My Match with Remi

You can contact Remi; she has a page in the schedules list on this web site



When the door pulled open my stomach sank and my heart melted. 
After talking to her on the phone about two hours prior -- her 
voice lilting, her attitude engaging -- Remi could have been a 
run-of-the-mill muscle chick and it wouldn't have mattered. But 
here, standing before me just inside the hotel room was an 
unabashed physical masterpiece, carved from granite and silk. 
Unless you're enamored with the Aryan attributes of blonde hair 
and blue eyes, Remi is perfection. Dark hair and eyes. A face 
like Sharon Bruneau's, only prettier, more feminine. Tanned skin 
that's smooth and glossy -- like from the pages of a magazine. 
Powerful torso, lean waist, cinder blocks for thighs and bricks 
for calves. When she walked, which she did to change into her 
wrestling outfit, the muscles in her legs throbbed. 

For the match, Remi wore a red, white and blue one-piece bathing 
suit. Very patriotic. If she was the U.S., then I was going to be 
Iraq. I had no chance. From the size of her thighs, I knew I 
could not match her in lower body strength (she is after all a 
world-record-holder in powerlifting) -- I must avoid getting 
snared between them at all costs. I also knew concentration would 
be a problem: It's difficult to remember to breathe when in the 
presence of such beauty, never mind trying to contort her into a 
pretzel. I nearly had to slap myself to remember the task at 
hand.

From the outset, Remi overpowered me. I knew she would be too 
strong, but she was also too fast. And too smart. She anticipated 
every move I made and countered each time. I did a good job 
staying away from those thighs, but she kept trapping me in a 
headlock. From there, she'd gain leverage and forced my face into 
the floor] (I must have eaten a half-pound of carpet by the time 
it was over). When I was completely at her mercy, she'd snake 
those golden legs around me. Submission was a formality.

I slammed my fist to the floor and said, "Let's go again." 

The second fall was no different. Again, I had avoided her legs 
and again she'd put me in a headlock. She flipped me over on my 
back -- like a turtle -- knocking the wind out of me. I wouldn't 
get it back as her legs crushed me into submission.

Before long, the score was 11-0. Now, I had fully expected to 
lose to this Amazon goddess but I didn't want her to think I was 
a total wimp. And her attitude was getting on my nerves: She was 
so nice, so sweet, so matter-of-fact about the way she was 
destroying a man five years her junior and 35 pounds heavier. She 
wasn't even sweating. Not a hair on her beautiful head was out of 
place. After each fall, she'd bounce up with the energy of a 
kitten, while I'd sag to the mat and request a time out. 

I asked Remi for one more try and took a five-minute break to 
collect myself. This was it. No more kidding around. OK, she's 
strong, but she's not a guy, she's a frigging girl. I was no 
longer consumed by her beauty, but rather a sense to salvage my 
manhood, my dignity. I would go back out there, and use my 
superior size to wear her down. I would pin her on her back and 
sit on her stomach, flexing my biceps in a symbol of dominance. 
	When I returned Remi was down on all fours -- the bottom 
position in amateur wrestling. She was giving me a handicap. 
Muscled rippled under her tan skin from her traps to her hams. I 
tried not to stare at her form -- for like the eclipse, I knew I 
must look away.
	But if she was going to give me an edge, I was going to 
take it. I jumped on top and slid my hands behind her neck, 
trying to put her in a full nelson. I almost got it locked when 
she pushed her feet into the floor and sent me flying backwards. 
I off the floor just as Remi approached. We exchanged feints -- 
she was almost exclusively a counter-fighter, hardly ever 
initiating the combat. I went to grab her head and she shoved me 
in the shoulders. I recoiled. Must have been off balance, I 
reassured myself. She hadn't moved so I reached for her again. 
Another shove and this time I fell over. Remi smiled and my 
frustration boiled into a froth.
	So then I did something really stupid. I asked for a break 
and when Remi turned around I went kamikaze, hoping to steamroll 
over her and knock her on her pretty little ass. Screw it, I'd 
had enough of this humiliation. I held her arms down was going 
for the pin. But Remi, besides being very beautiful and very 
powerful, is also very flexible. She slipped her feet to my 
chest, and although she had almost no momentum, was able to push 
me off her. I did a somersault and landed on my back. 
	I knew I was dead. It was like when you're a kid and you've 
done something stupid and you're father finds out. There's no way 
to escape -- you just have to take your medicine. For Dr. Remi, 
that medicine was about 10,000 cc's of quad muscles. She 
approached quickly, cat-like just as I got to my knees. Facing 
me, she pulled my hair and yanked me head between those thighs. 
The pain was paralyzing, yet erotic. I realized that all along, 
Remi had been toying with me, not wanted to use full power. She 
released me and a fell to the floor like 195 pounds of laundry. I 
had no fight left in me. 
	Remi just wanted to make sure I had learned my lesson about 
cheating. She moved around behind me and carefully put me into 
the classic headscissors -- my neck was nestled high between her 
thighs. She crossed her ankles and began to squeeze. Not too much 
pressure: Remi didn't want to injure me, just demonstrate her 
strength. 
	There is nothing like it when Remi is in control. She has 
fun with it, moving my body around at will saying things like, "I 
want you to face this way . . . now this way" as she shifted her 
weight and my body following in tow. As I laid there, my face 
buried in her thighs, I felt humiliated but also at peace. Even 
though I've always enjoyed the notion of a woman defeating me in 
wrestling, I always figured I'd have to tank the match to achieve 
that end. But after an hour with Remi, I knew that wasn't the 
case. The world is full of powerful women, probably none as 
beautiful as Remi, who can dominate men in the physical arts.

THE END