Many thanks to RoyalBabyGirl for first editing and improving this story.
Special thanks to editor extraordinaire and fledgling author LovelyAnon for later fixes and suggestions that challenged me to do better.
“I think we’re pretty evenly matched.”
Robin was wearing a tight Spandex workout suit that looked like it had been molded to her body. She was looking in the full-length mirror in our bedroom. I was taking off my clothes after coming home from a late meeting, and she getting ready to hit the shower.
“What do you mean?” I asked her.
“I mean physically.”
Robin towered over me. I was five feet eight but next to my six-feet-three wife, I looked tiny, especially when she wore heels.
As freshmen, we had several Gen Ed classes together. She was smart, good-natured, fun and serious about the future — hers and the world’s.
She was also the tallest woman on campus, with a voluptuous body. Every woman student hated her when she walked into a room. I devoured her with my eyes just like all the guys, but I didn’t fantasize about her because she was way above me — literally.
When she asked me out, I said that I was flattered, but she needed to pick on somebody her own size. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I finally gave in after jokingly telling her I’d need some coaching in being the center of attention.
All eyes were us at the party, and whenever we walked by anyone talking to someone else, the conversation stopped. She didn’t seem to care, so I pretended I didn’t either.
In the lobby of her dorm, she politely told me that she had a great time and kissed me on the cheek. I didn’t feel awkward, because I had mentally added the evening to my list of bizarre life experiences hours before it was over.
When I saw her in class, she didn’t bring up our date, so I guessed she felt the same way about it as I did. When she called me a couple of weeks later to ask me out again, I almost dropped the phone.
“Didn’t you have enough the first time?” I asked her.
“I didn’t realize you were so sensitive about your height.”
Maybe I thought she was amusing herself at my expense, because I lashed out at her.
“I do just fine. But you should ask yourself why you want to be seen in public with a man so much smaller than you. I like you, and I’m glad you like me, but you need to find a small guy who’s more into exhibitionism to help you work out your domination fantasies.”
“You know, Ned, you’re a real asshole,” she said and slammed down the phone.
The next time I saw her at a party a couple of weeks later I went over to her.
“I want to apologize, Robin. I have no excuse for flying off the handle, except you’re probably right. I must be more sensitive than I thought. I’m sure you’re just curious about smaller guys like I’m sometimes curious about bigger girls.”
“You still don’t get it, Ned. I’ve dated guys who are taller than me, who are my height and who are shorter. I don’t give a damn how big they are. The only reason I asked you out was because I liked you.
“I admit that before I called you, I did think for a moment that it was too bad you were shorter than me. Then I realized how stupid that thought was. Anyway, that’s the way I feel. If you ever get over the size thing, you know my number.”
She got up and walked away.
That conversation did get me thinking and even fantasizing. When I finally called her three weeks later, it was her turn to be surprised.
“I gave up two weeks ago,” she said.
“So, it’s too late,” I mumbled.
“Shut up. Yes, I’m free Saturday night.”
During a quiet dinner, we exchanged life stories, likes, dislikes, opinions on politics and music and plans for the future. When I took her back to the dorm, she said her roommate had gone home for the weekend and asked if I would like to come up and talk.
We spent the next four hours bouncing off the walls, both beds, the floor and maybe the ceiling. It was like a living fantasy, me with this beautiful Amazon who matched my sexual frenzy.
When I finally left, I was staggering, and I was out the minute my head hit the pillow. I slept like I was drugged until noon the next day. Her phone call woke me.
“Want to have some lunch?” she asked.
At lunch, she was embarrassed.
“I have a confession to make, Ned,” she said. “I accused you of being sensitive about your size, but I first thought about asking you out the second time I talked to you. The size thing stopped me.
“A girlfriend told me to check out how big your feet were, and your shoes didn’t look that large. I didn’t want to lose you as a friend, and I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to satisfy each other, and you’d end up avoiding me.
“Then I met this girl you used to date who thinks you’re a great guy. I shamelessly steered the conversation to men and their size — and your size. She told me you were big enough that she was often sore after being with you. That’s when I decided to call you.
“Also, siirt escort all the deep thoughts I spouted out at dinner were rehearsed to impress you and keep you from realizing I’m really the biggest narcissistic airhead on campus.”
“You really fooled me,” I said. “But I fooled you, too, because what I told you took hours of practice until it sounded sincere. During our entire conversation, all I was thinking about was the size of my thing and the size of your thing.”
“You’re lying,” she said and laughed.
“So are you.”
“Only about rehearsing. The rest is true.”
“No it isn’t. You aren’t self-centered and stupid.”
During our banter, I wondered again what possible interest she could have in me. She was already a legend as a freshman. Popular athletes and rich fraternity guys were lining up to ask her out. I wasn’t in that league.
I decided to relax and let things take their course. She was amazing in bed and fun to talk to. I resolved not to invest my feelings into a relationship that had no future. I would just enjoy being with her until she moved on.
She didn’t move on. We became exclusive our sophomore year, got married after we graduated and are getting ready to start a family.
My sex drive is strong, but no match for Robin’s. She’s always thinking of ways to spice things up. So I figured this “evenly matched” statement was going to lead to some strange sexual twist. I didn’t mind. When she got excited, I was the beneficiary.
“When you talk about matching physically, do you mean that you’re much bigger than me?” I asked. “I thought that didn’t matter to you.”
“I’m just doing an evaluation. Yes I’m taller, and I’m strong because I work out. I can lift you up. But you also work out, and you’re stronger. A man’s muscles can develop more than a woman’s. Even though I weigh more than you, it’s easy for you to lift me up.
“My extra size, weight and experience might match up against your larger muscles, and we would be evenly matched.”
“Evenly matched for what?”
“A wrestling match.”
When we got to know each other, we found out that we had both been on our high school wrestling teams. She was the league heavyweight champion, while I was number two on our team in the one forty-five class.
“What brought this up?” I asked.
“I was getting angry and jealous, and I was trying to figure out a way to get back at you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve seen you with Darlene at the club, and with Sheri and Madison. They are always all over you, touching, poking and rubbing. You seem to enjoy it.”
“Are you accusing me of cheating? You don’t sound angry enough for a wife who’s been betrayed.”
“I know you’d never cheat on me, and I hope you know that I wouldn’t either. I’m not angry now, but when I see them buzzing around you like that, it does get me steamed. Don’t you get enough attention from me?”
Darlene is the owner of the club and one of Robin’s girlfriends. Sheri and Madison are also close friends of hers. She was right that they enjoyed teasing me and flirting. I couldn’t figure out why, but my guess was that Robin had bragged to them about our sex life.
I joked with them at the club, but I never initiated any contact and I never saw them outside the club. Anyway, Robin kept me so busy sexually that I was too exhausted to cheat even if I had the urge — which I didn’t.
“You know I don’t lead them on, so why are you mad at me instead of them?” I asked.
“I’m not really mad at you but there was one day when I was angry and jealous and I was thinking of how I could punish you and diminish you in their eyes. For some reason, wrestling came to my mind. I wondered what would happen if we actually had a match.”
“How would that solve anything?”
“If I could humiliate you in front of them,” she said, “it would make me feel a lot better. That’s what I thought at first. But you’re right. It wouldn’t solve anything. In fact, it might make you even more exciting to them.
“My idea took on a life of its own. I can’t explain it, but the thought of humiliating you in a wrestling match really excites me. Then someone showed me a website where lesbians grapple each other and the winner gets to humiliate and even fuck the loser with a strap-on dildo.
“When I watched those matches, I imagined the two women were me and you and that I was humiliating you in front of my friends. The more I watched, the more I thought about it, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it.
“Part of it is the thrill of exhibitionism. Darlene, Sherry and Madison would be voyeurs watching us display our naked bodies for them. It’s sinful, decadent and wrong — that’s what makes it so exciting.
“I imagine them getting so hot they actually have orgasms as I overpower and shame you and turn you into a whining, groveling, helpless, pitiful creature who’s barely human.
“Don’t ask me how I sincan escort reconcile this with me loving you. I love you, and I want to do this, which is completely opposite from love. I know. It’s crazy.”
“Why would I want to participate?” I said. “If I won, I would be the male bully, and if I lost, you’re right, I’d be humiliated.”
“That’s where I’m stuck,” she said. “You don’t have my strange fascination with the idea. You’re more normal. What would it take for you to participate?
“I could ask you as a favor, but that’s a cop-out. I was thinking of offering you a fivesome with me and the girls if you won.”
“What?” I said, finally shocked by her words.
“In your dreams,” she said. “I don’t share you with anyone. But there’s got to be something that would get you to make the video.”
“You want to post this on the Internet.”
“Absolutely not! It’s only for us, and even my girlfriends won’t get a copy, although I’ll show it to them as a reward for filming us. Each of them will have a camera, and I’ll edit their videos together.”
“Well, it’s a fascinating idea,” I said. “You’re right that I’m not interested in the slightest. Let me know if you come up with a reason to for me to change my mind.”
“I’ll think of something,” said Robin, smiling confidently. “You know I don’t give up easily.”
She didn’t give up. Instead, she drew her deadliest weapon on me, the one they call Robin sex.
At first, I had no idea what was going on. She got really busy and only had time for one night a week. That night was still amazing, but I was used to two, three and sometimes four nights. After a few weeks of the sex diet, I asked her if she was feeling all right.
“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“Because we used to be a lot more active in the bedroom than we are now, and I was wondering why.”
“Would you like to have sex more often?” she asked innocently.
“That wasn’t the question. The question was, would YOU like to have sex more often?”
“Yes is the answer.”
“What would you be willing to give for more sex?”
“Is this your new thing? I have to pay for sex. Does the idea of being paid for sex turn you on?
“Don’t be stupid. I don’t want money – but I do want a match. Do you think that would be worth more sex?”
“That’s what this is all about. Forget it. I know you miss the sex more than I do.”
“You’re right, Ned. I’m frustrated, and I’m asking you in advance to forgive me if I get short with you and act irritable. But to reach your goal, it sometimes takes sacrifice.”
“Suit yourself,” I said. I had had enough of the whole thing.
After a couple more weeks, I had to hand it to Robin. I could tell she was wound up tight, and little things set her off. She never failed to apologize for her occasional outbursts and she never brought up the reason behind them. She just stewed and, because she stewed, I stewed.
I finally broke.
“Okay,” I said to her after a tough day at work when all I had to look forward to at home was an evening of boring TV. “Tell me more about this match. It can’t be worse than what you’re putting us through now.”
She had been listless when I came home, but as soon as I said those words, she was animated, and there was a gleam in her eyes.
“Oh, Ned,” she enthused, “I’m so glad you’ve agreed. It means so much to me.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I haven’t agreed yet. I just want to know what sick thing you’ve got planned. Then I’ll think about it and decide.”
Sick was the correct word for what she was proposing. During the weeks of deprivation, she must have been thinking about the match constantly and adding strange twists. I could hardly believe her words.
“Well, first of all, it wouldn’t be wrestling the way we did in high school. I’ve been checking on those clubs where women wrestle in oil while the men watch. There are some great videos online. That looks a lot more exciting.
“I’d wear my bikini, and you’d wear a speedo. One of the things the winner would have to do is get the loser naked. Anything would be allowed, except for something that would hurt the opponent on purpose. For instance, you couldn’t twist my breasts, and I couldn’t squeeze your balls.”
My mouth dropped. What was she talking about?
“With all that oil, it’s going to be almost impossible to pin somebody, so I thought of something else that would signify victory. The first person to put a hand up the other one’s ass is the winner.
“I thought at first you could go for my vagina, but that wouldn’t be fair, because it might be easier for you — or harder — but it wouldn’t be the same as for me. This way, we’re both going for the same thing.
“It’s going to be amazing. Think of how humiliating it will be for the loser. And I don’t intend to be the loser.
“Oh, I forgot one thing. During the match, we both have to talk trash. We have to call each other names and talk about all sorts of filthy things that we’re sinop escort going to do to each other. What do you think, Ned?”
To say I was stunned would be putting it mildly.
“Won’t the loser get hurt?” I asked.
“That’s where the oil comes in. It will help protect the loser. The loser will be sore for a few days, but that should be all.”
“It sounds like you’ve thought of everything, Robin, but I still can’t get my head around this. We both like to get a little wild in bed, but we’ve never done anything remotely close to this. I don’t think it’s for me.”
“That’s too bad, Ned,” she said, coming over and stroking my face softly with her beautiful hands and giving me a familiar look. Then her amazing mouth locked with mine, and her tongue plunged into me with weeks of pent-up frustration driving it. My body trembled, and I felt myself getting hard.
Breaking our clinch, she backed away as we both gasped for air. When she was able to talk, she began stroking my face as she spoke.
“You know, Ned,” she said, “sometimes you can overthink something. You just need to trust me that this is going to be an amazing night and go with the flow.”
She began to unbutton my clothes. I didn’t resist. She stopped for a moment, but she already knew the answer when she asked, “So are you going to do it, Ned?”
For a few days, I didn’t hear anything more about the match, and she made up for lost time in bed. My body was sore all over, not that I minded. She was so ravenous that I wondered whether I could have cracked her if I had held out a few more days.
The first mention came from Darlene.
“Do you have any idea how expensive baby oil is?” she said to me when she saw me at the club. She had made a beeline to me to tell me that. I looked at her looking at me. Her smile was lascivious. I felt as though I were standing in front of her naked.
“Are we paying?” I asked, trying to keep it light.
She patted my ass.
“Don’t worry. Robin and I have worked it all out. I have some connections to get discounts on everything we need. We’re all set.”
Then she reached around me and stroked me over my shorts. She had never done that before. I had to run into a stall in the men’s locker room until my protrusion went down.
“It’s a week from tomorrow,” Robin told me that night. “We picked a Friday night, because that way we don’t have to go to work the next day. The club closes at ten, and by eleven, everything should be set up. I’ll be there working on it with the girls, so you can just show up at eleven.”
I worked out at the club three times in the following week and each time either Sheri, Madison or Darlene was there. They were bolder with me than ever before.
“I’ve been watching videos of women fisting men online,” Madison said one night as she got me in a corner. She reached down and began fondling me outside my shorts.
“They really turn me on. I hope I can keep from jumping in and piling on.”
On another night, I was lying on my back on the horizontal squat machine recovering from a heavy set when I felt someone approach from behind. I almost jumped out of my skin as a hand slid down one leg of my shorts and a finger tried to squeeze between my butt cheeks.
I looked up. It was Darlene with a grin on her face.
“Have you been practicing inserting stuff?” she asked me as she pulled her hand away. “Like dildos or maybe a cucumber. Robin’s got a large hand for a girl.”
She laughed and withdrew her hand.
The worst was Sheri. She followed me to my car one night but I didn’t see her behind me until I felt her reach around and plunge her hand into my shorts, grabbing my cock and starting to pump it before I pushed her away.
“I see you’re sensitive there,” she said with a laugh. “You better be careful Friday, or Robin’s going to play you.”
Usually, I see Robin at least once a week at the club, but that week none of our sessions coincided. I wondered if that was on purpose, and I wondered if the groping by her friends was part of her psychological battle plan.
We had a great night in bed on Wednesday, and I was ready for another one on Thursday, but Robin said no.
“The night before the match, the athletes need to conserve their energy,” she said. “Also, I want us to be hot and horny when we step into the ring.”
When I walked up to the club the next night, I noticed that even though all the windows were covered, light was still coming out at the edges.
The front door was locked so I pounded on it until Darlene came, let me in and locked it behind me. I followed her through the reception area leading to the men’s and women’s locker rooms and into the large carpeted exercise room. It had been cleared of equipment and was covered by a thick, spongy rubber mat.
Robin, Sheri and Madison were standing next to a tripod with a video camera on top of it. The tripod was extended so high that it almost touched the ceiling, and the camera was aimed down at the mat. I saw three other tripods around the mat that were just a foot or two off the ground.
The reason for the light leaking outside was that even though the room had no windows, there were so many bright lights on stands that it seemed like high noon on a sunny day.