by <[email protected]>
I wonder when so-called mainstream society is going to catch up with the new woman? I wonder when we men will catch up with the new woman? When will we realize that the colleague in the next cubicle is the new woman? Or that the woman in the crowded subway, the woman on the movie line, the woman confidently approaching us on the street, is the new woman?
She's here. Now. Today.
This was brought home to me with tremendous force during a recent mixed wrestling encounter in NYC. The force was both physical and psychological. I'd arranged a session through a local agency -- asianfemdom.com/asia; an agency which I'd only just learned about. Run by the very fit, stunning and articulate Asia, herself a wrestler, boxer, kickboxer, martial artist, etc., the agency reps only seriously athletic women. Assuring me that I would not be disappointed, Asia set up a match with a young African-American woman, Andy.
Andy was waiting for me when I entered the fine, clean, large wrestling room, virtually wall-to-wall mat. Asia introduced us and we shook hands. Her grip was firm, confident. I had a moment to study the dark-skinned Andy as I backed to the centre of the mat.
Tall, perhaps 5'8", she carried some 150 lbs. on a lean, muscular, deceptively so, physique. Her 36D breasts, prominent within her bikini top, were perfect spheres. Her smile was open, engaging. As the match went on and we chatted between falls, I came to realize that the new woman is here.
We agreed on the rules, submission style: tap out and the opponent immediately releases the hold. Asia had her camera ready as Andy and I slowly circled in the centre of the mat. I took the offensive and grabbed Andy's shoulder, as if to gain a headlock. Instead, I spun her around and tried for a full nelson. But as I snaked my arms under hers, Andy went limp and dropped through to the mat. I stepped back and grabbed for her right arm. She rolled away, leapt to her feet and we faced off again.
Andy took the initiative now. She feinted to her left, I moved to my right, and fell right into her trap. She was suddenly in front of me and my head was clamped tight in a vise-like headlock. She bent me to my waist. I struggled, bucking, but her grip was too tight and I couldn't breath. She forced me to my knees and shoved my head between her thighs. I tried prying my head loose, but my arms were no match for her muscular thighs.
Asia crouched before me, snapping my pale white face peeking out between Andy's rich ebony legs. Asia made a wry comment to Andy about my plight, about what a great photo it'll make. Andy assured her that there'd be plenty more to come.
At last, unable to free myself and growing slightly woozy from Andy's increasingly tight standing head scissor, I tapped out. Andy released me at once. I flopped to my hands and knees and worked to catch my breath. Andy made sure I was alright and Asia gave me a water glass. It was cold, invigorating.
As my breathing returned to normal, I learned that Andy had finished law school and only recently taken the Bar exam. I was momentarily thrown off, staring at this beautiful woman. Beautiful, athletic ... and a lawyer. Hmmm.
We clashed again. I tried for a bear hug and we tumbled to the mat, rolling over and over, neither gaining an advantage. On my side, I managed to get Andy on her back. I reached across her stomach and gripped her arm, shoving it to the mat. Now I slipped my other arm under Andy and tried to get her trapped arm. But Andy bridged, breaking my cross-body hold. Before I could counter, she rolled on me and straddled my upper chest. My arms were trapped beneath her legs and she had me in a classic schoolgirl pin.
Andy slithered up my chest until her crotch was at my neck, her lovely dark brown thighs tight around my head. Asia stood over us, gleefully snapping away. They both agreed this will make a terrific photo. I was beginning to feel the pressure from Andy's thighs, scrunching my head tighter and tighter. I struggled, heaving my chest, but I -- and Andy -- and Asia -- knew this was futile, a waste of my energy. I lay there, staring up at the beautiful, smiling Andy.
Without giving me a chance to tap out, Andy abruptly lifted herself and moved forward, dropping full weight atop my face. I was unable to breath, her rear cheeks, amazingly muscular! pillowed out on either side of my face. I was aware of her luscious rear scent, captivated by it. She lifted several inches off my head and I gratefully took in gasps of air.
I thought she was doing this to permit me to breath. Yeah, right! She was giving Asia, flat on the mat, her camera two feet from my face and Andy's chocolate-kissed buttocks, a great camera angle. Asia was taking every advantage of it. When Asia finished, Andy sat back down. She and Asia talked as I lay helpless under her ass. They joked about my admittedly ineffectual showing against Andy.
During our next break, I learned more about Andy. How she was a track-and-field athlete, had been interested in wrestling and boxing at an early age. Boxing? Yes, boxing. This beautiful young woman, with her warm, ingratiating smile, whom you'd meet at an office, see on the subway, and never once imagine she was this much athlete. Andy was confident inside herself. She knew who and what she was and felt no compulsion to announce it to the world.
The match continued. By now, I was sweating, winded. Though Andy had a ring of perspiration on her forehead -- highly erotic -- she was as fresh as the moment we began. Her speed, superior lower body strength, and athleticism were taking their toll. From now on, my job was to fend off the woman as long as I could. But she well knew this.
She grabbed my wrist and swung it over her head as she twisted in a full 360, my arm now jammed high up my back. Asia snapped this, joking to Andy that the match was so one-sided, people will think it was fixed. They both got a huge kick out of that one. Andy forced me to my knees and again got me in a standing head scissor. This time my face was looking out through the back of Andy's legs. Asia crouched and recorded my helpless position.
Andy released me and turned, trapping me back in a standing head scissor, my face now forward. Squeezing tightly, she started walking, pulling me along by her amazingly tight scissor. I scrambled on my hands and knees, keeping up as Andy walked around the entire room. I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror, crawling, Andy's dark thighs coiled tight, muscles straining as she squeezed my head even as she sashayed around the room. Asia gave her a loud, vigorous ovation and regretted that they hadn't video-taped the match. Next time, she said. Oh?!?
Andy released my poor head and I collapsed to the mat, panting. Andy stood over me, hands on her hips, staring down, tall and black and, no other way around it, straight-out majestic. She and Asia decided that I'd had enough. For the rest of the session, Andy put me in holds, fantasy-style. They were just as confining and just as disabling and just as humbling as if we'd actually fought.
Andy wondered toward the end if I'd be interested in doing a little boxing another time. I was not prepared for this, especially after the one-sided trouncing I'd just been given. She told me she'd use light gloves, whatever they were. Though I didn't say yes, I'll admit that now, a few days later, the idea of donning gloves and sparring with the remarkable Andy is very enticing.
Andy -- and Asia, truly new women. Self-confident, bright, educated, athletic, they're the woman in the next cubicle, on the subway, in the book store. On the subway home, I noticed two young women talking. They were attractive women, without attitude, enjoying their conversation. And as I watched them, I realized I was assuming certain feminine things about them which, frankly, no longer hold true in the year 2000.
And it's only going to get better.