Grounded by SuperJett
Zeke  with side commentary from Jett 
I brought my A game, but the redhead was triple A


[note that material in parenthesis ((xxxx)) was contributed by Jett]

I really thought I had a chance this time. Going up against the SuperJett.
Sure she'd gone from an unknown with only a month of wrestling training a year
ago to the wonder woman of wrestling. Started with a good showing at the
wrestling convention in San Diego where she drew with one of the best DWW
technical wrestlers, Edita, in her first match - substantial weight advantage
probably helped but Edita has handled bigger wrestlers before. Then she
tromped a game but less talented woman. With that experience and more training
under her belt she later overwhelmed Kristie, who outweighed her and always
gives her best effort. Later yet she easily put away Stormee Knight in another
special event.

((Jett: The event with Stormee Knight and Kristie Etzold was on the same day.
I had gone up against Stormee first and then about 20 minutes later took on
Kristie. I enjoyed the competition and liked the women I went up against. They
both had good competitive spirits.))

Jett seemed a good match for me, a little lighter than my 155 but equaling my
5'9". A distance runner still at it many years after setting area records in
the 1600. "True jocks" never give distance runners much credibility when it
comes to technique, strength or tolerance of pain. That's because they can't
see the technique involved in finding and maintaining just the right stride,
have never had to keep their arms pumping smoothly lap after lap, have never
dug down to find the kick at the end of a marathon.

But I'd done some running out of curiosity long ago after opportunities in my
beloved baseball faded away. A three and a half hour marathon finish on a
hilly course without ever running farther than ten miles in training filled me
with pride but even more with respect for the forty year old guy who passed me
with his dog at the midpoint and the frail looking woman who seemed to be
walking past me as I tried to keep my legs moving into the final mile.

So what did I know? I wouldn't wear her down. I fully expected the energizer
bunny routine. Her legs would be extremely dangerous. Not only would they be
strong, but they'd have no fleshy cover to cushion the pressure they could
exert. And she would be flexible with a wiry strength that suited her well for
wrestling. She consistently mocked her lack of strength in message board
comments on weight lifting, but there was always an edge to her remarks that
suggested anyone expecting to overpower her had better bring a lot of muscle
and know how to use it. And above all I knew I'd be up against a competitor.
She'd laugh and enjoy the struggle but she'd want to win. Enjoyable to spar
with in emails, but determined to kick butt.

((Jett: I have never found a sport yet that has required me to dig as deep or
asks as much from me as that of running. Not even my newly found love of
wrestling has equaled the pain tolerance or spirit needed to excel as running
has. Running comes naturally to me as well; my body is made for it. I think I
have a body that is easy for my opponent on the mats to underestimate. It
looks lean and maybe strong, but not powerful. My power might come more from
my spirit and competitive drive instead of muscle mass.))

Then why did I think I had a chance? Because her training had all been in
Brazilian jiu jitsu with an emphasis on arm bars, joint locks and chokes. Her
greatest strength was bound to be in her legs. And we were going to wrestle
for pins. All that she had worked so hard to develop would be useless to her.
I'd probably had more pin matches than she had. All my opponents marveled at
my stamina and were surprised by my strength and quickness. I know they were
all adding under their breath "for an old fart", but that didn't bother me. I
am one who prefers to believe compliments and consider criticism with many
grains of salt.

((Jett: Charlie is not as old as he let's on, he is a fit man, so don't fall
for that comment!))

So here I was, a little late, walking into the place Tweety had let Jett rent
for the occasion. And there was Jett. She looked harder and stronger than I
remembered from seeing her at the WWC2000 convention. She was still friendly,
expressed great enthusiasm that we had finally gotten together, and was sure
this would be a great match. Of course, I believed it all. The money I was
paying had nothing to do with it. She really liked me.

Sounds incredibly naïve, eh? But a good part of my business is getting
institutions to pay me to provide quality services to a group of people. So
when the people come and we provide what they want, do I like them? More often
than not, the answer is yes. How else are you going to enjoy your job? It sure
beats pretending to like them all day and then meet some buddies in the bar
and spend the night complaining about what jerks they are. I was absolutely
convinced Jett liked her clients, unless they were real jerks, and was
genuinely concerned about mutual enjoyment of the session. However, she has
this high pitched, ultra feminine voice, that is sooooo empathetic I almost
had doubts.

((Jett: OH STOP!! MY voice is not that high pitched. Maybe you are referring
to the times you were on top pressing the air out of me, does that sound
familiar? I remember making a terrible lifeguard when i worked for the city.
MY yell for the children to quit running on the concrete didn't have much
authority, the beaches were much better for me to work, no words and more
action was much better. HEY!! At least I don't sound as bad as Chyna!))

When she came into the mat room in her two piece, the one she would wear later
in the week to take on Helen, I certainly did not doubt her commitment to
strength and health. My earlier optimism about getting a pin began to fade.
But I was still certain it was going to be fun.

A little chatter, some stretching, we were set. She apologized for wearing
wrestling shoes - torn or stretched ligaments in her toe, I think.
Disappointing, not because I have any particular interest in feet, but because
I really look forward to the body contact in wrestling. I'm a skin to skin
person. I love to feel the strength working against me and am ambivalent about
whether it overpowers me or I overpower it. The joy is in feeling the
struggle. You can't feel through a shoe. I've always been fond of Carson
McCullough's description of wrestling as the truly American sport in "The
Ballad of the Sad Café". Great portrayal of a fight between an unusually tall
and strong woman and her former lover. Locked together, panting, muscles
beginning to ache, oh so slowly one beginning to quiver, the other holding
firm.

Not that I equated session wrestling to sexual warfare. To my shock after a
lifetime of getting turned on by seeing pictures, cartoons, the very
occasional woman's match on TV, 8 millimeter and super 8 films from California
Supreme, and finally videos from Dulong through DWW, I had found that
wrestling a woman is not an explicitly sexual encounter for me. Sensual and
extremely enjoyable to be sure but more in hindsight than in the actual match.
And in most cases I developed such a strong sense of respect for the women I
couldn't even consider them as turn on material after I'd wrestled them.

Nor is it that I take the competition seriously. Sure I wrestle hard but my
ideal match is one in which I get to feel the thrill of victory, the thrill of
defeat and the bond of shared battle. What intrigues me is the friendly
matching of bodies, strength against strength, skill against skill,
determination against determination - all heightened by the undeniable
pleasure of ever shifting male/female contact, control, dominance and
submission. It's the edge of danger in trusting an opponent so completely,
especially one knowledgeable enough to cause injury quickly should she choose
to do so.

((Jettt: I do love to wrestle barefoot, and feel a sense of emptiness when I
can't wrestle barefoot. I don't like to loose the sensitivity that I get when
wrestling barefoot. Also, if I accidently hit my opponent in the face, a
shoeless foot is much less damaging. I've taken to simply taping my injured
toe, instead of trapping my feet in my wrestling shoes.))

But on to the match. The place was roomy with thick mats. Only drawback I
could see was the wall to wall windows looking out on the pool. Even on the
mat you could see the upper bodies of anyone walking by so certainly they
could see us if they glanced over. Not that it bothered me, really. But it was
a first.

((Jett: We did have the option to pull the blinds. I now do my matches at my
home.))

We locked up, broke apart, locked up again. We pushed and pulled and broke
apart again.

In half a minute I knew I had badly underestimated her upper body strength,
her quickness and the degree that her BJJ training carried over to a
wrestler's body awareness and balance. Whether I attacked or countered, she
got her weight shifted so fast I had the sense there would always be a
perfectly prepared Jett waiting for me no matter what I tried. Was she playing
with me? No, she was panicking. People that are laughing and smiling as they
make you look silly are simply trying to disguise their growing panic.

((Jett: Ha Ha))

"A slow, tactical match. I love this. It's a challenge," she purred. I panted.
I had actually thought we were moving along at a pretty quick pace. Again, not
encouraging.

Since I was clearly not going to overpower her, I went for a less direct
approach; I pushed her away and to the side while trying to spin around her.
More promising I thought. Wrong. She countered by spinning the opposite way
and suddenly I was down in a headlock. Nice arms but they hurt. I grunted, she
giggled.

"This is better. Ready to get pinned yet?"

Fortunately, we had both worked up a good sweat already and before she could
use the headlock to roll me on my back I was able to pop my head free and
flatten out on the mat.

Indeed I spent a good deal of time in that position. Normally I don't like a
passive defense but I knew there was a good chance that she could turn me if I
failed at an attempt to power out and I feared if I didn't conserve some
energy I wouldn't last the full hour. Still I wasn't paying to play pancake on
the mat. So I'd rest ten to twenty seconds, try to surprise her with a quick
burst, push until I knew I wouldn't make it and then re-pancake myself.

((Jett: I really enjoyed that position, your back to me. I liked having my
mouth really close to your ear. My body tight and hovering over yours. I
enjoyed whispering in your ear those little niceties that are only meant for
you to hear - hee hee))

Honestly, it isn't that bad a feeling to be pancaked by Jett though having her
push my face into the mat from time to time was a tad humiliating, and the
occasional pelvic thrusts into my lower back definitely caught my attention.
Finally I summoned all my energy, pushed up onto my forearms and when she went
left positioning to roll me, I spun right and somehow found myself free. No,
she didn't let me escape. Jett doesn't give an inch to people on the mat until
she's whipped their butt. Then, she's back to sugar and spice and all that's
nice.

Not content with freedom, I saw my opportunity to turn her and immediately
discovered the number one reason she is so hard to pin. Once she is on her
back Jett has twelve legs. No matter how quickly I moved, how suddenly I
rotated from one side to the other, how open it appeared - always just as I
was ready to get a cross body or slide my left hand over her shoulder and
under her neck to lock up with the forearm of my right arm as it kept her left
arm immobile - another leg would appear between me and the target.

I actually spent a reasonable amount of time controlling her. Several times I
had her on her back but only in two to three seconds of any danger and nowhere
close to making her admit she couldn't escape - obviously she could, because
she always did.

Since straight wrestling wasn't getting the job done I went into an extended
monologue about TurtleJett as her primary defense when I was in control was to
go into a tuck position with head down protected by her arms with her elbows
in at her sides and her legs pulled under her butt spread for balance. I must
admit that I did attack her from every possible angle. Partly as a wrestling
tactic and partly to enjoy the changing view and the ever solid feel of her
body.

Then I'd shift to explaining that on a count of three I would slip her into a
half nelson, lift and push and she would roll onto her back, at which time I
would demonstrate male superiority with a quick and painless pin. One thing I
learned for certain during the match is that Jett is not a very good listener
and fails to comprehend even the most basic of instructions.

((Jett: Yes, I've been told that before))

I tried every possible way to move her where I thought she should go but only
once did I have a legitimate shot at a pin. I'd managed somehow to force her
out of her shell, get by all the legs and get my arms locked in what should
have been a pinning combination. But it wasn't to be. I never got locked in
tightly enough to prevent her from pulling an arm free, thus totally spoiling
my greatest opportunity.

Thinking back I believe I am just too gentle with women. There is no way Jett
should have been able to get out of that hold. I had time, a second only
maybe, but time to lock that hold so tight that she would have winced and
certainly would not have been able to pull the escape she did. But I hesitated
and she was out. I had no other real chances.

Oh yah. Her pins. Nothing exotic. A cross body with her hips up tight against
my left side, her buttocks resting on my shoulder, legs spread for balance,
torso across my chest pushing down on my chin, and arms around my upper right
arm. I couldn't get a full range of motion with either arm. Survival depended
on my ability to bridge or use my legs.

Do you realize how difficult it is to bridge with someone's weight centered
right below your chin? And just exactly what can you do with your legs when
there's nothing for them to hook and pushing up only sends more weight on your
upper chest? Of course I checked out all the possibilities, but each attempt
simply verified how futile my efforts would be. All that firm, attractive
femininity rendering me helpless. I wiggled, squiggled and giggled beneath
her. But the pressure was unrelenting. I had lost. I knew it. She knew it.
Just a matter of how long I wanted to struggle in vain.

((Jett: I thoroughly enjoyed your struggling. NO really!! I like honest effort
from my opponent to escape, not just a weak wiggle here or a whimpy struggle
there. I get stronger as my opponent makes a more honest effort to get out
from under or around me. So I really appreciated your true spirit!!))

My greatest disappointment was that I couldn't see her face. I love seeing how
a woman is reacting to the certainty of the pin whether she is being pinned or
doing the pinning. Sensing victory the eyes should sparkle, the lips set in a
slight smile still tensed with effort but clearly anticipating the tap of
submission. That's especially true in the first submission after a lengthy
battle. Just waiting for the rush of triumph. But I wasn't going to see it, so
there was nothing to do but tap her thigh lightly.

((Jett: Hey, perfect description; that is how I looked!))

"Is that a submission?"

"Yup."

"It was so gentle. I can't ever remember such a quiet submission."

Well, it's not like I was in agony under her. Helpless yes, but no pain, no
sense of failure. I'd given my best and she was better. But I think the
surprise took the edge off a bit. Gradually she released the hold and rolled
away but with no substantial gloating. Too much of the old school respect for
opponent to engage in that I guess. Not that I couldn't tell she was pleased
with the outcome.

The other pin. Full body, I believe, with her head to the left of mine. Must
have had her left arm under my neck holding down my left shoulder. That would
account for my inability to bridge. I'm quite sure her legs were spread for
balance rather than scissoring one of mine. I know she hadn't tried a
grapevine, which had never worked for anyone before anyway. I could see enough
of her face to tell she was supremely confident at this point.

And why not? I had a free right arm but nothing much to do with it. I could
raise her a bit with hip thrusts but to no apparent advantage. With my legs
inside hers I was in a terrible position to try roll her over. My right arm
had to be good for something. I thought about a good strong hair pull but
decided in my pathetic position the reaction might be detrimental to my
health. Perhaps gently massaging her shoulder or upper back might prove
distracting. Tickling maybe?

((Jett: That back rub may have worked, I love those!! I know at some time you
must have experienced my grapevine. That is a very typical way for me to
control, and I don't think you would have been able to kick out of it as you
claim, my legs follow your motion and control their move, so we'd better
replay the tape on that one. But now that I think of it, I think I locked my
feet under your butt while I was on top!""

Ah well. So much for the warrior's vow to fight to the last breath. I settled
for another gentle tap.

I'd say we wrestled about forty five minutes. Jett's known for an hour of
wrestling but the only time slot I could make gave her no time to adjust for
my late arrival. My legs were telling me to stop or they'd cramp, so I
couldn't really complain. An indication of just how committed she is to her
customers is that she promised me additional time when next we meet despite
the fact that I was the one at fault.

((Jett: And this time I am looking forward to looking you in the eyes as you
submit to me.))

I must say that everything Jett does on and off the mat is done with grace and
concern for your welfare. Even with the time constraints, she walked me out to
the car. It was probably 55 degrees at best and she was still wearing her
wrestling outfit. Fairly conservative but she certainly didn't look like she'd
been engaged in casual conversation. Nor did I. But hey, this is her
territory. Maybe a man and a woman all hot and bothered walking out to a car
in shorts and hugging each other is the norm here. I'm from the Midwest. What
do I know?

I know

That Jett is a very nice person committed to serious wrestling.

That she can also match her skill to the level of her opponent.

That she believes sessions should be enjoyable to both participants.

That she is much stronger over all than I expected.

That she beat me without resorting to any of the submission holds she was
trained

in, though I could occasionally see her fighting the instinct to choke the
hell

out of me.

That she stayed away from anything close to a sexual hold.

That she is one of the few distance runners I've known who could be called an
all

around athlete.

That an untrained guy is going to have to be much stronger and in very good
shape

to beat her in a competitive match.

That I would enjoy her company even if she couldn't wrestle.

That I am going to pin her the next time we meet.

That I'm right about all but one of the above.

((Jett: That is so sweet and I look forward to pinning you many times in the
future - he he. Yes, I had a blast and you Charlie have been one of the most
honest sources of feedback and sincere friends that I have run across in the
wrestling world. I consider it a privilege to have squished you on the mats.))