The Wrestler

"I guess if you want to."

"Hmm. I don't know. It has to be just right. More fair."

"What's not fair about it?"

"OH!" she suddenly burst in. "I've got it. It's perfect!"

"What? Tell me?"

"Sorry, just a sec," Paige announced. "I have to use the bathroom. I'll be right back."

Brad put his arms out in a puzzled gesture and chuckled at her as she got up to leave. She wore a smirk on her face that told him this might well be deliberate. Rather than run the risk of calling her out, he let her go and sat there thinking.

What could she want? How bad could it be? His mind ran through an assortment of different possibilities and scenarios, each one more intense than the last. Along the way, he stopped thinking of them as negotiables and began imagining that they were assured to happen. It was not an if, but a when. Then the question turned around in his mind. She was something. This was some opportunity, too. Wouldn't he regret wimping out? What wouldn't he let a woman like her do, anyway? If she won fair and square, would he really stand there and pout? Be a sore loser?

Paige returned from the bathroom. Were it not for her exposed arms and shoulders, it would be hard to tell that under those clothes she was built like a rock. It thrilled him to think about. Brad knew that whatever he agreed to, there was a strong chance that he would lose. Not because he'd let her, but because she had the strength and the will to make it happen.

She sat down, took a drink of her beer, and once she could see he was all ears, she leaned over the table again.

"Imagine people watching us wrestle on the mat. Maybe one of us gets taken down quick or maybe we take our time and go at it a while. When I get the upper hand, I rip those clothes right off your body. When you get the upper hand, I lose my bra or maybe my shorts. But in the end, I wrestle you into submission until your muscles ache and your body's too tired to resist anymore. Then when I've beaten you, I strap on a nice big silicone dildo and fuck your ass while everyone watches."

Crossing her arms, Paige sat back confidently and looked at Brad. Her behavior didn't strike him as if it was intended to be daring or threatening. It just appeared that she was laying her cards on the table, letting him decide how far he wanted to go. Or perhaps the little picture she'd painted for him, detailed as it was, had been proposed to others before, who had rejected it so many times that it was no longer treated with the same optimism. Whatever the case, Brad now knew his answer.

"Okay," he agreed quietly.

"You're not just saying that and gonna chicken out later, are you?"

"No. I won't."

"Well," Paige said, eyeing him suspiciously, "you've either given this some thought or you're cocky enough you don't believe it's possible you'll lose."

"So how do you wanna do this?"

"Hmm. We can discuss specifics now if you like, but I want us to continue to talk for a little bit while we're working out a day. Just to make sure everyone's on board and there are no cold feet."

That had been nearly a month ago, and in the interim they had conversed over the details, settled upon a date, and kept in contact. Before they left their first meet-up, Paige had given him her digits, which felt like a minor win. Or it would have if she weren't so good at teasing and taunting him back. He liked to believe he could keep up and dish some out, too, but her mind usually seemed to be at least one step ahead.

The playful chats made Brad feel more at ease with her as well. He respected her caution and knew she wanted to make sure things were safe. Though it still wasn't entirely clear to him how much she was doing that for his sake as opposed to her own. Nevertheless, he thought perhaps it was the day itself and what it represented that caused him the most anxiety, rather than her and what she was wanting to do.

The thought was a helpful reminder as he and Paige met again the day before the fight. This time was largely a formality meant as a sort of last minute check-in. Once more, they convened at Mozart's. Paige had managed to be early on this occasion, now dressed in leggings and a sleeveless t-shirt. Brad, wearing his usual shirt and shorts, greeted her and sat down.

"Tomorrow's the day," Paige teased. "You sure you don't have a sick grandma or something you need to tell me about?"

"I'm sure granny could take you, but I figured you were looking for more of a challenge."

"Cocky to the last, huh? I like it. Makes it all the sweeter when I win."

"I heard the reports of your wins were greatly exaggerated."

"Oh? You wanna go there, do you? I guess you'll find out soon enough. Just keep digging yourself deeper, buddy."

The two of them chuckled at each other, sporting highly amused grins. Brad wanted to ask so many questions. He wanted to know how she'd gotten interested in wrestling people like this. He wanted to know what made her agree so quickly to raising the stakes. He wanted to know if she was always this flirtatious and competitive, yet in such control of herself. Those questions could come later, he supposed. First, he had to show up, give it what he had, and be smart about whatever came after.

"So everything's set up?" he asked.

"Yep. Just like we talked about. Why? Are you nervous? It's alright if you are."

"Well... you invited some friends?"

"I have, yes. You said you invited a couple, too, didn't you? Having second thoughts on that?"

"Yeah. I mean, no. It's a little weird, though. How do you... you know, deal with it?"

"If they're good friends, people that you trust, then so what? You filled them in? You trust they're not gonna go spilling the details to everyone else?"

"Yeah," Brad replied. "They may not even turn up, but I guess I do."

"I hope they do turn up. I invited quite a few friends. One of them's a nurse, too, like I said. We'll have an audience tomorrow, don't worry."

She smiled and bared her teeth at him.

"You know, we haven't really talked about what happens after."

"I'm all ears."

"I just don't wanna be a dick. It's kind of hard to know what's cool and what's not."

"I'll make it easy for you," Paige volunteered. "Be as rough as you like, because I'm planning to be as rough as I like."

"Is that right?"

"Right. I'd rather we avoid black eyes and serious internal bleeding. Otherwise... fuck like you're a winner."

Brad leaned back and scratched his beard. This prompted Paige to let out a charming laugh in her alluring voice. For a moment, they were both checking each other over, picturing one another naked, and imagining how the person sitting across from them would look on all fours. He couldn't believe he was considering going through with this, and she couldn't believe he was considering going through with this. Paige widened her eyes for a second, as if to taunt and intimidate him.

"If the loser says fuck like a winner," Brad replied, "I guess I'll have to fuck like a winner."

Another friendly laugh rose up from their table. When a minute had passed, Paige glanced down at her phone, then back to Brad.

"Well, I should run soon. Any other questions? Anything I can answer to help that nervousness? I'm not just playing. I mean it, too."

"You and your head games. Really, I appreciate it, though. I'm... I dunno, actually kinda looking forward to tomorrow in a way, I think."

Her face beamed in an expression of approval. As she put her phone away and got up, preparing to leave, she said: "Me, too."

Brad stood up and waited for her to come around the side of the table. They hadn't hugged the first time they met and he wasn't sure they would now. He wasn't even sure he was hoping for it, but he felt letting her leave first was the polite thing to do. She started walking toward the steps at the front of the patio, then turned around abruptly and put her hand against his shoulder.

"Oh," she remarked in soft spoken surprise, "don't forget: bring a change of clothes. And wear some you won't miss."

With that, she turned back and headed to her car, leaving him to watch her as her words sank into his mind.

-

Walking into the gym that night was like entering another world. Brad arrived to find the front of the building dark, but the parking lot filled with 15 to 20 cars. He texted Paige to tell her he was there, as he approached the entrance. An attractive young woman opened the door for him. Once he stepped through, it shut with a click as the lock engaged. He was led past the front desk, down through the main room, and into a hallway that eventually took him to his destination.

Voices were chattering away as he went in, before gradually turning to hushed whispers. In the center of the room was a large black mat, surrounded on all sides by people who had come out to watch. Brad counted about as many faces as there were cars out front. On one corner of the mat was Paige, talking to a woman in her 30s and a bald man in his 40s who looked like a wrestler himself.

"Brad!" she called as he went over. "I'd like you to meet Vince and Elaine. Vince owns this place and Elaine is the nurse I told you about. They're here to keep an eye on things."

He shook their hands and greeted each of them. Vince asked if he felt ready. Brad said he was as ready as he'd ever be. The four of them laughed and Vince took his leave with a brotherly pat on the back. Elaine asked how he was feeling physically, and he assured her he felt fine. She told him not to push himself too hard and encouraged him to talk to her if he needed anything at all. Then she excused herself to go chat with someone else.

"Everything good?" Paige inquired, looking him over head to toe with arms folded.

Brad had worn a muscle shirt and gym shorts to the occasion. He seemed comfortable in them, but a low and steady anxiety could be read from his shy behavior. Paige wore a dark red sports bra, matching red shorts, and had her hair tied back. There was no question she had come prepared. She had the look of a boxer ready to clobber her opponent.

"Yep," he answered.

"Cool. Try to relax and have a good time. And whatever happens, I'm glad you showed. It says a lot, you know?"

She touched his shoulder gently and wandered off behind him and out of sight. He began talking himself up mentally, feeding his ego, and getting in the right frame of mind. This was it. There was no turning back now. Time to go big or go home. You can do this. You got this.

After a minute, Paige spoke up loudly for everyone gathered in the room to hear.

"Alright, I think everybody's here. Thanks for coming and let me say a few words."

Brad spotted his ex, Jen, among the crowd. When she saw him notice her, she smiled and raised her eyebrows playfully. He blushed and smiled back. They hadn't been together in several years, but had remained friends after the break up. A long time ago, they had once talked about little fantasies like these. It had seemed almost crazy to invite Jen. Yet here she was.

"I wanna thank Brad for being here," Paige continued. "We all know it takes some guts to agree to a thing like this. So let's remember to be supportive, huh? Stay on the sidelines, no throwing shit, no abusive language. And it should go without saying... if you're not here to see some nudity and rough housing, you know where the door is."

Laughter trickled through the audience. The crowd appeared to be made up of about 11 women and 6 men. Some of the spectators there had come as couples, while others seemed to be by themselves. Glancing around the room, Brad spied the other person he'd invited. Anna had been his gym partner in college and for a while after. He knew Anna wasn't interested in men, but during that time they had developed a strong camaraderie that continued still these days. In his own way, he looked up to her.

The choice of who to invite, if anyone, had vexed him for days initially. Of course, part of him liked the idea of his friends getting to watch him win. The alternative, though, made him more than a little reluctant about inviting people. It was the primary reason why he hadn't been able to bring himself to invite any of his guy friends. That felt cowardly, but what seemed even more cowardly was to invite no one at all. The truth was that Paige would never have known if he had lied about that. He could easily have made up names or said he invited people when he hadn't, then relied on the assumption that they simply chose not to come. It was taking a risk to ask Jen and Anna, and he was a bit surprised they showed, but for some reason the risk felt acceptable this way. Acceptable, and maybe just a tad exciting.

"Okay," Paige said to the crowd, "I'm gonna turn it over to Roz now."

Brad moved to his corner and set down the bag he'd brought with his change of clothes. He took off his shoes and socks and started stretching. You got this, he told himself. It's all you.

A woman who couldn't have been any younger than 40 stepped into the middle of the mat. She was dressed in a sports bra and leggings, and had a plastic whistle dangling between her breasts on a necklace. Roz was evidently an athlete or trainer herself, and presumably knew her role as a ref quite well.

"Alright, kids," she announced in an authoritative tone of voice. "Rules are simple: no hitting in the face, no biting, no scratching, and no fingers in the eyes, nose, ears, or mouth. Leaving the mat costs you the round. Pin is a three count. Match is won in three rounds. Fighters, take your places please."

Paige stepped forward to one side of Roz and Brad followed suit. Up went their arms in a defensive posture. The small group of people began to cheer and make noise. Roz backed out from between the two of them, stepped off the mat, and took the whistle in her hand.

"Good luck," she wished them. Then the whistle emitted a short screech.

Slowly, Paige started circling the mat, already on the hunt for an opening. Brad tracked her movements carefully and circled in the opposite direction, expecting that at any minute she could come at him. As they got closer, she would lean in as if to test him, and he would lean back. Once she saw an opportunity, she took it.

Paige put one foot forward and attempted to hit Brad in the stomach, but was blocked. The crowd made a sound of surprise. They each stepped back again. Her eyes studied him, perhaps reassessing the situation, but surely plotting the next move.

As they inched closer to each other, Brad forgot to check his feet. She jumped in and swiped her leg at them, knocking one out from under him. He landed on his knees and tried to get up as she pressed her weight down on him from above. Her body coiled around him like a serpent and she put her knee against his back. With a firm push, down he went.

Brad hit the mat and tried to roll. She put her arms out to lock him down, but they only caught his arms as he turned over. They grabbed at each other and tumbled around. He attempted to land his knee into her side. Her leg kicked back at his.

They rolled on the mat together for a bit before Brad stumbled as he worked to get back on his feet. Paige wrapped her arms around him and tackled him onto his stomach. Her shoulder fell against his back and, seeing her chance, she put both hands on the back collar of his shirt and tore. It ripped right down the center as he struggled beneath her. When he got his knees under him and pushed himself up, the shirt had left his body completely.

Whistling and ecstatic exclamations rose up from the people around them. He chuckled and looked at Paige holding his tattered shirt in her hand. She grinned and tossed it to the side of the mat.

They put their hands up again and advanced on each other. She knew that trick wouldn't work as well a second time, so she adopted a different strategy. Paige put her foot forward again, crouching down, and dove for his midsection. They collided and twisted against each other for a moment, until falling to the mat. As she climbed up to get him in a headlock, he took a shot at her ribs and she grunted.

It seemed that hitting her had only made her more determined. She rolled over with him, saw an opening, and laid on top of him, arms tightened around his neck. Desperately, he scrambled to get out, but her grip was strong. When he raised himself up, she brought her legs around his sides and squeezed. Eventually, he collapsed flat and heard Roz begin the counting. One... two... three.

The whistle blew. The arms around his neck released him and the weight pressing down on him left. He got up on his elbows, taking deep, slow breaths for a minute. Then he pushed himself back onto his feet. Someone in the audience blurted out, "Get her, Brad!" A reply of, "Get him, Paige!" followed right after. Roz separated the two of them, before returning to the sidelines, whistle in hand. The expression on Paige's face was primal.

As soon as the whistle went off, Brad started moving toward her. She backed off, arms held out as if ready to intercept him. He put out his shoulder, shielding himself with his right arm, and threw himself at her. Paige planted her feet, put her guard up, and stood her ground. He pushed against her hard. She tried to stay stable on her feet, but he ducked down and grabbed for her leg.

Back to the mat they went. They tossed each other around and she wound up on top, hoping to pin him again. Instead, he bridged under her and took her by the waist, tackling her back down. He put his hands around her top, pulling at it while she struggled. Once it got up and around her arms, she was all but immobilized with him sitting on her legs.

"Fuck you, asshole!" she shouted as the ref counted to three.

She pulled her arms out of the bra and got on her feet as the whistle blew. Paige put her hands on her hips and paused for a minute. Brad admired the muscles in her back, almost finding it hard to believe that he had gotten the better of her. The audience made suggestive noises as she turned back, now topless, to face Brad. He took in the sight and made a funny facial expression to her that said: not bad. Very not bad.

Paige smirked. She stretched out her arms, propping one hand on the back of her neck and putting her chest out. Fine, she thought, I'll take what you did and make it an advantage. She nodded to Roz, who left the mat and whistled for the next round to start.

Crouching down, Paige's breasts dangled seductively in front of Brad. As she swayed on her feet, they swayed before his eyes. Ever so slowly, she closed the distance between the two of them. He had to work to stay focused. He put his foot out, ready to take her. But she was quicker.

Paige moved to one side, stepped forward, hooked her arm around his leg, and pulled back. In a flash, it was up on her shoulder. It had happened so fast that Brad only had time to think, "Oh shit," before she swept her foot under his other leg and sent him flying to the mat on his back. She flipped around, sat her ass down hard on his chest, and put her fingers into his shorts. Within a second, she had the drawstring, pulled it loose, and yanked the pants off his feet. He put his hands on her, aiming to push her off, but she didn't budge. Instead, she found his wrists and forced them down on the mat. Soon Roz began counting and before he knew it, he'd lost a second round to Paige.

Whether or not his minor victory had made him a little too cocky, Brad now saw her in a different light. She had told him about her experience. He could see who she was. Nonetheless, as he stood up in nothing but his boxer-briefs to the hoots and hollers of the crowd, he thought that maybe he had still underestimated her. Paige was no joke. She was every bit as competitive as she'd said.

"Ready to give up yet?" she teased him, putting her tongue between her teeth.