Amateur Doesn't Mean New (Excerpt)

After a few hours more guys were on the bench with me than waiting to wrestle but I didn’t talk to them much.  Just a comment here and there until one guy stepped up to wrestle Chester, an oafish looking guy clearly above his weight class I thought Chester would lose easily but his speed and strength were too much for the larger man.  I found myself laughing harder at the situation until finally Chester was literally running circles around the guy, teasing him by slapping his ass and back.

The other guys thought it was funny but at some point Chester and I locked eyes and he signaled for me to quiet down but I couldn’t.  I found myself wanting to be defiant so I started making wise cracks to the other guys not just about the guys ability but his size and that was when Chester stopped the match and came over to where I sat.

“I didn’t see you out there all night.  What about it?  Are you man enough?  I know you got the balls, I can see that clearly but maybe those are just for show.”

I swallowed hard and looked him in the eye.  I wanted to bash him right there.  I wanted to jump him, get on top of him, and start hitting him but I stopped myself from acting.  It wasn’t just that he was a great wrestler and maybe, probably could have sent me to the floor, or that he was right because I hadn’t wrestled anyone the whole night, but what he said reached all the way back to my childhood.

“So what about it?  Did you wear that uniform just to show off your big dick or are you going to get out here and wrestle someone?”

I smiled, opened my mouth to speak, and leaned back.  I looked round to the other guys who looked back at me seriously, too seriously.

“I’m not, I mean, I would but you know.  Everyone else seemed to have a partner and it was... I don’t know.”

“You’re making excuses.  How many of you were new tonight?”

I felt motion around me, looked to see five guys all with their hands in the air.  I felt my face warm.  I wanted to walk away, get my stuff and leave but I felt the shoes on my feet, the material around my thighs, pulling at my shoulders, the way air hit my ribs and sides.  I had worn this, come here for a purpose.

Okay, I thought, he’s challenging me.  I thought about how he had been with all the other guys then I thought about how he might be tired, the size of him.  Maybe I would get lucky, maybe he would go easy on me, or maybe I could challenge someone else.

“Who?” I asked.

“Me,” he answered.

I shook my head.

“Come on, get out here or else you’ll be a chicken.  Maybe we should tar and feather you, march you around campus.”

“Come on,” I said.  He was joking.  Wasn’t he?

They laughed but he got serious and then I heard someone point out his change in demeanor then laugh harder.  I stood.  They started to howl and cheer, clap, hands patted me on the back, my ass.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” Ed said in my ear.

I stepped down from the bleachers and Chester turned with me, directed me out to the empty mat, followed me.  Everyone got down and formed a ring around us as we moved together to the center of the mat.  He smiled a little and I smiled back but his face got serious again.  He had the best poker face I had seen in years.  This wasn’t just a regular match.  This was personal somehow.

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