You know those stories you’re forever hearing about cheerleaders? They’re all true.
At least when you’re an NCAA champion wrestler – I’m here to testify.
Real high school and college wrestling attracts alpha males right from the getgo. For us, its in our genes, and our jeans.
It’s the modern, albeit bloodless, gladiator fight in the coliseum. It’s the not really disguised struggle for dominance, harking back to cavemen fighting over food and access to sex. Dominance and reward, an atavistic imperative for the alpha.
And the modern gladiator battling comes right when the testosterone explodes in our teens and twenties. I swear in those days, if you cut me, I bled – but T, not red. The cheerleaders can smell it on you and they want it.
Darla, the blonde, and Phoenix, the brunette, really knew how to get me fired up after we three fooled around some during freshman and sophomore years. They were already co-captains of the cheer squad by junior year, and I was on my way to my first undefeated season at 178.
They’d stand on either side of the aisle entryway to the arena and the mat. As the team was being introduced one by one by the announcer, Darla would lean over and whisper to me, “You get to fuck me if you win.” Phoenix would lean in from the other side and whisper, “I’ll watch – then you fuck my ass, but only if you pin….”
Never lost that year. Always pinned that year.
©2012 RamTheSunlover, all rights reserved.
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