The tosser
by Diana the Valkyrie

I'm a tosser. It's a fairly new sport, derived from the older game
of dwarf tossing, but this is the grown-up version. Man tossing.

The man is 150 pounds, that's a standard. But it turns out that
quite a few men are 150 or less (if they're less, then they can be
made up with some weights) and it doesn't matter how tall they are.
And it turns out that quite a few men volunteer to be tossed by a
big strong amazon giantess. Like me.

I'm six foot nine, 290 pounds, and most of those pounds are muscle.
I love man tossing, it's a great sport. Picking up a man with his
crash helmet on, and launching him over the sand pit to get a longer
toss than my fellow athletes - there's nothing better. I hear that
next year it's going to be an Olympic sport.

We all have our preferred toss-pot. Mine is little Cecil. He's quite
short, and struggles to make 150, so we often have to strap a few
iron disks onto him to make up the weight. We practice regularly. I
also practice with a dummy weighing a fair bit more, but that's not
as satisfying as flinging a live man across the sand, so whenever I
can get a volunteer, I'll practice with him instead. Cecil doesn't
like that, but he doesn't get to say who I toss.

There's different opinions about the best way to toss a man. Some
go for the overhead lift, to get the best starting altitude; others
go for a waist hold and a short run up to the starting position,
to get some momentum. Me, I do both. I can get a man up seven foot
six in the air and run in that position, stop at the last second
at the starting position and fling him forwards to add to the
momentum. I've done the maths, and I think my way is best.

Of course, men don't immediately volunteer for this slightly
dangerous sport. Even landing on soft sand, when they're falling
from seven feet up and moving at 20 miles per hour, there's all
sorts of injuries possible.  So they have to be persuaded.

I'm good at persuasion. A six foot nine, with huge muscles, and
wearing my man-tossing athletic outfit, I can tower over any man
and intimidate him to do whatever I want. And if that doesn't work,
there's also muscle domination.

I can do all the poses. Double biceps, quad display, the crab,
all designed to make the man feel small and weak, which of course
they all are. And if muscle domination doesn't work, there's always
wrestling.

Wrestling is where a man is trying to defend himself against a
huge, forceful amazon who is, typically at least five times as
strong as he is. You can see how futile that is. It boils down to
a demonstration of wrestling holds, all the ways I can inflict pain
and get an immediate submission. And after several submission, any
man will willingly sign up to being hurled through the air with a
(probably) soft landing.

I also enjoy the preliminaries, where the tossers have to get
weighed to sort us into categories - I'm super-heavyweight, of
course. Then they measure our biceps (I'm 25 inches) and thighs
(35 inches) and chest (62 inches).  Cecil gets to do the measuring,
and he says that it's his favourite part of an event.  Which isn't
true, of course. I know what his favourite is. It's the apres-toss.
More on that later.

Cecil had an idea. He's the clever one, I'm the maid of might. He
suggested that we visit our old maths teacher, to ask him about the
best tossing technique. That sounded good to me, so we rocked up at
the old school and went to see Professor Gordon, and I put it to him.

"Cecil! Cecilia!" he greeted us. "Hello, Prof" I responded. "So
are you two married yet? I always thought that with the similarity
in names, you'd get hitched." "Sort of," I explained, "we aren't
married, but now I'm a tosser and he's my toss-pot. But we're here
to ask you, what is the best way for me to toss him?



Read the rest of the story on https://www.amysconquest.com