I yanked hard on his arm and twisted, dragging him over my body and down to the mat. Anderson immediately rolled over onto his stomach – we were wrestling to pin, remember – and pressed his body to the mat. I immediately dropped on top of him, and sure enough, I got the usual tightening down there that most wrestlers get, and learn to ignore.
I slipped my left arm underneath his and clamped my left hand on the back of his neck, then clamped my right hand on top of it. I got on my toes, putting all my weight on Anderson, and I could hear him grunt from the pressure. Step by step, I began to “tiptoe” to his left—and, in the process, turn him over onto his back.
Mr. Anderson was screaming, “Don’t let him beat you with such a baby move!” And Anderson was certainly listening. He had his right leg out and was pressing his toe into the mat—blocking me. I couldn’t go more than three or four steps before I couldn’t go any further.
Well, I could have, but not without hurting him more than I wanted to. I cursed under my breath, then let the half nelson go and got back up to my feet.
We locked up again, collar and elbow, our hands squeezing each other’s muscles, our foreheads pressing into each other. Our eyes locked in mutual determination and hatred and our breath was hot on each other’s faces.
Anderson suddenly shoved my arm up with his land—leaving me wide open for him to duck under it and come up behind me, his arms now firmly clasped around my waist. Before I could try to break his grip, I felt his crotch ram forward into my ass, yanking me up off my feet and into the air. Anderson twisted his body and brought us both down to the mat—hard! And as we hit, I’d swear his hands dug a little into my stomach!
Before I could react, Anderson had “loaded” me onto his knee, his arms wrapping even tighter around my waist. I knew what was coming, but he had me and there was no way I could stop him. He rolled to the side, bringing me along with him, and then slammed me back down to the mat.
“A gut wrench?” I muttered. “Seriously? We’re not wrestling for points!”
“You don’t like it,” he whispered back, “you stop me!”
“Fine, I will!” I grabbed both of his wrists in my hands and threw my body against his as hard as I could, rewarded with a satisfying grunt of surprise at the impact. My legs now had room to move, and I kicked them forward, keeping my weight on Anderson as I did so. We slowly got to our feet, with his hands still in my grip.
dadwrestle (339)
3/02/2014 9:49 AMGREAT story bud!
JiminQueens2 (39)
10/26/2023 8:33 PM(In reply to this)
Thank you!!!!!
JiminQueens2 (39)
2/23/2014 12:01 AMI yanked hard on his arm and twisted, dragging him over my body and down to the mat. Anderson immediately rolled over onto his stomach – we were wrestling to pin, remember – and pressed his body to the mat. I immediately dropped on top of him, and sure enough, I got the usual tightening down there that most wrestlers get, and learn to ignore.
I slipped my left arm underneath his and clamped my left hand on the back of his neck, then clamped my right hand on top of it. I got on my toes, putting all my weight on Anderson, and I could hear him grunt from the pressure. Step by step, I began to “tiptoe” to his left—and, in the process, turn him over onto his back.
Mr. Anderson was screaming, “Don’t let him beat you with such a baby move!” And Anderson was certainly listening. He had his right leg out and was pressing his toe into the mat—blocking me. I couldn’t go more than three or four steps before I couldn’t go any further.
Well, I could have, but not without hurting him more than I wanted to. I cursed under my breath, then let the half nelson go and got back up to my feet.
We locked up again, collar and elbow, our hands squeezing each other’s muscles, our foreheads pressing into each other. Our eyes locked in mutual determination and hatred and our breath was hot on each other’s faces.
Anderson suddenly shoved my arm up with his land—leaving me wide open for him to duck under it and come up behind me, his arms now firmly clasped around my waist. Before I could try to break his grip, I felt his crotch ram forward into my ass, yanking me up off my feet and into the air. Anderson twisted his body and brought us both down to the mat—hard! And as we hit, I’d swear his hands dug a little into my stomach!
Before I could react, Anderson had “loaded” me onto his knee, his arms wrapping even tighter around my waist. I knew what was coming, but he had me and there was no way I could stop him. He rolled to the side, bringing me along with him, and then slammed me back down to the mat.
“A gut wrench?” I muttered. “Seriously? We’re not wrestling for points!”
“You don’t like it,” he whispered back, “you stop me!”
“Fine, I will!” I grabbed both of his wrists in my hands and threw my body against his as hard as I could, rewarded with a satisfying grunt of surprise at the impact. My legs now had room to move, and I kicked them forward, keeping my weight on Anderson as I did so. We slowly got to our feet, with his hands still in my grip.