see. Okay, take it." He looked at her
questioningly. "Go ahead, she said. "Take it. You want it, take it. It's yours
if you can get it. You're not afraid, are you?"

"Hell no, I'm not afraid But I don't have to rape anyone if I want sex."

"But who's talking about rape? Just a little rasslin' match among friends. We
don't have a referee to say when someone is pinned. And we wouldn't want to go
for a submission, now, would we? That wouldn't be very friendly. Besides, you
college fellows don't deal in submissions, as I understand it. So I'd have you
at a disadvantage, so to speak. So I'm just suggesting a way we can decide who
wins. If we fuck - you win; if you go down on me, I win. Just a couple of
jocks having a little competition." She swung her feet to the floor leisurely,
and stood up and approached Jock as she said, "Of course, if you're afraid, I
can certainly understand that."

Indeed, Jock did find himself backing away as she approached him. By now his
back was against a wall, and the little lady was standing so close to him that
her breasts almost touched him, and she had to crank her head back about as
far as it would go if she wanted to look him in the eyes, which she did.
"After all, I know how frightening I must be to you." She wrapped her arms
lightly around his waist.

"I'm not afraid of you," he said.

"No? well, you've got a funny way of showing it, sweetheart. You're so horny
your eyebrows are getting hard, and yet you won't make a move on me, even
though I've invited you to. Now it may surprise you to hear it, but the fact
is a gal like me knows how much a guy like you has fantasized about the
possibility of getting a little tussle along with his nookie. Well, here's
your chance. And all you do is rub your back against a wall." '

His arousal was by now undeniable, in two senses of that word. "Okay," he
said, "but I can't wrestle like this." His hands indicated his nudity.
Receiving the appropriate gesture, from Dolly, he retrieved his shorts, which
didn't help much, though he was glad they were boxers and not Jockeys, because
the latter would have done nothing to contain him under the circumstances.

They faced off. Jock was tentative, on his guard, defensive. He felt triply
awkward because he was not used to wrestling people as short as Dolly and
because of the movement of the train. Dolly understood intuitively that the
way to best counteract the movement of the train was to come to grips quickly
and use one's opponent's body to help one stabilize.

She was in on Jock quickly, her body pressed against his right side, her left
hand winding between his legs from behind him and lifting up on his crotch,
though sparing his most sensitive parts, just scaring him a little. Meanwhile,
she placed her other arm across his chest and grabbed his left upper arm with
that hand. Then, lifting his nearest leg with the hand between his legs and
pushing his body with hers, she brought the huge boy to the floor.
Immediately, Jock got to his knees. He turned in toward Dolly, reaching for
her with his right hand. Dolly give him her right wrist, which he took
gratefully, though he would have preferred a thigh. Then Dolly, using her body
to help, reached her captured arm under Jock's belly and grabbed Jock's
attached right arm with her other hand, which was still strung between his
legs. There quickly, before Jock could even sort out who was holding who,
Dolly exploded to her feet and pulled violently an Jock's wrist. She sent him
rolling in a somersault, at the end of which he was flat on his back at
Dolly's feet, and his wrist was securely in the grip of both of Dolly's hands.
Dolly sat down on the seat and placed one of her bare feet in the boy's
exposed armpit and the other on his neck. And she stretched his arm.

The boy had only the vaguest idea what had hit him. Dolly knew that he
couldn't get out of this one unless he was a lot stronger than she thought he
was, not starting from beneath her like this. She had too much pressure
pushing down on him. Predictably, Jock went to his muscle. He tried to pull
his arm away from the lady. But he could do no more than manage to bend his
elbow a few inches. Then he tried to get his feet under him and get to his
feet, but his opponent -- too wily --- let him get almost all the way up, then
brought him crashing to his back. He tried again, with the same result, except
that this time, when he opened his eyes after his rapid descent he realized
that his arm was no longer in custody. For the moment, however, he was too
winded, too shaken up, too worried about the condition of his head (in the
wake of its two recent, sudden meetings with the floor) and too uncertain
about the condition of his arm --- which seemed to be in a state approximating
numbness -- to take advantage of that fact. He had only decided that this was
not exactly an opportunity to rest when he realized that the little lady he
was fighting with was no longer in his view.

Then nothing was in his view. He didn't think he was unconscious, though he
wouldn't have ruled out the possibility. If his sense of sight was somehow
hampered, his sense of touch was not. He felt something on first his ears,
then all over his face. He was enveloped in it. When he thought soft, he
thought female. Then he understood. She had come up behind him and sat on his
face. She felt pretty much the way he had thought she would feel. Soft. Yet
intimidating, controlling, somehow inescapable.

He still couldn't see. The only possibility for that would have been toward
the front, for, her buttocks completely cutoff all light. But her shirt hung
down in front, all the way to his chest. But his eyes were mostly shut under
her inundating flesh anyway. By the time he had got the situation analyzed, he
realized she had consolidated her position while he was thinking. She had both
of his arm pointing up and in her control, which was no great accomplishment,
given that one of his arms was pretty useless anyway. Each one was locked
under one of her armpits..

He did the only thing he could do. He began bucking violently, using mainly
his legs to provide movement. Dolly gladly let go of his arms, then, and
replaced them with his naively offered legs, locking them under her for not
the first time this evening. Then she scooted her bottom forward just a bit,
so that his eyes were no longer covered, but his mouth was. He knew what she
wanted him to do. But he resisted. To do so was to admit defeat in a fight
that just a few minutes earlier he had thought to be in its earliest stages.
He was not ready to admit defeat.

Neither was Dolly eager to claim victory. She was in no hurry. And this wasn't
her preferred position, anyway. She wanted to be able to look at his face
while he was doing his duty.

Dolly slipped off her facial perch, to where she was resting on one elbow. She
had released Jock's legs, but she still held his head firmly between her meaty
thighs. She locked her ankles and watched the boy flap his legs and pry at her
thighs. She grabbed his nearest wrist with her free hand and immobilized it
completely on the floor, held by both her hands. When she felt that he had
tired that arm enough in his struggle to free it, she let go with one hand and
used that newly free hand to rest her head on. Now she rested, letting her
legs and her opponent do her work. She knew that if had not gotten out of her
head scissors quickly, there was no way he was going to get out of it after a
long struggle. He simply wouldn't have enough strength left. Soon it was clear
that the twisting this way and that of the boy's long body were not so much a
search for escape as the attempt to find a new and more comfortable position
to be captive. They had -- those movements -- no more meaning than the
stirrings of an insomniac searching out fresher, cooler parts of the sheets.

Dolly did not mind allowing the boy these adjustments. She even initiated
some. For example, if she lay with her legs straight, then her muscles in her
meaty thighs would be flexed in such a way that would put greatest pressure on
the lower part of Jock's face. But if she bent her knees as far as she could
under the circumstances -- to where her ankles brushed against the boy's hair
-- then, all of a sudden, her thighs were broader, and the boy's face was
almost thoroughly covered by female flesh, albiet slightly softer, more
yielding flesh than had just been holding his chin as if in a vise. At first,
she knew from experience, he would welcome this change, reeling as though he
were getting an unintentional respite. But before too long the boy would be
hungry for air -- fresh, cool air. He would start straining this way and that
in search of it, lunging with his head like a drowning man finally reaching
the top of the ocean after climbing for minutes. Then Dolly would obviate his
struggles by changing their position dramatically. Well, relatively
dramatically. She did keep the bay's head between her thighs, of course. But
she would switch her support from her right elbow to her left.

At a certain point Jock's primary concern became avoiding what seemed to him
the imminent breaking of his neck. He would bridge up to his neck in that way
that wrestlers have in order to alleviate the pain and panic. But even then
his struggles would have just begun. He would hope to find some way to get his
entire body adjusted 180 degrees. Dolly would watch his struggles with delight
as he swung his legs down toward her legs, then painfully twisted his body
over hers until he finally, and slowly came down on the other side of her
legs. Now his chest was pointing toward the floor, whereas before it had been
skyward. Along with relief from his fear, this position gave Jock new avenues
of escape to be explored. He had two hands free, and the one nearer Dolly's
torso inevitably roamed upward along her thighs. Dolly watched with amusement
as the boy's hand jerked back when it reached what he apparently thought --
being, as he was, unable to see, because his head was pointing toward Dolly's
feet -- was a particularly private part of the lady's anatomy. Dolly wondered
whether he was being a gentleman or a coward.

Dolly was perfectly content to allow the boy to use both his hands at this
stage. He knew they would do him no good. In fact, Dolly soon began to feel
that his struggles were so weak that if she gave him half a chance to rest, he
would take it. So she eased up on her grip, letting his face sink into her
lower thigh, covered -- but not crushed -- by her upper thigh. She felt she
could probably put the pressure back on fast enough to keep him in place
should he start to give her any trouble.

Sure enough, as soon as he realized he was out of pain, the boy stopped
struggling. Admitted defeat. Or just lay enjoying himself. After allowing him
to indulge in a few minutes of this blissful respite, Dolly raised her top leg
off him, pulled his head off her and got to her feet. The boy lay at her feet.
She put one of her naked appendages on his face, pushing it firmly but not
savagely into the floor. The boy didn't move.

Dolly resumed her position on the bench, what with the boy having taken up his
on the floor. She watched him slowly recover, again. Again, her head rested
comfortably on his clothes. As she watched his prostrate form there at her
feet -- his head turned away from her -- her hand played lightly at her
crotch. When he started to stir, she removed it. As he turned to face her --
mindful of what happened the last time he lost track of the little lady's
whereabouts -- she said, "Now comes the good part." He was moving too slowly
for her. She stood up and stepped to him and stood above him, his eyes focused
primarily on her feet, but also having access to the rest of her lower
two-thirds. Bending over, Dolly grabbed the boy under his arms and pulled him
to his feet. She pulled him to his full height and, taking both his hands in
hers, she backed up into a wall, pulling him gently after her. She leaned
against the wall and said, "On your knees."

A slight smile came to his lips. "You're pretty, good, lady. A hell of a lot
better than I ever thought a woman could be. And maybe you even know more
about this kind of wresting than I do. But there's no way ..."

Jock apparently had forgotten that his hands were being held by Dolly. Without
the effort showing on her face, she suddenly turned her wrists outward, then
bent his wrists back violently. The result was that the boy was forced up onto
his tiptoes, as a way of trying to ease the resulting discomfort.

"You got a lot of spunk, kid." Dolly said. "I like that. With a body like
yours I might even be able to turn you into a wrestler. But you better get it
through your cauliflowered head that, as of now, you're mine. If I want you on
your knees, you'll be on your knees." Dolly demonstrated. It required only
changing the position of his hands, so that instead of extending downward from
his wrists at the point where his arms formed an angle, they were now above
his forearms.

He was looking up at her. "And if I want you on your feet you'll be on your
feet." She demonstrated.

"If you just keep these simple rules in mind --- at least until you learn to
take care of yourself -- we'll get along fine." Through it all, Dolly remained
leaning against the wall.

"Now get down on your knees." Jock tried to jerk his hands free, but Dolly had
anticipate that effort. She applied sudden pressure. But of a sort that forced
him up, not down. She wanted him to go down under his own power, to admit
defeat. And fear of her. "I've got all night, kid," she said, "but you're
gonna do it, whether you want to or not."

He did. But all the time he was planning his revenge. As he knelt there, his
mouth doing her bidding, he comforted himself with thoughts of someday besting
this woman at her game. She would be the one kneeling.

Dolly lifted his head away from her with his hair. She slid along the wall to
the seat, where she placed her naked bottom. She also pulled off her last
piece of clothing. Jock was still on his knees. She reached over to grab his
hair again, and she pulled him by it over to her. She placed his head in her
crotch, and she rested her meaty legs an his shoulders. She let him work
awhile, then pushed the boy over on his back and sat on his face. He did not
resist.

"There," she said, finally. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

After frightening the boy that he would leave this little cabin without having
his now achingly urgent sexual longings satisfied, Dolly fucked him. As no
girlfriend of his ever could have.

Their relationship did not end that night. Jock went to watch Dolly wrestle.
And she told him stories about the other wrestlers on the card, especially the
men. And she started giving him lessons. And after each session at the mats --
whether both were participating or just Dolly -- they would continue their
sexual relationship. Jock was enthralled by Dolly, intrigued by the idea of
wrestling for money -- it sure beat the kind of white collar jobs he had been
considering -- and so horny for her and her bedroom expertise that he could
not imagine being without her for very long. Which is not to say that
everything about their relationship was pure delight for him. Their so-called
lessons, for example, could be pretty damn painful, even if also a dirty old
man's delight for all the sexual contact involved. The basic rule Dolly
instituted was that Jock could consider her open for attack at all times they
were on the mat. They worked in an otherwise deserted gym. Dolly did not want
any publicity about this. Not yet. (Which was fine with Jock, who was not
eager to have the whole world watching him getting knocked silly by this
zaftig little woman.) Then her instruction would proceed from the situations
they found themselves in.

In the first of these sessions, Jock -- though he had an appropriate respect
for Dolly's abilities -- was certain that he would surprise her. There was
room to maneuver this time, for one thing, and he didn't have to worry about
losing his balance, and he knew all about Dolly. As they stood there now in
their wrestling clothes -- indistinguishable from swimming clothes -- the only
thing that really bothered him was her shortness. He had always felt less
mobile than littler people. Of course, in college he could always easily beat
any of the little guys on the team because eventually they would have to come
to grips with him. But that wasn't true in pro style. How was he supposed to
take advantage of his strength and weight if he couldn't grab her? Of course,
for purposes of the lesson, at least, that problem was pretty obviated by the
fact that Dolly was giving him first move.

So he felt comfortable about coming at her slowly. She waited for him in the
center of the ring, circling only enough to keep things realistic. No point in
teaching the kid about a situation he would seldom encounter in the ring, a
totally stationary opponent. He brought his left hand around her head and
rested it on the back of her neck. Then he brought his head to her shoulder,
all very collegiate style. "Having a good time?" Dolly asked. He was readying
himself for his flashiest throw, one of the most violent moves allowed on the
college mat. He was going to suddenly slip the hand that was not on her neck
down around her waist, drop to his back -- while falling to his left -- and
pull on her right arm with his left, thus pulling Dolly to the mat under him.
He executed the move correctly, but found Dolly -- at the end of it -- facing
him on her knees, like him, rather than under him. "That's one you college
fellows took from the pros," she said. "I was doing it when you were a
lightweight." Suddenly he was on his back. She had simply slipped her right
arm around his head --- which was still extended toward her because he was on
all fours and twisted to her left, bringing the boy to the mat under her. Now,
as he lay under the woman, who was almost perpendicular to him, she said,
"That's the follow-up to it. Stay awake." She patted him on the cheek, and
stood up. He could play that game, too. Instead of standing all the way up and
starting on cue, he grabbed one of her legs, wrapped his arms around it in a
way that was familiar for a college wrestler. But Dolly locked her ankles,
thus securing Jock's head between her legs, in a way that was also very
familiar for Jock. He withdrew violently, and she let him. Then she just stood
there and wagged her finger at him. "You get cute with me, buster, and you're
out of your league," she said.

She was right. He was playing her game. Enough of this. If he was going to
beat her, it would be with strength and weight. He came at her hard this time.
She fell flat on her back and caught him in the stomach with both feet, and
she caught his arms with her hands. Now he was suspended on her feet. "You
never have the luxury of thinking about just one thing at a time," she
instructed him from her back. "Not if your opponent is still functioning
normally." As his feet searched for the mat, she gave him a little push with
her extremely strong legs, and as he was trying to gain his balance -- to
avoid falling on his ass -- the little woman sat up, then continued forward,
somersaulting in front of the boy. When she stopped, she was right in front of
him, at his feet. But she didn't stop at all. She kept rolling, picking up his
ankles in the process. The boy fell flat on his back, and the woman kept right
on rolling up him. She was now sitting on his mid-section. "When you're in a
bad position, remember that things are probably in the process of getting
worse," she told him. "Don't assume it's always going to be uphill."

Now she stood above him, straddling him. She slapped his face. Again. "Come
on," she said. "Show me something." He grabbed for her hand, but missed. She
sat back down on him. Slapped him again, this time partially blocked. Now he
was focusing on catching her hands, which were snapping at him regularly,
pestering. Then, suddenly, he was pinned. He had never seen it coming.
suddenly she had bent forward at the waist and grabbed his head under her
right arm. Her arm wrapped around his head from behind. And her free arm
wrapped his other arm, immobilizing it, and her legs wrapped around his
stomach, which her thighs squeezed tightly, while her ankles came up between
his legs in a way that robbed them of much of their strength. He could use his
legs to slide the two of them around the mat -- and he did -- but he could not
get enough strength out of them to help him get his shoulders up. He resisted
for a long time, but finally Dolly asked, "You pinned?" He reluctantly
acknowledged the obvious. She got up off him slowly.

After a few such sessions, Jock was depressed about his future as a wrestler.
If he could not beat a woman half his size -- could not, if the truth be
known, give her a good match -- how could he expect to compete against male
pros. Dolly told him not to worry, that the guys he would be going up against
-- especially in the early days -- were no great shakes, either. To prove it
to him, she started to arrange some matches for him. She would act as his
manager and would stand in his corner, thus making it clear to everyone that
he was her protégé. And thus attracting to him a great deal more attention
than he might otherwise get. Jock --- taking the image of the successful
college wrestler turned pro, and using "scientific" wrestling techniques --
did well in these matches and proved a hit with the fans, especially the
women. But he also took some spectator razzing for having a woman in his
corner. But Dolly's presence -- usually before or after one of her own matches
-- added a degree of interest that these non-big-name matches didn't normally
have. This was especially true when Jock's opponent would have a man --
especially a male wrestler --- in his corner, which came to be the case more
and more often, as promoters came to see the commercial value in such an
arrangement.

One of Jock's matches actually took on more interest than the main event of
the evening. It pitted him against a kid who was billed as the protégé of --
and accompanied by -- the most widely acknowledged male champion, Roger Budd.
Budd and Dolly had had -- as the publicizers of the event made clear --
something of a feud going anyway. Budd resented the fact that Dolly would
sometimes get a sort of equal billing with him. A magazine, for example, might
list the male and female standings and show equal sized pictures of the two
champions, as if to imply that holding one championship was as substantial an
accomplishment as holding the other, which -- given the small number of woman
wrestlers there were on the tour -- Roger considered a joke and an insult.

The match between the two protégés was a draw. It took place with both Dolly
and Roger in their wrestling clothes, and each would enter the ring from time
to time, and each would pull a little dirty trick on the opposing youngster
occasionally. And they constantly seemed on the verge of coming to blows but
it never quite happened.

Dolly came more and more to resent Roger's more and more public resentment of
her. She also resented Jock's veneration of and fear of the top male pros. She
decided to teach them both a lesson. The more she thought about it, the madder
she got. Here's Roger Budd making several times more money than she did, and
he resented her because she got some publicity out of being number one!

One evening Dolly dressed up in a way designed to disguise her gender. That
wasn't easy, her chest being what it was. But she battened them down as much
as possible and put on a loose, black sweatshirt, over her tight, black
jumpsuit. Everything she wore was black, from her sneakers to her hood, which
left only room beneath her nostrils. Even her eyes were covered. She could see
only because the stretchy material was not all that dense. Still, there was no
way anybody could see her face. With Jock, she crawled on the ledge of their
hotel to a room occupied by Roger. She left Jock on the ledge -- his only role
for the evening to be that of spectator. She entered the front room of Roger's
suite without breaking the glass, but with no concern about alerting Roger,
who came in from the other room, wearing a bathrobe over boxer shorts,

"What the hell do you want," he said. Dolly was not willing to talk, fearing
that Roger would recognize her voice. She just pointed. Stuck her right arm
out at full length, her forefinger extended toward Roger. "What?" His voice
registered astonishment and disbelief. But when Dolly started to walk toward
him slowly, he said, "Okay, Buddy. I don't know who you are or what you want,
but you picked the wrong guy to mess with."

So the battle was on. On the ledge outside the window, Jock tensed with
anticipation. The two wrestlers approached each other. Dolly slipped under
Roger's grasp -- bouncing instantaneously off one knee -- and brought her
shoulder up into the man's stomach. With more strength than Roger expected
such a little guy to have, Dolly lifted the man off the ground for just an
instant and brought him down on the other side of her, his body having
described an arc over her shoulders. Now Roger knew for sure that he was up
against a wrestler. A little guy who was pissed about his inability to get
matches against the big guys and now wanted to prove something, perhaps. It
didn't matter.

Dolly backed off and let Roger get to his feet. When they were both set again,
she came at him with a drop-kick. Not the kind he was expecting, however,
where both feet come at one's chest. Instead, Dolly opened her legs in the air
and succeeded in wrapping them around Roger's stomach. She had twisted in the
air -- as one does on a drop-kick -- and was facing the ground now. She knew
he would be strong enough not to be knocked over by this maneuver. Without
releasing her grip on his stomach, she dove between his legs. This time he was
not strong enough to prevent himself from being brought to the mat, face
first. She came up between his legs and, once again, stepped back and let him
get to his feet.

She was making a fool of him. Not only had she brought him to the mat twice
against his will, but she had declined to take advantage of her superior
position. Dolly did not want to allow too much body contact while the man
still had his wits about him, for she did not want her gender discovered.

Roger then surprised Dolly by launching his own drop-kick, this one of the
more conventional type. He caught her rather squarely on the chest. He hurt
her more than he would have hurt a man with the same move, and he sent her
sprawling against a wall. Quickly he came after her. Dolly saw his open hand
coming at her head. She realized that he wanted to whip her hood off. She
could not allow that. She twisted onto her stomach, trying to roll away. He
followed closely, only to be met by a mule kick in his gut. It was delivered
blindly --- for Dolly was facing away from the man -- but with unerring
instinct for his whereabouts. When he folded over at the waist, Dolly -- still
on all fours facing away from him -- backed up into him, crawling. She grabbed
his nearest foot, continuing to move her body onto him, actually sitting on
his leg. There was nothing he could do to prevent himself from crashing to the
rug yet again, this time on his ass. Dolly crawled away quickly. The man
started to get to his feet, thinking that he was being awarded another free
trip at least that far, but with a grace that belied her relatively squat
stature, Dolly was on him in an instant, bringing a black-sneakered foot into
his face with enough force to set him back on his ass, again. Now Dolly did
let him get to his feet, now that she knew he was taking nothing for granted.

Out on the ledge, Jock could hardly believe what he was seeing. All this time
he had thought it was him.

Suddenly the intruder was a little black ball at Roger's feet. Dolly, having
used Jock to improve her skills against larger opponents than she was used to,
was certain that there must be some advantage in smallness, even if it
obviously had its disadvantages. She had learned how to somersault in this
little ball, how to scoot sideways and how to suddenly spurt out of it
forward. And she had learned how to move easily from one of these maneuvers
into another. Now, seeming to be in a series of somersaults toward Roger's
feet, Dolly suddenly lunged forward at a much faster speed than she had been
somersaulting. The result was that she was behind Roger before he could react.
From there she threw her entire body into the back of his knees and brought
him, crashing, to the floor, again. What she did then amazed Roger. She
whipped the man's bathrobe off him. Why the hell would he do that?, Roger
wondered. She let him up. As he stood, Roger wondered, "Is he a fag?" Then a
particularly disturbing thought occurred to him. What if this strange little
guy was after sex?! Some sort of pervert who had a thing about big guys, or
jocks or wrestlers? Maybe that was what that gesture was about, that
elaborately pointed finger when Roger asked him what he wanted. Roger had
always heard that these queers liked flamboyance, emotion, drama. So it
wouldn't be too surprising if one were attracted to the colorful, melodramatic
world of wrestling. Even enough to learn how to do it. Hell, he would sure
enjoy practicing.

Now Roger was backing away. This was not a technique that Dolly had expected
to have to deal with. But when she saw the look on Roger's face, she
understood what was on Roger's mind. She was glad that her disguise was
working so well. Another thought now occurred to Roger: maybe the guy's
gayness was the reason far the disguise.

Dolly came at him now slowly, sensuously. Not too sensuously. She wanted no
hint of femininity. That made Roger go back even further. When, to his
apparent surprise, he found himself against a wall, Dolly took advantage of
his distraction to suddenly grab one of his ankles. She lifted it to her
chest, rendering the man in danger of losing his balance. Having secured it
completely, she back up into the center of the room. Slowly. Savoring her
control of the big champion of the males, savoring his fear and discomfort.
She meanwhile kept him too off balance for him to do anything about his
position, Finally, determined not to let his opponent control the pace of
events, Roger fell to his hands and violently jerked his captured foot. But
Dolly had started moving in the direction in which he was to pull with his leg
even before he pulled. Before he knew it, she was at his head, still with one
arm around the back of his knee. She wound her other arm over the back of his
neck. She locked her hands under his body and now had him under complete
control. She rolled him forward onto his shoulders and had him pinned in a
cradle. Her top leg wrapped over his one free leg, so that he was completely
immobilized. He strained violently at first. He knew that once a real pro gets
you in this position, there is normally no way out. but he thought maybe he
could muscle this little guy. No such luck. The leverage was too masterful.
And he was incredibly strong for a little guy, Roger reconfirmed.

So there they lay, with the woman resting on her side, and the man's back on
the mat and his ass in the air, struggling futility. She held Roger like that
for over a minute, savoring her victory, demonstrating it, letting him sap his
own strength in futile struggle.

Then she decided to take a chance. She unlocked her hands. She figured she
could hold him some time with her legs and one hand given his tiredness and
his contorted, leverage-less position. With one fingertip she began to lightly
stroke the back of one of Roger's upper thighs. Very, very lightly. She even
slipped it under the bottom of Roger's boxer shorts, although those shorts
were pulled taut by his position. She did it so lightly that at first Roger
did not even feel it. Then, when he did, given the atypical clues his nerve
ending were sending to his brain, because of his distorted configuration, he
couldn't tell where it was comings from, when he did, he flipped out. The
son-of-a-bitch was feeling him up!!

If Roger had been tired, he quickly forgot that fact. He started bucking
around like a champion bronco, unconcerned with technique, just frantically
moving anything that would move as hard as it would move. Dolly managed to
contain him for a few seconds, during which her fondling of his ass became
much more obvious. But finally Roger was more or less straightened out. At
that point Dolly decided to pull away. She stood up and stepped back.

But now Roger's masculinity was on the line. He must not accept this. "I don't
take that from anyone you little fag," he said. And he lunged at her legs even
before he had gotten to his feet. Dolly danced out of his reach. But he was up
and coming at her in an instant. He's lost his cool, Dolly thought. Now he
might as well be a rookie. She saw immediately he wanted to throw punches,
like a real macho man. What a fool!! She backed up before him, easily slipping
and blocking his punches.

Then, in the course of blocking one of those punches with an upraised arm, she
locked her arm aver that arm and would not let her opponent pull it away. When
he tried, thus opening up some space between them, she ducked her little body
under that arm and came up behind Roger. She lifted her left foot, placed it
in the small of the-off-balance man's back and pushed with all the remarkable
strength of her fleshy leg. Roger went stumbling across the room and over a
couch. He came up saying, "Come on and fight, you little, runt. You scared?"
But he did not see Dolly. Quickly -- frantically, really -- he did a
180-degree turn. But she was not behind him either. He looked behind furniture
and in other rooms and found nothing. He looked out the window, saw nothing
and locked it behind him. She was gone, as mysteriously as he had come.

In the following days, Roger -- constantly on edge against recurrence of this
event -- wracked his brain to come to some sort of understanding of it. Why
had it happened? If the little guy was after sex, why had he left so suddenly?
Most of all, why wasn't he -- Roger Budd, self-proclaimed and widely
recognized heavyweight wrestling champion of the world (even given Roger's
understanding of the fact that such rhetoric is not to be taken literally) --
able to easily beat the crap out of such a little guy? Wherever he went, he
checked out people he saw for their similarity in physique to his intruder.
People at the gym, especially the little guys, found him sullen. He watched
them in the practice ring for moves of the type that his assailant had used.
But he only watched out of the corner or his eyes, not wanting to give away to
whoever it might be that he was as concerned as he was.

Two months went by before Dolly, Roger and Jock all were in the same city as
each other again. This time breaking into Roger's hotel suite required
breaking the glass. Apparently he's taking some precautions these days, Dolly
mused. And this time Dolly brought an uneasy Jock right into the suite with
her, dressed exactly as she was and equipped with a videotape camera. By the
time Roger came into the room, Dolly was safely ensconced, and Jock was
climbing in.

By this time Roger had convinced himself he wanted a rematch with the little
guy. But he wasn't too sure he wanted a camera recording it. "What the fuck is
that?" he said. Getting no response, as Jock set up under pre-arranged orders
from Dolly, Roger advanced on Jock. Dolly stepped between them. Roger stopped
in his tracks. "Okay," he said. "You want it on film. What the fuck do I care?
You're the ones breaking the law." With that, he swiped at Dolly's head with a
mighty, roundhouse backhand. Dolly ducked under it and kept going to Roger's
feet. She grabbed both his ankles, then somersaulted into him, sending him to
his back, with her on top. She returned the compliment. A hard, long,
roundhouse backhand to his face sent his head crashing hard against the floor.
As his head was clearing, Dolly grabbed his head with her two gloved hands and
banged it twice against the rug. Not viciously, but enough to leave the man
dazed. Then she climbed up his chest. Way up.

Her knees were on the floor beside his ears, and her ankles were hooked over
both his shoulders. She lowered her crotch until it was just lightly brushing
his nose. And she squeezed hard with her thighs, despite not having the best
leverage in the world. When he started to stir, she banged his head against
the rug again, using his famous long blond hair as a handle. The sequence
recurred, but even during it he realized what was happening -- he was in some
guys crotch -- and he reacted just as he had when he felt Dolly stroking him
last time. Dolly was poised for that reaction, and when it happened she sprung
to her feet and stepped away from Roger, moving in a direction that would have
brought her farther up on Roger's body if he had been taller.

Apparently, thought Dolly, he still doesn't get it. The man was wiping his arm
across his face in disgust at the thought of what he had been in contact with
at the lips. And he was sputtering. "Now look you little fag, you want to
wrestle, I'm game, but I'll be damned if..."

Dolly whipped off her sweatshirt. Her face and hair were still covered but now
her entire body was revealed in dramatic, flattering black outline. This time
she hadn't even flattened down her breasts, determined as she was to let Roger
in on her little secret (well, one of them) early on.

Roger stuttered and stammered. The first full sentence he got out was, "What
the hell is this?" He looked at Jock and Dolly, but both were mute. Dolly did,
however, model her newly revealed body for him, her gloved hands sliding
sensuously down her gently undulating body. "You're not the guy who, who ..."
Roger stopped, not sure he was willing to say what had happened last time. but
Dolly nodded her head yes. "Bullshit!" said Roger. Dolly came at him, and he
backed away, demonstrating his uncertainty. Suddenly Dolly went into the
somersaulting/rolling/darting maneuvering that had worked so brilliantly last
time. And it work just as well. She brought Roger to his face by bringing her
body into the back of his knees.

Immediately she got off him and stepped back. As Roger got to his feet, the
non-verbal message became clear to him.

He got up staring at Dolly, and she let him stare, let him realize himself
that there was no getting around the fact that his conqueror last time -- and
his thus far successful opponent this time -- was not just a runt, but a
female runt. His task now was clear -- he must redeem himself. He must
cemonstrate that last time was just a fluke based on the element of surprise.
He absolutely MUST!

Now the two wrestlers circled each other purposefully and slowly in the large
room, as the young man holding the camera found it shaking in his hand. Dolly
made the first move. The little woman threw a long left hand at the man's
face. She missed, and her body described a complete circle, during which she
lowered her torso. On the way around she picked up the man's big right leg.
One revolution thus completed, she continued into another, bringing the man
with her, hopping. They went around together once, then again. On the second
revolution, Dolly slammed Roger into a wall. Then she ducked behind him as he
bounced off. He fell over her, heels over head, and Dolly quickly covered him
for the pin, the man's legs being between Dolly's body and Roger's. Her weight
brought his toes all the way to the floor, next to his head. The high point of
his body was his ass. He was helpless. Dolly hit the rug with her hand five
quick times, and she popped off the man and stepped back.

He got up slowly, his head having evidently taken a beating someplace along
the line. Dolly waited. She performed for the camera. She clenched her hands
together above her head in victory, and she raised her forefinger in the air,
declaring herself to be No. 1.

Roger came at Dolly slowly the next time, hoping to crowd her into a corner
and put his physical advantages to work. Dolly surprised the man by coming to
grips with him. She took a step into him and threw one arm around his waist.
With her other arm she jockeyed for position with his left arm. They locked in
combat there in the center of the room as equals, each wrestler thinking both
offensively and defensively simultaneously, the male and female bodies rubbing
against each other sensuously, their hands roaming over each other's bodies,
their chests pressing together.

Roger tried to scoop the little woman up in a bear hugs, but the arm that she
had around his waist was under his arm, and there was nothing she was going to
let him do to change that. She kept crowding him on that side, pushing into
him, keeping him off balance, not letting him get any leverage or put his
superior reach into play. Roger tried to go the other way. He hip tossed the
lady in the direction in which she was already pushing. But Dolly would not
let him throw his arm over his back, as was necessary. She pestered that arm,
seizing the wrist with her hand, then losing it to the man's struggle, but
always pestering it. She kept her head pasted to the man's chest, kept
pressuring him, pushing him, pestering him, keeping him off balance.

Now they were no longer equal. Dolly had taken control. She had used her
cunning and experience to move in on this man and show him something about
wrestling. The offense was hers now. She kept it. Savored it. Demonstrated it.
She pushed the larger man around the room. He couldn't resist even that, such
was the perfection of her position, the advantage of having her head in his
chest, the constancy of her determination to keep the momentum. She had known
going into this confrontation -- on the basis of having watched and wrestled
with Roger -- that she had one talent, at least, that he could not match: the
ability to keep several concerns in minds simultaneously, in this case, the
struggle between their hands, the need for momentum, the position of their
bodies, especially their heads. If she could keep things complicated, he was
hers.

The more Dolly pursued this particular position, the easier prey Roger became,
the more flustered, the more frustrated. Finally he was doing little more than
waiting for her to make her move, hoping he could limit the damage. But Dolly
felt that anybody -- anybody -- who was going to give up total control to her
at any point in a match, no matter how early, had better be prepared to lose.
Right there.

In wrestling, as in chess, once one takes control, blocks off avenues of
escape, thwarts the offense of one's opponent, becomes the only player with
any offensive options, the rest ought to easy, no matter how many pieces are
left on the board, no matter how early in the match.

Dolly pushed the man into a corner -- fully aware that he had had such plans
for her -- and had his arm -- the one that had been contending with her free
hand -- plastered into a wall . This was another way in which Dolly knew that
Roger would not be able to match her: improvisation, using the room in ways
one could not use a ring.

Now he was a duck. She simply brought her free hand up into his belly in a
closed fist. He had no defense. One of his arms was between him and the wall
-- held in place by the expertly applied weight of the stocky lady against his
opposite side. The other arm hung useless over Dolly's shoulder, unable even
to pull her hair, for her head was covered by that hood, which was tight and
seamless.

He was pretty weak from the struggle that Dolly had craftily prolonged once
she had control. That is, he was pretty weak when she had first put him in the
corner. Now he was very weak, the blow to the stomach having taken a great
deal more out of him. After a short, somehow dramatic, delay, Dolly brought
her hand back up into the man's gut. The man could not even slump to the
floor. Dolly's head remained plastered to his chest so tight. Again,
delivering the now inevitable outcome, the little woman pounded the big man's
stomach. The closest thing he had to a defense against her was a grunt. He
tried to raise one leg, then the other to block her blows, But Dolly stepped
over his nearest thigh and captured it between her legs, firmly and
permanently. As for his other leg, it just wasn't positioned correctly to
block her blows. She hit him again. And again. Finally she let him begin to
slide down the wall. But she hit him one more time.

And again. Now he was on his ass. Be sat there before her, below her, his head
hanging down, his shoulder brushing her thighs and sometimes her crotch. She
stood above him, crowding him, looking at him for any signs of fight. She got
none. The only time he moved his hands was to bring them to his belly to
comfort it.

Dolly raised his head to look at her, by instrument of his hair, and she
swatted him hard across the face with another long, dramatic, undisguised,
unsurprising backhand slap. Then she left, the camera following her out the
window, then panning back for one last look as the shriveled, bewildered,
beaten, beaten man. Then the cameraman followed Dolly out the window. Very
quickly.

It did not take long for Roger to focus on Dolly as the likely perpetrator.
One's thoughts would naturally go to the best woman wrestler in the world. And
she had the physique. And the motive. Should he confront her about it? What if
it turned out it really wasn't a woman at all, but a guy in disguise. Oh, but
it was a woman, all right. He knew that in his heart. They had had all that
body contact -- almost as if she had wanted to have it -- at the end there.
And he had slid down her body in the corner, his head coming into unmistakable
contact with the female breast. Oh, yes, she was definitely a woman. But what
if she wasn't Dolly? In that case, why let the woman who was fast becoming his
arch nemesis professionally know about this?

Of course it was Dolly Who else could do that? Who else would have some big
asshole tagging after her like a servant? Maybe somebody who was trying to
make him think she was Dolly? But there was that physique. No, it had to be
Dolly!! Didn't it? These questions tormented Roger for two more months.

At that time Roper and Dolly found themselves on the same card again, along
with their protégés, who were facing each other. This time, when the two
managers entered the ring and threatened to come to blows, the situation had a
whole new meaning for Roger. He was devoutly hoping that Dolly would -- as on
previous such occasions -- acceded the instructions of the referee and back
off before blows were struck. As it happened, Dolly pushed the situation
farther than it had ever gone before -- producing extraordinary tension in the
arena -- but had finally calmed down and returned to her corner.

Roger's protégé won the match. It was the first time Jock had ever lost (to a
man in public). That night, all the wrestlers were to attend a publicity party
being given by the promoter of an upcoming card. Dolly dressed at her softest.
She wore a billowy dress that showed her knees even when she was standing. Her
shoulders were completely bare, as were her arms. And her bosom was on
display. She would, she knew, get a lot more attention than the younger girl
wrestler who was to be there, just on looks alone.

Her hair was done in a way reserved for special occasions. Unconstrained by
any bands, it hung softly down to her shoulders, where it flipped up a bit. It
surrounded her face. For outdoor covering; she added only a fur shawl that the
younger girl couldn't have afforded if she went without food for two years.

On the way to the party, Dolly stopped by Roger's room at the hotel. When he
answered the door, she said, "Just thought I'd come by to congratulate the
winner." The man nodded a thank you. "No hard feelings," Dolly said, holding
out her hand for a shake. He took it. She smiled at him. He said nothing.
"Aren't you going to invite me in for a drink before the big bash?"

"Sure, sure said the man. "Come on in." Dolly did so, removing her fur piece
just as her soft, perfumed shoulders brushed under Roger's face.