Tryout
by BOS  cashley216@woh.rr.com 
Would-be pro wrestler  male  runs into trouble


"I don't know," she said. "You don't look very tough."

"I'll be glad to show you how tough I am," he said.

"Something about the eyes," she said. "I don't know. You just don't look very
tough."

He smiled weakly and spread his arms, as if to say, "If this body doesn't look
tough, I don't know what to say." The body was stunning. This is a guy who had
been obviously been planning to be a professional wrestler all his life. The
body had enough ripples.

Slowly, the young woman behind the desk stood and began walking toward him.

She said, "You think you're tough enough to give me a fight?"

He knew she was dangerous. Not for nothing had she been around her father's
wrestling federation all her life. Before moving into the front office, she
had shown her stuff in the ring. She knew her way around. And she was not
petite in size. Busty, with plenty of cleavage, and a bit beefy, though with
feminine curves all over. In her very high heels. she wasn't much short than
his 6 feet 1 .

Her phrasing of the question had thrown him. It seemed to eliminate the
question of whether she could give HIM a fight. As he fumbled to come up with
an answer worthy of a guy who should be able to ad lib in a pre-match shouting
matching in the ring, she reached him. He was caught off guard. She hadn't
seemed to be moving fast enough to do that. But suddenly she was right up on
him, and, in fact, kind of walking through him. As she pushed into him, he
fell back against a couch. Now she was straddling him, her tight skirt coming
up near the top of her strong thighs. As he lay on the couch, she had one foot
on the ground. She leaned into him and locked her arms around his waist, with
him turned sideways from her. She pulled in, creating an amount of pain that
amazed him. The pain was in his ribs and in his kidney area, where she was
grinding her knuckles. She would pull and release, pull and release. He had
nothing with which to resist her. He had good abs, but she had gotten around
them, finding a weak spot lacking in muscles. He could get no footing with his
feet. His left arm was scrunched under his own body, and his right arm was
scrunched under her body and on top of his.

The moment was all her. She was in complete control, yet completely relaxed.
This wasn't victory so much as dominance. He smelled her perfume, felt her
body, found himself luciously surrounded by her awesome feminity. But he was
helpless.

She wasn't hurting him enough to bring an immediate concession. He had time to
think. He worried that conceding now would end his hopes for a career with the
big-money, nationally televised federation she headed.

Her soft red lips rested on his cheek. She knew he was thinking about what
she wanted him to think about: her allure, his humiliation and his career. She
was loving this, and was in no hurry to get her concession.

Finally, she stood and said, "I didn't think so."

She straightened her clothes and walked carelessly back to her chair, her back
to him for a moment, a fair amount of it exposed. When she sat down, she
turned her attention to some work on her desk, ignoring the hunk.

Finally, after straightening his own clothes, he said, "How about two out of
three."

"Sorry," she said, without looking up. "I just don't think we could convince
an audience that you're very tough. The eyes give you away."

He didn't have a clue in the world what she was talking about. He knew she was
messing with him. He didn't know how serious she was.

"How about looking at my tape?" he said.

She put down her pen and turned to him. "See, now, that's what I mean. 'How
about looking at my tape?'" She imitated him mockingly. "I mean, really, how
whiny is that?"

"What do you want me to do?," he asked. "Kick your ass?"

She mocked him again. "What do you want me to do?" she said as him,
caricatured as whining.

He gave a impatient look, as if she was being childish.

"Tell you what," she said. "Come back tomorrow around this time. I've got
somebody I could put you in the ring with. We'll see what you've got."

He was in no position to ask any questions.

The next day, he showed up at her office. She got up, in the process teasing
him with a sudden little lurch in his direction. He jumped back, and she
smiled. Then she opened a door on the side of her office and motioned him
through. In the next room was a ring.

"You can change in there," she said, pointing to a side room off the side
room.

He did as told, and came out in having obviously pumped his muscles before
arriving and again in the dressing room, to get the best effect. He wore blue
trunks and white sneakers.

He didn't see any opponent. He saw only the young woman and two little Asian
schoolgirls.

"OK," said the young woman, "in the ring." One of the girls got in. She was
wearing the kind of sailor suit -- with striped short skirt and sneakers --
common to schoolgirls in Japan.

He thought the other girl was going to get in, and they were going to have a
match before his. But the young woman, the boss, said to him, "What are you
waiting for?"

He looked amazed. "You want me....." He pointed to the ring.

"It's a scenario," she said. "Let's see how you handle it. I'm thinking that
maybe because of that look in your eyes, the people might buy it."

He knew she was yanking his chain. But she could do that. She had all the
cards, the key to his future. Maybe someday he could get even with her. Not
now. Shaking his head, he climbed in.

"Ding," said the young woman. "Roll tape."

The little girl went to the center of ring. Shaking his head, so did the man.

The girl imitated him. Shaking her head like him, she started walking around
the ring like she was frustrated, unable to understand, unbelieving.

He was getting tired of being imitated. He gave her an angry look. But she
kept at the schtick, shaking her head widely even as she approached him.

Suddenly, however, she was in on him, with an uppercut to his gut. He never
expected her to close with him like that. He thought she'd try something
fancier. Now she did. She dropped into a crouch and brought one leg around
back of her and hit him in the back of the knee with it. That wasn't enough to
bring the big man down. But then she put her shoulder into the back of his
thigh, while pulling his ankle back toward her. That did it.

Quickly, she brought her knee down hard into the crack of his ass, while
wrapping both arms around his neck from behind. Now she pulled back hard,
choking him, while pumping that knee in his ass.

Quickly, she discontinued the choke and started slapping his face from behind
with both her hands. He was having difficulty warding her off, because his
hands were flat on the mat in front of him, holding his body off the mat.
Finally, he reared back. The little girl got off him quickly and managed to
get her body in front of him, to continue pushing it in the direction he was
going, so that his back hit the mat with the legs still under him, causing a
lot of pain.

As he tried to untangle his legs, she took pot shots at his face, with closed
fists, landing some. But she didn't try to hold that position, either. Moving
up toward his head as he turned to his stomach, she managed to wrap him in a
front headlock. They were facing each other on their knees, but her head was
above his, and her left arm was locked under his chin. With her right hand,
she threw some more irritating and painful shots at the exposed part of face.
She landed some because, again, his hands were flat on the mat, trying to keep
himself in a kneeling position.

When he raised one hand to ward her off, she took advantage of the fact that
he know had only one prop. With nimbleness he normally didn't have to deal
with in his grown, male opponents, she was able to swing her left leg hard
against the inside of his right arm, collapsing it, especially because she was
still leaning on his head from above.

His face crashed into the mat. And she continued to pound the side of it with
her right hand.

He wanted to just back away, but the girl wouldn't let him. In fact, she
pushed him back and came at him faster than he could back up, keeping him off
balance, while still landing some punches. Finally, he was bulled over onto
has back. But, because his hands were now free and would have had no trouble
throwing her small body off him, she wanted no part of that position.

Suddenly, she was off to his side, then up by his head again. She liked that
position, because it neutralized the strength in his arms and legs. As he
turned to his knees to get up, she once again secured a front headlock, once
again facing him, once again throwing rights into his face as his hand propped
him up.

This time, rather than back up, he decided to bull into her. But she rose
above him as he did, jumped a little as he came at her, pushing his face
toward the mat. He fell forward. For a split second, she was sitting on his
back, facing his feet. She slapped his ass with both her hands a few times.
Then stood and put some space between herself and the big, muscular man she
was beating up.

Now she strutted around the ring, resuming her imitation of the man, shaking
her head in an exaggerated way from side to side.

He looked toward the young woman he was trying to land a job from, as he tried
to stem the bleeding from his nose. And he looked for the cameras he belatedly
realized she had referred to when she said, "Roll tape." But all he got from
the woman was an indication that he needed to be worried about his opponent in
the ring.

The man saw the break in the action as the prelude to his getting his act
together and getting down to business and finishing the girl off, which he
knew would not be a very impressive accomplishment, especially have been
through what just happened, but had to be done anyway.

The girl thought it was time to finish him off, just to show that she could do
that very quickly.

In a flash, she was in on him again, this time grabbing his left knee and
lifting. She had him hopping around the ring, his strength totally
marginalized. When, finally, he tried to simply and literally put his foot
down, just using the strength in his leg, she went with him. She bulled into
his knee with her shoulder, bringing him down to his back. She let go of his
leg and went for a headlock as he was getting to his knees. Now she threw her
hip in front of him and tossed him over it, onto his back, still in her grip.
She threw a few lefts into his face and let him go. As he got up, awkwardly,
quicker than he should have, given the condition his head was in, he had no
defense when she simply tackled him.

He fell to his back. This time, instead of going for his head, she took
advantage of his proneness, his dizziness and his expectations. She simply
grabbed the front of his trunks, pulled down hard and had them in her hands,
leaving him only in his jockstrap, shoes and socks.

He was shocked. He looked over at the young woman in charge, but got nothing.

The girl was parading with the trunks over her head, once again shaking her
head in mockery, as if he needed to be belittled any more than he was
belittled by having a girl in a schoolgirl outfit strip him.

When he came toward her, he was met by a foot to his chest. He kept coming,
though he should have stopped to regroup. She twirled and crouched and brought
a leg behind his knee and sent him to his back. He hit his head hard on the
mat.

As he struggled to his knees, the little girl, still holding his trunks
triumphantly aloft, kicked his face. Then, before he could react, did it
again. He fell over on his side, holding his head. She then kicked his
stomach. Then again. He tried to scramble away, but there was no place to
hide. She chased him, shaking her head and holding his trunks high.

When he tried to protect his head, she went for his stomach or back. When he
lowered his guard, his head was in danger. The little girl kicked him all over
his body and all over the ring.

Finally -- though he couldn't believe this when he thought back on it -- he
quit. He threw up an arm, symbolically asking her stop. He felt endangered,
like he was totally unable to deal with the situation, totally disoriented. He
feared that she would kill him. That concern overrode everything.

The little girl wasn't surprised. She had never been much impressed with men.

She was not going to let him go. This wasn't about winning. It was about
putting on a show. She understood that.

She knelt by the man, who was rolling from side to side in pain and was
covering his head against the possibility of further attack. She was moving
slowly, casually, confidently, prolonging the show and the tension. She knew
the fight was gone from her opponent. She reached out a hand to the man's
shoulder and stopped his rolling, positioning him flat on his back. He still
tried to rock, but her hand held him basically in place. With her other hand,
she brushed her hair out of her eyes.

Then she placed that hand on the man's forehead. This seemed to diminish his
struggling a little, almost as if he was calmed by her soft touch. Slowly then
her finger traced along the side of his face. Slowly, this caused him to look
at her, moving his hands away from his eyes.

When her finger found its away around, under his chin, suddenly she thrust two
knuckles into the skin under his jaw. This caused him to jerk in pain. But he
couldn't make any sound. Now she pushed harder, bending into him to increase
her leverage. Now his face was hidden from view by her body. The spectators
could only see his legs flapping. They flapped violently, frantically, every
which way. He looked like a fish on a hook. But the girl kept his shoulders to
the mat with the force of her body and with her control of his head.

The woman in charge could see her face. It was calm. It showed no sign of
struggle, no intensity. It was clear that she could maintain the hold on the
man indefinitely, easily, the hold that was driving him to paroxyms of pain.
He seemed to be a man who either thought he was dying or would like to die if
it would relieve the pain.

The schoolgirl held the muscular man there long enough that EVERYBODY could
see that she could hold the position as long as she wanted to.

Then she stood over the man.

Again she brushed her hair out of her eyes.

Again she shook her head in imitation of the way he had shaken his at the
beginning of match.

She stood close enough that he could easily have struck out at her or grabbed
her. But he didn't. And everybody knew he wouldn't. He wasn't simply beaten by
the girl.

He was afraid of her. And he was beyond caring who knew that.

"OK," said the woman in charge. "Everybody in my office."

Another woman who was watching by now, a muscular little babe of a wrestler
whom the guy had recognized from television, climbed into the ring. She
scraped the man of the mat and -- though he was taller than her -- draped him
over her left shoulder. Walking to the ropes she unhooked the top one with one
hand, as her other hand rested on his largely exposed bottom. Then she walked
down the stairs at one corner of the ring and into the office, where she
deposited the hapless male into a chair.

When everybody was assembled, the woman in charge said, "Well, whattaya think,
Cindy? Can we use him?"

The woman wrestler said, "Well, he's pretty convincing as a loser, that's for
sure."

"I know," said the woman in charge. "Something about the eyes, don't you
think?"

Said Cindy, "So tell me, Beefcake. How do you feel about having your
ass-kicked by a schoolgirl." She nudged him with her foot, almost as if she
was hoping he would want to fight with her.

He didn't respond. He was conscious and aware. But he had nothing to say.
Cindy nudged him again. The woman in charge said, "I suggest you answer the
lady."

"I....I can't believe it," he said softly, looking down.

"No, I wouldn't think so," said the boss. "You looked incredibly pathetic. If
I were you, I think I'd want to crawl in a hole and die. That is, if you can
still crawl. I mean, really. You just got your ass kicked by a tiny irl, and
she didn't even break a sweat. That pretty much changes your whole notion of
who you are, doesn't it." She, too, nudged him with her foot. "Doesn't it?"

"I guess so," he mumbled. The two women smiled at each other.

"And I'm guessing you wouldn't be much interested in a rematch," the boss
said. "Is that right?"

He made an unintelligible sound.

"What" she said.

"I guess not," he said.

"So let me get this straight," she said. "You're officially saying that you're
afraid of this little wisp of a girl? Is that right? I just want to be sure
that I'm not getting you wrong."

Again, he was inaudible.

"Speak up, boy," she said.

"I guess so," he said.

"Wow," said the boss.

Now the four females and the defeated hunk just sat there. The two women
wanted it all to sink in, wanted the man to have to live with it.

Finally, after a long pause, Cindy said, "Well, I want to see that thing with
the feet again." She turned to the girl who had beaten up the dude. "Can you
do that again?"

The girl didn't speak English, but Cindy made clear what she meant with
gestures. The little girl shrugged, stood up and walked over to the man, who
cringed, but had no place to go. She put on hand on his forehead again, and
brushed his hair back. Then her other hand was at his chin, and her knuckles
were doing their thing. She was standing to his right, her body keeping his
right arm out of the action. He brought up his left arm to pull her knuckles
away, but she grabbed his wrist with her free hand. Now she really dug in.
Suddenly the man was again flailing his legs frantically.

Cindy got in close for a look at what the fingers were doing.

"Cool," she said.

Once again, the girl's dominance had the feel of permanence to it. She held
the man easily for as long as it took for Cindy to get her look.

"OK, Big Guy," the boss said, after Cindy had taken her turn and made the man
wiggle almost as much as the little girl had. "That's about the best pathetic
I've ever seen. I think you've got yourself a job."

It wasn't what he had had in mind when he came in.