No wonder my attentive eye had hit fast-reverse. She fulfilled every one of my fetish predilections. She fit very comfortably into my own unique fantasy-female template, with not an inch to spare. Hey, this one was IT. I mean, she was that perfect combination of strength and beauty that makes my mouth go dry, my heart begin to thump and bump . . . and my penis to awaken from its fitful slumber.

She reminded me of an older Corey Eversen, maybe in her middle thirties. And unlike the other woman, there was nothing nervous about her. She appeared to be lazily relaxed, totally secure in the knowledge of her power and strength, completely satisfied that she could defeat and dominate anyone who dared to challange her authority. A true Queen of the Jungle.

She moved ver-rrry slowly, almost as if she was dancing in slow-motion to the beat of a low, measured, throbbing drum beat. The video camera's eye moved in close, focusing in on those long curvacious legs, and the background music became hushed. A sense of menace was being orchestrated, done so well that I found myself holding my breath in anticipation of what was to come there on the TV screen.

I tried my best to give equal attention to the two women, but somehow my eyes kept coming back to the older female. A lazy, contemptuous smile curved her lips as she continued to circle the other woman, those splendidly sculptured muscles of hers flexing and rippling with impatience. The image of Diana Dennis leaped into my mind . No, it just had to be Corey Eversen with that physique . . . a champion. Unconquerable!

Yeah, from her expression it was like this beautiful woman knew that she could whip that girl, but that she was going to take her time and enjoy the process of making her submit. It was right there on her face, without the need of a single word of dialog. She was going to give that sinewy, wired-up bitch a lesson, a leisurely lesson . . . and then afterwards take her just deserts. For a moment or two my mind played with THAT possibility.

Just then the TV camera moved back and I could see both women . . . but, hey, what was it they were doing. Oh my God. Oh-hhh-hhhh my God. They were stripping down, obviously preparing to wrestle in nude-muscled erotic combat. And my once drowsy cock, now completely awakened, had come to full attention!

Whoo-ooosh! I think that I just set a new world's record for switching my VCR into RECORD mode. It was an effort made all the more difficult because I kept glancing up from the VCR box to the TV screen, anxious not to miss a single second of what I was trying so feverishly to record. This was one segment that I would replay over and over and over again!

Fortunately, the two women were in no particular hurry. When I'd finally gotten my trembling fingers to jam-in the video cassett and stabbed the RECORD button, they were still in the process of removing their clothing . . . all the while staring defiantly into each others eyes, as if looking for even a hint of fear or uncertainty.

There was something incredibly erotic about watching these two women stripping for action.It instantly conjured up a fragment of memory, a scene from a 1950's Japanese film that I once saw and then never could find again. Seems to me the movie was titled "The Pearl Divers".

I still remembered the scene vividly. Two young Japanese girls, obviously rivals, had been chasing each other through some sand dunes by the ocean, and finally the one in front had stopped running and turned to face her pursuer. Although no words were spoken, or sub-titled displayed, it was quite obvious to me by the look in her eye that the first girl was saying to the other . . . "OK, let's settle this here and now!"

Without a word they both had begun removing their kimono-like outer garments, stripping down to the white cotton loincloth traditionally worn by the female pearl divers, obviously wanting to be totally unencumbered for what was going to follow. They stood there, bare-breasted, their bodies flexing in anticipation of what was to come. The two young Japanese women began to circle one another slowly, their eyes flashing with anger. Then they had wrestled.

It was, incidently, one of the better fem/fem fights I've ever seen on a movie screen. A really long scene, with lots of closeups. It was as if the director was one of "us", as if he delighted in the play of subtle muscularity at work in those entangled half-nude female bodies.

Now, all these years later, I was watching what could have been a rerun of that same scene. The older of the two women there on my TV screen had just slipped out of her shorts, already having tossed aside her blouse. She didn't wear a bra. Didn't need one. Probably never needed one, so perfectly sized were those melon-solid breasts of hers. They were of a natural 38-B cup size most women would have died to possess, the kind of a chest that made millionairs out of "breast augmentation" plastic surgeons. But her's didn't appear to be siliconed. Then, of course, there was the rest of her.

The thing about her was that every single part of her anatomy was in perfect proportion; like her shoulders being broad enough to support those breasts, the ribcage sufficiently wide to anchor the shoulders, the lithe hips aesthetically suited to her incredible butt. And I haven't even mentioned those long, gorgeous, dancer's legs. As my eyes traced the curves of those sleekly sinewed thighs and the . . . .

Oo-oops, the video camera suddenly switched its attention to the other woman, and I had a completely new set of body parts to peruse. This tall, younger female was also in the process of stepping out of her shorts. Then, a second later, she was unbuttoning her own blouse, shrugging her shoulders free of the garment, and letting it fall to the ground. Hm-mmmm, a completely different body, both in proportion and type of muscularity. Yeah . . . big difference in bodies, as I could now see. It was hard to choose between them, more like an apples and oranges kind of thing.

This girl was as lithe and sinewy as a cat, as sleek and smoothly curved as a Las Vegas showgirl. But no casino dancer had ever looked as "buffed" as this girl did. Her's was the kind of female physique you might see on an anatomical chart, each muscle clearly defined, seemingly etched into the sun-bronzed flesh by the hand of a master sculptor. I halfway expected to see tags stuck to the various body parts, reading: anterior deltoid, posterior quad, lattisimi dorsai major . . . you know what I mean.

Actually, now that the two of them were free of clothing I could see that this younger woman was indeed taller than her rival. Taller, but probably not stronger.

Then, suddenly and without warning, the two women leaped together. Their nude bodies splatted together, arms clasped around each others backs, legs entwining, bare breasts mashed nipple-to-nipple. Almost immediately, they went to the ground in a tangle of bare limbs and began grappling. I somehow knew that this was going to be a test of strength and wrestling skill, not a slug-fest. They seemed quite content to lay there in each others arms and strain, moving with an almost infinite slowness now that they were locked together . . . really putting on the pressure, exerting every ounce of their glorious female strength.

The camera darted in for a closeup, its lens-eye caressing the gleaming nude bodies of the combatants like a loving hand. It lingered for a few moments on the older woman's powerfully V'd back, seeming to delight in the ripple and writhing of sensuous muscularity taking place on that playground of firm flesh. Then the camera eye moved up and along the younger wrestler's bare arms, closing-in on the etched sinew that flexed itself within the strong curve of one deltoid and the smoothly arched solidity of the girl's biceps. Oh-hhhh shit! This was so totally outrageous.

Once again I muttered a quick "thank-you" to my discerning eye for having caught that brief glimpse of something it knew that I wouldn't want to miss. Actually, there had been a long dry spell without having seen anything being produced on television that could turn me on. I'd become so disappointed by the false promise of TV shows such as "La Femme Nikita" with its carefully choreographed fight scenes. And even then, it was usually quick, karate-type action that featured a fight between a man and a woman.

Even the action feature films produced by kinky old Andy Sidaris had been absent the TV screen for a couple of years. But while Andy's female characters were usually skilled and deadly, they were also so heavy-busted and skinny-legged that their believability as kick-ass fighters was called into serious doubt. Always reminded me more of cartoon characters. Ah-hhh, but these two women there on the TV screen, now they actually looked the part of a couple of "dont-fuck-with-me" women.

Then, too, they weren't engaging in any fake kick-boxing action. They were down on the ground wrestling close-locked and straining. Their two bodies were joined like midnight lovers; glued together at the loins, grappling thigh-within-thigh, slim ankles criss-crossed and locked. The dual scissors sent calves and quads into a symphony of muscular motion, evidencing the strength each was putting into her holds. Slick sweat was already glistening on their over-heated flesh, accentuating even further every cleft and curve of their splendid female bodies.

There was a dreamy glazed look in their eyes as they strained together. Their hot breath gusted against one another's cheeks, their soft lips just inches apart, as they hugged each other feverishly with both arms and thighs. At this point, the older woman was lying on her back, pinned to the ground by her opponent's sinewy weight. They were stretched out full-length, hardly moving, only their tautly flexed muscularity evidencing the strain of their silent struggle. Then, suddenly, the younger girl arched up, bending back at the waist, pushing away from the other woman's chest. She hovered there for an instant, and then fell forward, her sensuous weight slamming down on her adversary's chest with a THUD! With a whoosh of air, the woman on the bottom lost her breath. Taking instant advantage, the girl's fingers curled around the woman's wrists and pinned her arms to the ground in a variation of a "school-girl pin". At the same time, her hips ground against the other woman's loins. The sweat filming their nude bodies made sucking and gurgling sounds as their slick flesh slid back and forth against one another.

And just at that moment, back in my living room, the dammed telephone rang. To make matters worse, it was my boss. hm-mmm, I couldn't just tell him to call me back later.

Have you ever tried to talk on the telephone, while at the same time intently fixated on a TV program? Well-lll, let me tell you that it is truly difficult. I was mindlessly mumbling my "uh-huh . . . uh-mmmmmm . . . yeah?", but not really hearing a single word being spoken to me.

My eyes were glued to the TV monitor, watching with mounting excitement the action taking place on that screen. All else was forgotten, even the voice droning in my ear. Those two magnificent creatures were straining together in THE best fem/fem wrestle I'd ever laid my eyes on.

"Oh My-yyyyyy God-dddd!" I exclaimed, as a shudder of excitement crawled up my spine.

"What? Waddid ya say?" asked the distant voice in my ear. I'd completely forgotten that I was still on the telephone with my boss.

"Nothing . . . yeah, nothing at all", I replied absently. I couldn't tear my eyes away from those two splendid Amazons in the clearing.

The intensity of their battle for supremacy was beyond anything I'd ever seen. This wasn't acting . . . these two women were not following someone's script! What I was watching was a primorial test of strength between two equally fit females. This was real; no carefully orchestrated moves, just flat-out grappling that left both combatants and viewers gasping for breath.

It was also right smack-dab in the middle of Prime Time network scheduling. I'm not sure which delighted me more; the fact that some BIG Corporate bucks were sponsoring this program, or that the two females didn't appear to be acting. They certainly appeared to be serious, each completely intent upon emerging from this contest victorious!

Nothing that I had ever seen from Premier Productions equalled this wrestle, and they have put on some of the best of the muscle-babes. The action itself AND the scampering, coiling, bunching, flexing musculature was absolutely breathtaking! The production quality was superb, which meant that the camera tracked the two straining forms as close as a caress. The lens peered at a long length of clenching thigh, moved ever so slowly down to their bunched calves, then quickly upward to capture the image of tensed muscles rippling along bare, sweat-filmed shoulders and backs.

They lay in each other's arms; face-to-face, belly to flat belly, legs scissored, tits jammed together, loins locked. Each had captured the other in a wrenching headlock, while their legs engaged in a separate battle . . . each scissoring the other's thigh between her own, squeezing with deserate strength. Their two interlocked bodies rolled slowly back and forth across the ground.

The younger wrestler now held her adversary in a reverse bearhug, leaning across the woman's back, forcing her down to the ground beneath her sinewy weight. But the lioness was not going to be taken captive that easily. She twisted her upper body within her opponent's grip, aided by the slippery sweat that now coated their overheated flesh. The two were now facing away from one another, head-to-toe, hugging tightly as their legs searched for a head to scissor. Then, with almost blinding speed, the two women applied dual holds. Their heads were now completely imprisoned within one another's powerful thighs, faces jammed tightly against crotches that smelled of a mixture of sweat and unmistakable female musk.

It was an astonishing sight to behold, and I just couldn't help myself. "YES!" I heard myself shout at the TV screen . . . "YES-SSSSS!"

"Hey, fer christsakes, what are you yelling about?" questioned the voice in my ear. "Oh-hhhhh, wait a minute here. Are you playing one of those weird video wrasslin' tapes again?"

Oh shit! How was I going to handle this one. I mean, I couldn't actually tell my boss that I was watching two women engaged in highly erotic wrestling, now could I? But wait a minute here, what was that about me "watching those weird video tapes again." Seems that he already knew much more than he should.

"No, it's not a tape," I replied. "It's right here on TV, but I haven't the foggiest idea what it is. Seems to be a movie made for television, but it is really HOT HOT HOT!"

"But it's like those wrassling tapes that turn you on, huh?" my boss said into my ear.

SHIT! He did know. So why hadn't he ever said anything before now, I wondered. It was almost as if he was clairvoyant, as if he was standing just outside my window, peering in through the blinds. Paranoia gripped my throat, and my mouth suddenly went dry.

"Hey, don't worry. Just tell me which fuckin' channel it's on, OK?"

"It's on HBO's Saturday Night Movie" I stammered out into the mouthpiece. "Channel 5".

Amazingly enough, the guy actually sounded interested. I was obviously missing something here.

"OK, I'm gonna' hangup now. Sounds to me like you're gonna' need both hands free," my boss chuckled. "I'll call you back when the movie ends, some stuff we need to go over before tomorrow's meeting." And with that, he slammed down the phone and all I heard was the disconnected dial tone humming in my ear.

I quickly turned back to the TV set, and what I saw made my mouth drop open in pure astonishment. To the casual viewer, someone just tuning in to the movie, it could only have looked as if there were a couple of half-nude chicks making out . . . a pair of lesbians in a spirited love-tussle. The two women appeared to be in the final stages of bringing one another to orgasm.

OH-HHHHH, my God-dddddd!!! This was happening right on HBO. I could hardly believe my own eyes. And just as I moved up closer to the monitor screen there was a knock on my front door.

SHIT! What now?

For a second I considered just ignoring the knocking, but then I realized that the program was, after all, being recorded. So I reluctantly got up and went to the front door. I flung it open with an annoyed gesture. This better not be a saleman, I thought darkly to myself. It wasn't!

It was my new next door neighbor, a beautiful young woman who had only moved in a week ago. She stood there with a flashing Pepsodent smile peeking out between her lush lips.

"Hi there," she said in a low, husky, VERY sexy voice. "I know this sounds pretty dumb, but do you have any fake sugar . . . you know, Equal or Sweet & Low?"

As my eyes slid up and down her body, I understood why she didn't do plain old sugar. There didn't appear to be a spare ounce of fat on that outrageously curved figure. And dressed as she was in short-shorts and a bikini top, there wasn't much to guess at about her physique. WOW! This was getting freaky. I was inundated in athletic females . . . on the TV screen and right here at my front door. Reality and fantasy were becoming pretty mixed up here, and I wasn't at all sure what was happening.

Just then, the girl peered over my shoulder, spotted the action taking place on the TV, and let her beautiful green eyes go wide in surprise.

"Oh, you're watching a Movie-for-TV that I worked on", the girl said with a big smile. "I did the stunt-doubling for Anya, the blonde in this scene you are watching."

I almost dropped my teeth. "Do you mean that's you?" I pointed to the TV screen.

"No, that's actually Anya. She wanted to do all of her own fight scenes with Tricia, the other girl. There was some real bad blood between the two, and it really shows in this segment."

I stood there completely frozen, dumbfounded at what I was both seeing and hearing. Hey, if I wasn't really all that convinced before that there was a God, I sure was now. HE was bestowing a huge blessing upon me at this very moment . . . perhaps "miracle" would be a better term.

OK, let's fast-forward this a bit. Obviously I'd let her in . . ."her" turning out to be Angie. And I'd even found a couple of packets of Equal to give her. But what really blew my mind was that once inside my apartment, Angie promptly sat down to watch the rest of the HBO movie with an excitement that ALMOST matched my own. It turned out that Angie had actually trained Tricia for this scene, since the dark-haired girl lacked the same degree of wrestling ability as her onscreen opponent. Of course as soon as I heard THAT, I immediately became even more interested in my just-introduced neighbor.

What was really exciting is that as the action continued Angie would point out various holds and grips that she'd taught Tricia.

"See that scissors?" Angie exclaimed, pointing to the TV screen where the dark- haired girl had locked the blonde within the iron vise of her well-muscled thighs. "Tricia didn't know how to use her legs to the best advantage, so I had to get her used to having her thighs wrapped around another girl. You'd be surprised at how many women are edgy about having another girl between their legs . . . too sexual for them."

I sat there in breathless stupification as Angie continued her running account of the battle which was taking place on the TV. It was like having a ringside announcer describing the action for me, making the already highly erotic spectacle even more mind-blowing! But finally, all too soon, the battle came to an end.

In the last few moments of the action there on the screen, it was obvious that Anya's skill and strength were simply too much for her opponent. Anya just plain out-muscled Tricia in the end. She had managed to catch tricia is a combination headlock and body scissors and put on the pressure. Angie and I could see the fine muscles along Anya's shoulders and arms flicker and ripple as she bore down on the headlock, and the way her long thighs bunched and quivered as she squeezed Tricia within their coils of strength.

What was really strange was the fact that even though Tricia has signalled her defeat by tapping Anya's legs several times and grunting out her surrender, Anya didn't let up on the pressure of her dual holds. If anything, she wrenched her holds even more tightly around the now helpless girl beneath her. The camera lens swooped down for an extreme close-up of Anya's face, and showed her lips stretched taut, eyes looking blankly out into the far distance without really seeing. She was completely lost in the action . . . . or in her own fantasy!

"Yeah, it was right about here that the crew had to run onto the set and pry the two women apart," murmered Angie. "They did a great job of editing, so you can't really tell, but it took three of the production guys several seconds to pry them apart, and by that time Tricia was really hurting."

"That's the longest and most exciting female fight scene I've ever seen on TV," I exclaimed excitedly.

"Actually, the script didn't call for anything more than about a minute and thirty seconds of action. But once it got onto videotape, it was just too good to leave on the cutting room floor as they say. And besides, the director is totally addicted to female wrestling. He convinced the producer that the fight was a real classic, and that almost every single second should stay in. Oh yeah, they did a lot of editing to keep the action pace flowing, and to cut out some of the body-to- body grappling which the producer was worried would give them an X-rating instead of an R, but otherwise it was left intact."

The two of us talked for another half hour. Or perhaps it would be more truthful to say that I did most of the talking. She kept asking me about my interest in athletic women, and seemed strangely excited with my answers. It was just amazing, I opened up to this beautiful woman more than I'd ever dreamed of doing with any other female. Before I even realized it, she'd gotten my whole life story, including my life-long addiction to highly buffed, athletic females.(CLICK ON THE PRECEEDING FOR AN EROTIC AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH)

The strange thing is that when I told her where I worked, her eyes widened in surprise. It turned out that she knew my boss. However, with a mysterious smile she changed the subject when I asked how she had come to know him. Hm-mmmmmm!

Finally, she glanced down at her wrist watch and let out a yelp.

"Wow .... I gotta go, I'm late for an appointment," she exclaimed. "But if you'd like, we could get together tomorrow night and continue our conversation. In fact, if you'd like we could even work out a little."

WORK OUT? Did that mean what I thought it did? Is it remotely possible that this drop-dead gorgeous lady meant that she wanted to . . . . WRESTLE with me?

I quickly agreed to get together the next evening, and she undulated out into the hall with a hip-swishing walk that somehow reminded me of Anya's slow stalking gait in the TV show. My eyes slid over her superb body as she walked out the door, thinking (not for the first time) that she was every bit as magnificently muscled as either of the two women we had seen on that TV movie.

And to think that we were going to "work out" the next evening. Oh-ooooooooo, THIS was going to be another extraordinary adventure for Emish