I’ve always loved wrestling (what can I say – men in Lycra just do it for me). So when one of the biggest wrestling tours came to town, as a birthday treat, my friends grouped together to get us tickets, bagging pretty much front-row seats. For me, it was all about the sport. For them? More about the topless athletes.
The first match got started, the lights went down, the wrestlers came out one by one, and the event began. We were all chatting away, naturally commenting on who was the most attractive of the lot, when suddenly one of the wrestlers jumped over the barrier right in front of us.
As a bit of a laugh, I grabbed his sides and posed for a picture. I’d watched him on TV so many times, and he was definitely up there as one of my main crushes: standing next to him, feeling his oiled-up stocky chest, I was elated.
My friends just didn’t get why I was so excited – he’s only really famous if you know wrestling, so I couldn’t resist tweeting about it, to show off to people who would understand.
Later, I was standing at the bar with my friends and I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the wrestler. I froze. “Saw your tweet,” he said in an American drawl. I was mortified! Especially as I’d mentioned how much I fancied him in it. But then he laughed and ran his hand down my arm, before asking if I’d like a drink.
We were flirting a little – I was definitely getting the vibe from him, but thought I was maybe just being presumptuous. ‘He could be that way with everyone,’ I thought. But then he ramped things up a bit.
He kept touching my arm, and wrapped his arms around my waist. Then, when we finished our drinks, we had that moment where you both catch eyes and know what’s coming next. He put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me towards him for a kiss.
We spent the next couple of hours just kissing and drinking at the bar (my friends had long left me to it), until eventually it became obvious the bar staff were desperate for us to leave so they could go home.
All the build-up was getting to be too much for me as well – I couldn’t wait to get him into bed. We stumbled out and into a taxi back to his hotel, and as soon as we got inside, that was it.
I lost count of how many times I came and I couldn’t get enough
He began ripping my clothes off, in an almost animalistic way, before pinning me to the bed and entering me, hard. He was so big and strong, and took total control – flipping me over into doggy style, while I reached down to touch myself.
We both came and he fell on top of me, dripping with sweat. But it wasn’t over yet. There was no doubt he was an athlete, as his stamina kept him going for hours. We tried loads of positions: missionary, 69, me on top, reverse cowgirl – and because he knew exactly what he was doing, every time he touched me I just wanted more.
He was constantly surprising, always changing it up. I lost count of how many times I came and I couldn’t get enough.
Eventually, in the wee hours of the morning, we were both just too exhausted to continue. I snuck out after a few hours’ kip – I figured he was on tour and needed to reserve his energy for the next fight. I only saw him on television from then on…
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This story was first seen on – Cosmopolitan.com