Matches. The girls beat the boys at games. By Hardie Hardiewh@aol.com Fists whirling, the girl charged straight into her large male opponent. The boy was taken completely by surprise as punches rained into him. Smacking, slapping, an incessant barrage of female fists thumped into the large, muscular boy as he tried to gather his addled wits. A fist hit him in the eye, another crunched into his nose, drawing blood, adding to the boy's confusion. A whirlwind of leather crashed into the bewildered boy as the nubile young female fighter threw everything into her attack. He fell back under the girl's assault, trying to cover up as her fists flew into him. He felt the ropes on his back. He could retreat no further. The girl grinned, elated at her success, and pressed home her advantage. Now she could afford to pick her punches more carefully as the boy's head was down, hiding under the protection of his forearms, dazed, scared, offering nothing in the way of counter attack. With her left forearm the shapely young female fighter pushed as hard as she could against the boy's arms as they covered his head, forcing him upright. Then she smashed her right fist with all her might into the muscles of his stomach, smack, smack, smack, again and again. No respite. He couldn't escape. The exultant girl stood back momentarily. The boy's body slumped. His arms dropped towards his damaged stomach, leaving his head unguarded.. She had him! Gleefully, the lithe little girl scythed a massive left hook into the side of the boy's exposed jaw. Every ounce of her ninety pounds weight was behind the punch. The boy's powerfully muscled legs went limp. His large body toppled sideways and the stricken male fighter crashed into the canvas, where he sprawled at her feet, out to the world, beaten by a girl in less than two minutes of the first round! To the ecstatic cheers of the girls crowding the gym, the victorious young female, flushed with excitement at her victory over the large, strong, powerful boy, placed her foot on her defeated male opponent's drum-like chest and raised her arms in triumph! The boys in the audience were stunned into silence. They had been sure that Mitchell, the biggest, strongest boy in the school, would easily beat the lithe little fighter the girls had nominated to oppose him. Now he lay spread-eagled on the canvas, smashed to defeat by a slip of a girl! The boys' best fighter lay sobbing uncontrollably under the foot of Emma, the girl who had beaten him. The boys had lost everything. The girls had won! .............................................................................. It had begun when Mr. George Dickson, the 'Boys' Games' coach, and Head of PE, was running through the term's activities with Ms Laura Noble, the new coach of 'Girls' Games'. "And at the end of term we have what we call, uh, 'The Battle of the Sexes'. The girls play the boys at seven-a-side hockey and the boys play the girls at seven-a-side rugby. Obviously it's not serious; just a bit of fun really." "Why is it 'obviously' not serious?" asked Ms Noble with a gleam of excitement in her eyes that the male teacher missed. "Well," he said. "I mean. well, if it was serious, the boys would win easily, and some of the girls might get hurt, and, well, you'd get complaints. I mean girls against boys! It wouldn't be fair on the girls really." "So the latest 'Equal Opportunities in Sport' directive doesn't apply here then?" Ms Noble asked innocently, hoping the male teacher hadn't read the directive properly. It actually made no mention of mixed competition per se, but could be interpreted as encouraging this in the context of equal opportunity. "Directive?" said Mr Dickson in alarm. "What directive?" He knew all about the Head Teacher's phobia about Political Correctness, a concept which left him quite bewildered most of the time, and totally on the defensive. "It's just that," said Ms Noble, persuasively, "we'd be really at the cutting edge of 'Equal Opportunities' if we took the games seriously and have a proper competition. You'd be the pioneer of equality in sports," she flattered. "I bet the Head, Ms Forbes, would love the idea! Maybe get you a promotion even!..." A date was pencilled in and, after Laura had a long chat with the Head, permission was received to go ahead with the matches. After a couple of weeks, Mr Dickson forgot all about the matter. He had inter-school, fifteen-a-side rugby matches to administer, teams to field, a department to run. And anyway, all the boys had to do to win was turn up! How could they lose to a bunch of girls? No way! Ms Laura Noble, on the other hand, treated the matches very seriously indeed! ................. After the matches I, Ms Forbes, Head of school, interviewed the main participants in order to gather material for a thesis I'm writing for my PhD in psychology. Here is my account of the interviews. I have joined together accounts which I heard over two or three sessions, putting my own words and interpretations into the accounts where I've deemed it necessary, to summarise jumbles of mixed feelings and emotions for instance. First in was Roger Douglas, the captain of the boys' hockey team.... We boys didn't really take the matches seriously until a couple of days before they were played. Then, Mr Dickson tried us out at 'sevens' rugby. We picked two teams and played against each other for five minutes. Mr Dickson then decided what our best 'seven' would be and we played another five minutes of that team against the rest. It worked out quite well for the selected 'seven' as they ran in two tries against us, the 'also rans'! Ms Noble and all the girls were watching us and I knew that Mr. Dickson was hoping they'd be frightened off by the way the team played, though that wasn't too great to be honest. Having settled on the best rugby team, Mr Dickson chose another seven boys to play in the hockey team, and left us to sort out by ourselves what positions we were going to play. As he said, he didn't know much about hockey, because that was a 'girls' game', and the boys had always done well in previous matches against the girls, and that was that. I think that the boys had always done well before, because it was just a bit of fun and (a) the girls let us do well , and (b) the girls' PE teacher who refereed, or umpired, or whatever, didn't worry much about the boys breaking the rules out of ignorance. This time it was different! Miss Winton, one of the younger lady teachers refereed, and she refereed strictly according to the rules, as we soon found out! And this time, the girls showed no mercy! We lined up for team photographs for the school magazine. Us boys wore our rugby strips, but with white plimsolls instead of boots. The girls looked very trim in their hockey strips of white aertex shirts, short, navy blue pleated sports skirts which showed off their curvaceous thighs, navy calf length socks and white plimsolls. It had been agreed that, as the boys didn't have hockey boots, and the girls didn't have rugby boots, both the matches would be played wearing plimsolls. The girls looked great in their photo, all fresh faced, sparkly-eyed and full of confidence. Us boys looked...well....sheepish! Our seven was comprised of five of the forwards from the rugby team. Our biggest, slowest boys. Boys who were great at pushing in scrums, fighting for the ball in mauls and winning line-outs. They were either tall, bulky and cumbersome or stocky, bulky and cumbersome! Not mobile enough to play seven-a-side rugby successfully, and way off the pace when it came to chasing nimble little girls around a hard-surfaced hockey pitch! Trev Jones and I made up the seven. I guess we were only in the rugby team as the best of the more mediocre players, as neither of us were particularly good. However, we could tackle reasonably well, catch the oval shaped ball most times it came to us, and, if we were never sure what to do with the ball when we had it, we were always good for a bit of a charge at the opposition! Our seven did not exactly qualify for the 'schoolboy athletes of the year' award! And the girls knew it! Right from the start they swarmed all over us. We milled around in confusion as they skilfully passed the rock hard ball over the flat, artificial surface until Annie Knox picked up the ball in front of goal and smashed it past our helpless goalkeeper, high into the net. A minute or so later, the girls had scored again! This time it was Judy Carter who smashed the ball in. Neither she nor Annie showed any great emotion at scoring. All they did was run back to the centre spot, determined to get on with the game. I yelled at my team to get it together and go in and win the ball from the girls. And we tried! Billy Simpson actually collected the ball cleanly on his stick from the restart and ran forward with it for a few yards until Emma Thomas nipped in and neatly took it off him! She dribbled past a couple of our players and then I charged in and thrust my stick at the ball............. Wheeeee!!!! The whistle blew! "Free hit," said Miss Winton. "Tackling from the wrong side! You tackled across her body! It's dangerous.......for you!" Emma took the 'free' herself. Joe Bickle stuck out his stick and stopped the ball. Wheeeeee!!!!! Another whistle! "You can't use the back of the stick," said Miss Winton. "Free hit to the girls!" Judy took the 'free' quickly and passed it out to Margaret Keddie on the wing. She danced past the looming bulk of six footer Mike McLeod, slipped the ball in to Annie. Smack! The ball motored across the pitch. Dave, our goalkeeper, bravely dived across the goal and somehow got the ball round the post for a corner. Us boys had no idea what to do to defend the corner. Miss sent us behind our goal line while the girls lined up outside the a curved line near our goal. Margaret Keddie hit the ball across from a spot on the goal line to the right of our goal. We realised we were allowed to charge out and try to win the ball, but, when we saw Annie line herself up to belt the thing at the goal, we sort of parted in front of her and the ball flew past us and smacked into the board at the back of our goal, so hard that Dave had no chance of stopping it. "Look at them," sneered one of the girls! "They're scared of being hit by the ball!" We were three - nil down and being taunted by the girls and we'd only played about three minutes! The girls on the touchline were cheering their team and jeering us. "We want four!" they chanted. And they got four. I shouted instructions to my team to "Come on! Get stuck in! We can't let a team of girls beat us!" >>From the hit off, the girls won possession again. Mary Sugden, a well-built girl with strong looking thighs, had the ball and was about to bang it upfield when our huge second row forward, Johnny Mitchell, charged in to tackle her. I guess he tackled from the wrong side, because Mary got the ball away just as he arrived and her stick followed through and caught Johnny a hell of a whack on his knee. Johnny let out a howl and went down like a felled tree. Most of us stopped and stared, but Miss Winton waved play on. Mary's pass had found Margaret out on the wing and she looked up, passed it inside to Annie Knox who hit the rolling ball 'first time'. Dave, our goallie, was on his way out, bravely spreading himself as wide as possible to try to give the girl a smaller target, and the rock hard ball hit him straight between his parted legs. Dave went down like he'd been struck by a demolition ball. Screeching in agony, he writhed on the ground, clutching his crotch..........and Annie moved in, stepped disdainfully over the boy's prostrate body, and smacked the loose hockey ball into the goal! We were four - nil down, and two of our players were lying injured on the pitch in agony! The girls spectators were ecstatic. Some began to chant "Davie goallie three balls!" but one of the teachers must have stopped them, as the chant became, "We want five"! Everybody milled around for a while. No one was showing much sympathy. All Miss Winton and the girls wanted to do was get on with the game! Miss Winton smiled when Margaret Keddie coyly asked if she could massage Dave's balls better, but declined the offer. "Maybe you can have them as a trophy later," said Sharon Engles, the girls' captain, in a voice just loud enough to make us boys smart but not loud enough for Miss Winton to hear. "We'll have all their balls after we beat them into the ground and make them grovel!" That really got us going and we were determined to fight back when the game was re-started. Johnny was OK after the initial pain calmed down, but Dave had to go off and was replaced by a very tremulous Mike Barratt, who kept asking if anyone had a ball protector as he strapped on the goalkeeper's pads and gloves and reluctantly took up his position. By this time Mr.Dickson had woken up to the fact that this was not going quite as he expected. He began shouting instructions from the touchline, but was easily drowned out by the screaming horde of girls who were enjoying every minute of seeing us boys being humiliated by the girls' hockey team! After the restart, we really tried to get into the game. We'd totally lost our collective cool by now and were charging into everything. The girls showed some signs of alarm at first, as the massive, bulky boys tried to hunt them down, but they skipped past us easily enough, were not intimidated, and soon made us pay for our aggression in a most devastating way, by taking us apart We played like rugby forwards! We all went after the ball together. No one thought of marking any of the girls. We just converged on the girl with the ball. And, most times, by the time we got there, the ball had gone! Whenever the ball came near us we seemed to break some rule or other. If it hit our feet it was a free hit to the girls. If we tried to bash it, our sticks were too high and it was a free hit to the girls. If we used the wrong part of the stick it was....... and so on. The girls ran rings round us. They were very skilful. They didn't try to run too far with the ball, which would have given us an opportunity to catch them, but passed it neatly to each other over the hard surface, making the ball, and the boys, do all the work. Stupidly, we chased the ball! Annie scored again. As she went to strike the ball, our great substitute goalie turned his back and curled up in self preservation. As Annie had only feinted to shoot, he looked a complete wally as she checked her stroke, took the ball round his quivering frame and walked it into the goal! "Eas-y, eas-y!" the girls were chanting, and "We want six!" Which wasn't long in coming. It was quite bizarre. The ball came to big Mike McLeod, who somehow managed to stop it legitimately. He flailed at the ball and missed it completely. He flailed a couple of times more and missed. The nearest girls kept well back. The sight of the massive Mike hacking away with a hockey stick was totally intimidating, and he was given plenty of space! He flailed again, and this time hit the ball with the stick on the way back! Technically, I suppose it was a foul hit, but, as the ball went straight to Judy, Miss Winton called out, "Play on! Advantage," and Judy took it forward and belted the ball past a cowering Mike Barratt into the net. Six - nil to the girls! Half-time arrived soon afterwards. A few minutes in which to try to sort ourselves out. "Don't all run after the ball," I ordered. "Pick an opponent and mark her. Stick to her and try to stop the ball reaching her. We need to stop them scoring!" Miss Winton came over with Sharon, the girls' captain, and said, "Sharon has offered to cut the second half to only five minutes to save you boys, as she puts it, '..from further humiliation!'. Would you like that?" I bristled. The girls were offering us surrender terms! "No way," I replied, full of false confidence, glaring at the demure girls' captain. "We're getting better. We'll play on and maybe start to humiliate the girls!" Sharon smiled sweetly. "Well, if that's how you want it, Roger. What if, Miss," she said to Miss Winton, "as both teams want to humiliate the other, we have a 'humiliation ceremony' at the end of the match? Like, if the boys score one goal, and we don't score ten more, then us girls will line up, get down on our knees and kiss the boys' feet! Otherwise, if they don't score, and we score ten, they have to kiss our feet! We'd love to have these big, strong boys kneeling at our feet in humiliation. That would be really good for our self-assertion which Ms Forbes tells us about in her 'Women's Studies Class!'" (Not quite what I teach! Ms Forbes!) I flushed with indignation at the totally humiliating terms Sharon was offering us. We were boys! They were girls! Of course we'd stop them scoring another ten ! And I'd just love to have Sharon kneeling at my feet. She was really cute, and I'd fancied her for some time now. {"Why did you accept the girls' terms?" I asked, interrupting the boy's story. "They were beating you easily, and I'm sure Sharon was merely trying to wind you boys up!" "I..I don't know," said Roger. "I suppose it was a challenge, a challenge from a girl. That's why. I think. I just couldn't turn down her challenge." "Right," I said. "Carry on with the story, Roger."} My team were aghast! They all wanted to succumb, and I wish I'd not been so rash as to turn down Sharon's proposal. And I certainly wish I hadn't mentioned the word 'humiliate'. The girls came out for the second half with slaughter on their minds! The idea of marking the girls was fine in theory, and might even have worked if I'd allocated marking duties to each individual. As it was, everyone seemed to mark the same girl at the same time, and the result was total confusion, and we soon reverted to our old ways as the girls scored another couple of goals.. We were being thrashed. The girls moved so gracefully, avoiding our futile attempts to get the ball, while the girl spectators taunted us unmercifully! Something had to give, and it was big Johnny Mitchell who completely 'lost it' when little Emma Thomas lured him into a tackle, slipped the ball between his legs and ran round him while he floundered in her wake. The girl spectators jeered with delight as they saw a huge, muscular boy being humiliated by a slip of a girl. Then their jeers turned to howls of indignant fury! Johnny recovered amazingly quickly for a boy of his bulk and ran after Emma. As she passed the ball to Margaret, Johnny caught her up and scythed her down with a swing of his stick which crashed into the little girl's legs. With a cry of surprise and pain, Emma went sprawling across the sanded concrete. In a trice Johnny was surrounded by the other girls while Miss Winton frantically blew on her whistle. Johnny towered over the furious girls, red-faced, trying to push them back with his stick held two-handed across his body. I caught the words , "..she got what she deserved...." then, with a screech of agony, Johnny went down for the second time in the match. This time he finished curled up on the ground, clutching his groin, surrounded by grim-faced, furious girls. We found out later that Mary had grabbed hold of his hockey stick, moved in close and driven her knee into the boy's balls! At the time, though, nobody really knew what had happened, and although Miss Winton probably suspected, she didn't try too hard to find out. She was too busy seeing to Emma. Luckily for her, Emma had been wearing shin pads, otherwise I think she might have had a broken leg! "Right," said Miss Winton, as both the injured players were helped off the pitch. "There's six minutes to go and I want no more injuries! Girls, is your offer still open to finish this early?" "Not now!" said Sharon grimly. "Not after what happened to Emma!" "Right! Let's carry on then! It's a fee hit to the girls." And the game restarted. We did our best. For the next few minutes we chased everything. The girls ran us ragged. They were after more goals! And they scored them. I only kept count by the chanting of the spectators. "We want ten!", and so on. After ten we just gave up. We were totally shattered, while the girls looked as fresh as they did when they started! Some of them posed with the ball, challenging us to take it from them, humiliating us in front of the cheering, jeering girls on the touchlines. But we had no fight left in us. We simply let them walk all over us, six of the biggest boys in the school beaten into abject surrender by a team of girls! I'm told the score was eighteen - nil to the girls, but I'd really lost count. All I felt was relief when the final whistle went. We just stood in a huddle of humiliation and watched, heads bowed in defeat, while the girls ran round the pitch in triumph. Sharon came over to us. She stood there arrogantly, hands on hips, legs apart and held out her hand. Reluctantly, shamefaced, I took it. "Thanks for the game, boys," she said with a smile. "That was so much fun!.....For us! Now, if you'll just line up nicely, like good little boys," she mocked, "we'll have a nice little humiliation ceremony!" And we did. Miss Winton lined both teams up opposite each other. I was almost in tears. Standing one to one, us boys towered over the slight forms of the girls, but everybody knew who was dominant. The girls stood with pride, heads up, self-assured, confident in their victory. We slumped in defeat, heads down, totally dejected and horrified at the consequences of being beaten by the girls. Then Miss Winton told us boys to get down on our knees. Sharon was awful. "Because he's the captain," she said, "I think Roger ought to kiss my feet first! Right Roger? Show your team how to do it!" I wanted to get up and run, Miss, but I couldn't. She was standing with her legs apart, hands on hips, looking so demure and so assertive at the same time. My legs felt funny and my mind was just scrambled. It was as if Sharon had taken over my will. "Kiss my feet!" she ordered. And I did! I knelt at the girl's feet and kissed her hockey boot in abject surrender. As I raised my head from her feet, my eyes travelled up her tanned, curved thighs and hips to her proudly pert breasts and locked with her smiling. deep, brown eyes. "Kiss them again!" she ordered. I was aghast! This was terrible. I was being humiliated beyond my wildest fears. I had to disobey, to get up and walk away. I was a male, being ordered to do something I didn't want to do by a girl. I had to fight, to disobey, to assert my masculinity. But I couldn't. My mind was a blur. My stomach churned. My legs were like jelly. I dropped my eyes from her calm, steady gaze, then my head. I caved in! I kissed her feet again! I could hear the members of both teams, and the crowd of girl spectators gasp in amazement, and a hubbub of noise broke out. Miss Winton clapped her hands for silence. I began to rise. "Kiss them again!" ordered Sharon. Trembling with shame, humiliation and a confusion of emotions I'd never felt before, I began to cry. Sharon had won completely. I knelt at her feet, shoulders heaving, crying like a baby in front of almost every girl in the school. "I think we get the message, Sharon," said Miss Winton mercifully. "Perhaps the rest of the boys had better pay their forfeits, then we can go and watch the rugby." While the rest of the boys kissed the feet of the girls, Sharon made me lie on my back. Then she put her foot on my chest and raised her arms in triumph, posing in victory in front of all the girls. They cheered like mad. I lay spread-eagled under her foot, looking up at her lithe, gently curved, female body with tear-filled eyes and everything stopped whizzing round in my mind. All I could think of was that I was being trampled and humiliated by a vibrantly feminine, pretty, nubile, dominant girl, and my heart hammered, my loins caught fire, I could hardly breathe and my cock just climbed into an enormous erection, which my shorts did little to hide. "Look, Miss, Roger's got a hardon," someone said excitedly, causing the girls to 'oouuh' and 'aaah' and point and giggle. Miss Winton hurriedly halted the proceedings, as girls pointed out that some of the other boys also had erections!. The girls allowed us to get up. Some of us trying to cover the erections bulging uncontrollably in our shorts. We slunk off the pitch with our heads down, most of us sobbing, demoralised losers, to the taunts and jeers of the triumphant girls. There was not another boy in sight! The girls' hockey team followed us, herding us into the changing rooms, taunting and triumphant. The biggest, strongest boys in the school had been made to grovel at the feet of a team of slender little girls! And our ordeal had just begun.. (What Roger told me after this was truly shocking, and I feel it needs to be corroborated before I can enter it as factual evidence of a rise in the willingness of teenage girls to assert themselves, and dominate and subjugate boys physically, using violence, aggression and combative skills more usually associated with the behaviour of males!) To be continued...