“Fine,” I growled back. Dad and I followed him down to the basement. I had to admit, I was impressed. The bulk of the room was set up like the wrestling room at school, complete with mats on the walls to catch flying bodies. Mr. Anderson was waiting there, also dressed in street clothes.
“Let’s get the ground rules down,” he said coldly, glaring at Dad. “Standard wrestling rules, to pin, no periods, no time outs. The boys wrestle until one of them pins the other one. Deal?”
“Deal.” Dad extended his hand, and Mr. Anderson shook it perfunctorily. They both glanced at us. Anderson offered me his hand, and I shook it to cement the deal.
“Get changed,” Mr. Anderson said. Anderson immediately began to undress. Apparently their mat room didn’t include locker rooms—although, I thought as I peeled off my shirt, why should it?
No one said anything as Anderson and I stripped to the skin and then pulled on our jocks and singlets. What was there to say? One he finished lacing up his shoes, Anderson stepped on the mat and walked to the far corner, then turned and looked at me expectantly. I didn’t keep him waiting long.
This was it. I was going to prove to this asshole once and for all that I was the better wrestler, and I was going to take my time doing it. Even though we were doing standard rules, there was a lot I could do to him to make sure that he would *hurt* tomorrow morning, and it would be completely for nothing. The knowledge that he’d lost, again, would last for the rest of his miserable little life.
“Shake hands,” Dad said. I glanced back at him, but he wasn’t kidding. Okay, whatever. I didn’t have to mean it. I extended my hand, and Anderson tapped my fingers with his. Close enough.
“WRESTLE!”
I don’t know if Dad said it or Mr. Anderson said it, and I don’t really care. The second the word was out of whoever’s mouth, I lunged forward for a single, but Anderson sprawled and jerked his body to the side. I abandoned the shot before Anderson could get behind me and sprang up to my feet as quick as I could, even as he did the same.
We circled, our bodies crouched low to present as small a target as we could, and then went at each other, locking up in a collar and elbow tie-up. His fingers dug into my neck as he tried to force my head down, while I clutched his arm so hard I was sure I was going to leave dents. Our eyes locked on each other’s even as we pressed our foreheads together, each one of us trying to assert our dominance over the other. “You’re going down, asshole,” Anderson growled.
“In your fucking dreams, you little bitch,” I snarled back.
Fireball05 (26)
15.2.2014 08:21cool story! :)
JiminQueens2 (51)
20.2.2014 20:46(In Antwort dazu)
Thanks! Almost done with Part 4!
JiminQueens2 (51)
12.2.2014 17:45“Fine,” I growled back. Dad and I followed him down to the basement. I had to admit, I was impressed. The bulk of the room was set up like the wrestling room at school, complete with mats on the walls to catch flying bodies. Mr. Anderson was waiting there, also dressed in street clothes.
“Let’s get the ground rules down,” he said coldly, glaring at Dad. “Standard wrestling rules, to pin, no periods, no time outs. The boys wrestle until one of them pins the other one. Deal?”
“Deal.” Dad extended his hand, and Mr. Anderson shook it perfunctorily. They both glanced at us. Anderson offered me his hand, and I shook it to cement the deal.
“Get changed,” Mr. Anderson said. Anderson immediately began to undress. Apparently their mat room didn’t include locker rooms—although, I thought as I peeled off my shirt, why should it?
No one said anything as Anderson and I stripped to the skin and then pulled on our jocks and singlets. What was there to say? One he finished lacing up his shoes, Anderson stepped on the mat and walked to the far corner, then turned and looked at me expectantly. I didn’t keep him waiting long.
This was it. I was going to prove to this asshole once and for all that I was the better wrestler, and I was going to take my time doing it. Even though we were doing standard rules, there was a lot I could do to him to make sure that he would *hurt* tomorrow morning, and it would be completely for nothing. The knowledge that he’d lost, again, would last for the rest of his miserable little life.
“Shake hands,” Dad said. I glanced back at him, but he wasn’t kidding. Okay, whatever. I didn’t have to mean it. I extended my hand, and Anderson tapped my fingers with his. Close enough.
“WRESTLE!”
I don’t know if Dad said it or Mr. Anderson said it, and I don’t really care. The second the word was out of whoever’s mouth, I lunged forward for a single, but Anderson sprawled and jerked his body to the side. I abandoned the shot before Anderson could get behind me and sprang up to my feet as quick as I could, even as he did the same.
We circled, our bodies crouched low to present as small a target as we could, and then went at each other, locking up in a collar and elbow tie-up. His fingers dug into my neck as he tried to force my head down, while I clutched his arm so hard I was sure I was going to leave dents. Our eyes locked on each other’s even as we pressed our foreheads together, each one of us trying to assert our dominance over the other. “You’re going down, asshole,” Anderson growled.
“In your fucking dreams, you little bitch,” I snarled back.
bigchicago (68)
22.2.2014 16:12(In Antwort dazu)
These stories are amazing, I just wish there was more to them!