Every day I fight a war against the mirror
I can't take the person staring back at me
I'm a hazard to myself
Don't let me get me
I'm my own worst enemy
It's bad when you annoy yourself
So irritating
Don't wanna be my friend no more
I wanna be somebody else
I wanna be somebody else, yeah
-Pink
Michelle fidgeted in the passenger seat and nervously twirled her brown ponytail for the hundredth time, her stomach twisting into a pretzel of anxiety. She could hear her own heartbeat, the sound drumming in her ears like a bass guitar, the thrum of her pulse reverberating against the car window. It was the first time Michelle would step onto the wrestling mat and she was unsure if she was ready. Ron, Michelle’s husband of five years, glanced at her, noticing her nervously tapping her fingers against the car door, his face a study of calm reassurance, the crease of his mouth curling in a small smile. He knew Michelle’s insecurities better than she did, and she had been leaning on him heavily these past few weeks. “You’ll do great,” he said quietly, patting her thigh.
Michelle took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she watched the buildings blur past them, the colors running together like an impressionist painting. She had spent hours training at the gym, the wrestling mat became her second home. Ron had built a makeshift wrestling room in their basement, a small patch of used sweat-stained foam mats. She would wrestle him every night, her long limbs entwined around his, her fingernails digging into his back as they grappled. Ron was her coach and biggest cheerleader, pushing her to try harder, never allowing her to give up, even when she felt like quitting.
They arrived at the venue, the large building looming over them like a sentinel. Michelle could hear the faint sounds of people murmuring, the shuffle of feet against the concrete floor. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the building, sweat, and the tangy smell of metal. Ron led her through the maze of hallways, the walls painted a dull gray, until they reached the locker rooms. The door creaked as he pushed it open, the sound of rusted hinges scraping together. He turned to Michelle, cupping her cheek in his hand, his thumb gently stroking her skin. “You’re going to be amazing,” he said, his voice full of confidence, and Michelle wanted to believe him.
She nodded, forcing a smile as she walked into the locker room, the door swinging shut behind her with a finality that echoed in her chest. She found her locker, the number scrawled in black sharpie, and changed into her wrestling suit, a green bikini that perfectly accentuated her petite, thin but athletic tan body. She flexed her legs, the muscles bunching under her skin, squeezed her shapely tight ass and felt a surge of confidence. At age 27, she was strong, she was capable, and she was ready. Until she wasn’t. Michelle once again asked her husband, “Do you think I’ll win?”
“No question,” Ron replied, noticing her brown eyes darting back and forth. “You’ve got natural talent. You will beat Babs easily.”
“Do you think she’s here yet?”
“Probably.”
Ron always knew that Michelle was her own worst critic. He wished he could take away her fear, but he knew that is not how it works with his wife. He’s been through Michelle’s self-doubts before, over and over again. This was how she was in college dance competitions, when she prepared for presentations in a conference room at work. Even friendly intramural tournaments at their tennis club became life and death ordeals for her. With each new activity, the pattern was the same: interest, great enthusiasm, competitive drive, obsession, self-doubt, fear, deeper obsession, intensified competitive drive, then win at all costs. The outcome was always the same, an impressive performance by Michelle, followed by a resolution that she wasn’t good enough. Sure, Ron would get exhausted from never ending insecurity and perfectionism at times, but he couldn’t deny the end results brought Michelle success and admiration. A marriage demanding constant reassurance on his part was the price he paid. He learned he could do nothing about it. Let Michelle be Michelle was his self-imposed rule.
It was Ron that introduced Michelle to the world of bikini wrestling. He had shown her the videos, but it was her idea to be a wrestler. It appealed to her competitive nature, her drive to be the best she could be, and knowing how Ron became aroused at the idea of her in a bikini wrestling other women, Michelle couldn’t deny being intrigued by the eroticism. It would be something they could share together.
“How does my hair look?” she asked. “Look how ugly my feet are. People will see my feet. Do you think there’s still time to change the attire to boots. I think I noticed a soft spot in my abs. I should’ve worked out more.” Ron looked at his wife and briefly focused on her tight muscles rippling under tan skin, how her ass looked in the green bikini bottoms and felt a stirring in his pants.
“I don’t know, Ron. What if I suck? What if I lose? What if they all laugh at me? I have never wrestled before and I’m not sure I’m ready?” Michelle asked, her voice trembling with fear. “I guess I’m just nervous.”
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Michelle, you are going to be great. I have seen you train; I have seen how hard you work. I know you can do this. Besides, Babs is just as new to this as you are.”
Their tender moment was interrupted by a tap on the door and a gruff male voice, “You’re up next. Go to the arena.”
Michelle’s sweaty palm grasped Ron’s hand as they walked through the bleak labyrinth of hallways, leading to the open room of the arena. Michelle looked like a woman marching to her own execution as she tried to keep her legs from trembling. She saw the large mat in the center of a room that was once a community center. Numerous chairs, occupied by mostly men surrounded the mat. As soon as she entered the room, a middle-aged man greeted her. “Michelle,” he instructed. “Go to the center of the mat.”
The moment arrived and Michelle struggled against the heaviness in her chest. Ron squeezed her hand one last time as the two of them kissed. Then, she turned away to begin her journey to the mat – alone. Ron could not help her now. Michelle hyperventilated as she thought of her body being the focus of male attention. She felt exposed, but this was no time to rethink her decision to participate in this event.
Babs was waiting for her in the center of the mat, her red hair pulled back into a tight bun, her green eyes staring at Michelle. At age 24, she was fair skinned and slightly smaller than Michelle. Her body was slender and lithe and attractive in her brown bikini, but not as well defined as Michelle’s. The two women stood face-to-face, their bare feet sinking into the mat. Babs also looked nervous, but her delicate features showed an intensity about her. Both women felt the tension. “Are you ready for this?” Michelle asked, trying to mask her insecurity with bravado. Babs remained quiet with no expression, responding only with a very slight nod. Michelle couldn’t help but feel this as a snub. She responded by flexing her muscles in an effort to intimidate Babs.
The referee gave the instructions. This was a wrestling match with amateur rules. Since both women were newcomers, submission holds were banned, the match would end with a five second pinfall. The women were backed up to wait for the signal. Michelle’s fear and anxiety transformed by the flow of adrenaline into a virulent competitive drive and powerful urge to win. Defeat was not an option. All that mattered now was winning and she wanted to win as quickly as possible
The signal was given, the sharp and sudden sound of a cowbell, and Michelle lunged forward, her body a whirlwind of motion. She attacked Babs, her muscular legs pumping forward. Michelle took Babs down, her thighs clamping around the waist, her fingers digging into her arms. Babs struggled, her body writhing and squirming beneath Michelle’s, but Michelle held on, her muscles straining with the effort.
She rolled Babs onto her back, holding her arms over her head. Both women struggled and grunted with muscles flaring as Michelle felt the thrill of victory coursing through her veins. Babs managed to keep a shoulder up. Several times, Michelle managed to get both shoulders pinned, but Babs managed to break the count. Fuck, Michelle thought, the referee has a slow count. Michelle, realizing her leverage was slipping, let go of one of Babs arms to reposition her weight. In an instant, Babs was gone, escaping like a summer breeze.
Both women took to their feet, and faced off again. Michelle completely forgot her fear. Now, with confidence, she moved like a dancer, her body fluid and graceful, her movements precise and calculated. She took Babs down again and again, her body a well-oiled machine, her muscles working in perfect harmony, certainly not like a novice. But Babs was resilient, her body a slippery eel, and Michelle found herself growing frustrated with her inability to finish off her opponent.
Michelle’s frustration and impatience became noticeable to spectators. Her movements were becoming sloppy, her grip faltering. As she charged in, Babs counter maneuvered and got behind Michelle, knocking her legs out from under her, taking her down. Michelle found herself lying on the mat, with Bab’s legs wrapped around her waist, trapped in her opponent’s body scissors. At a defensive disadvantage for the first time, Michelle panicked and let out a squeal, her breathing turning rapid and shallow. She experienced for the first time what it was like to be caught in a hold and being under control by another wrestler. Maybe she would lose as she feared. She turned her eyes to Ron, who made a hand motion to pull apart Babs’ ankles which were locked together.
Michelle received the message. She tried reach her opponent’s ankles with her hands as Babs grabbed and slapped at her arms to prevent such an escape. Eventually, Ron’s suggestion worked. Michelle was clearly stronger than Babs and she used that to her advantage to free herself and escape.
However, Michelle’s display of strength did nothing to calm her frustration. She rushed Babs with her arms recklessly flailing, her movement now exposing her as the inexperienced amateur that she was. Babs, hooked one of Michelle’s arms and, threw her to the mat in a well-executed hip toss. Before Michelle could regain her orientation, she felt Babs body lying across her chest in a lateral body press. The referee began to count. “Fuck,” Michelle uttered as she lifted one shoulder. Babs kept up the pressure maintaining a near pin position. The referee counted several more times, with Michelle able to break each time. Michelle felt fear, but that fear was overpowered by a primal drive for survival. She grunted, she groaned, she fought with everything she had.
Michelle wrapped an arm around Babs’ neck and snaked another arm around her thigh. She dug into the mat with her feet and twisted her body as hard as she could. Slowly, she was turning to the side, taking Babs’ body with her. A little more and she did it. Michelle pulled off a full reversal and now had Babs pinned. Tightening her grip as much as possible, the match would be over in a few more seconds. Where is the ref? Michelle asked herself. Start the fucking count. When she heard the referee’s voice, it wasn’t counting. It was an order to break. Both wrestlers had rolled off the mat and were ordered to stand.
Infuriated, Michelle went on the attack again, but Babs was able to dodge and keep away. With her frustration and temper out of control, Michelle let out a grunt of “Bitch” and flung her body at her opponent. Babs was ready. She seized Michelle’s arms and pulled Michelle's body towards her as she pulled up her knees and fell backward. Michelle was flung through the air in a monkey flip that left her flat on her back, the wind knocked out of her. Babs pounced on Michelle’s chest, her body a blur of red hair, pale skin and brown bikini. Michelle found herself pinned, her arms and legs splayed out like a starfish, her body trembling with the effort of trying to break free. The fear and panic returned.
Suddenly, she felt a surge of anger, her body burning with a fierce need to prove herself, to show Ron and the rest of the world that she was worthy, that she was strong. Babs used her knees and elbows to keep Michelle’s arms spread out. Michelle again dug her heels into the mat and pushed and squirmed with all her remaining strength, barely managing lift one shoulder. Babs held on, her body a dead weight on top of Michelle’s as the referee hovered at Michelle’s head, waiting for the shoulder to fall. Michelle knew she couldn’t hold on, her life in this match was down to one last tiny thread that was ready to snap.
Michelle looked up at Ron, her eyes pleading for help. But Ron just stared back at her, his face expressionless. He didn’t offer any words of encouragement or support. He just watched as Michelle was getting pinned to the mat. Exhausted, Michelle couldn’t fight it any more. Her body went limp as the referee counted to five with a monotone voice that echoed in Michelle’s ears.
Babs was declared the winner, her hand raised in victory as Michelle lay there, her body like a wet dishrag, her mind a whirl of shame and embarrassment.
Ron helped her up, his arms wrapping around her waist, his body a familiar comfort. Her legs trembled as tried to stand. “It’s okay,” he whispered as he kissed her forehead. “I am so proud of you.” Michelle cried as they returned to the locker room to retrieve their gear. Ron quickly covered her up and led her out of the building, the cold air a shock against her sweat-slicked skin. She felt like a failure, her body aching with the effort of the match, her mind a haze of confusion and disappointment.
They spoke little on the way home, the silence between them thick and heavy. Ron knew that was best when Michelle sobbed uncontrollably. His words would be hollow at this time anyway.
Once they got home, Michelle was still in tears, but now ready to talk. “I’m a failure,” she said, her voice choking. “I let you down. I let me down.”
“No, you didn’t,” Ron replied. “You’re amazing! You were great out there. You really put on a fantastic show. A loss doesn’t define you. And you do have talent. You just need to tweak a few things.”
Michelle looked up at her husband, her eyes shining with tears. “Thank you, Ron. I love you.”
“I love you too, Michelle. Now let’s get you cleaned up.”
Ron led Michelle into the bedroom, undressing her slowly, kissing her body as he revealed more and more skin, still sticky with sweat and grime. He removed her bikini, leaving her standing naked in front of him, vulnerable and beautiful at the same time. He kissed the top of her head, moving down to her face, neck, and collarbone. Michelle let out a soft moan as Ron’s lips found her breasts, causing her to shiver as his tongue swirled around her nipples.
He cupped his hands on her ass as she hugged his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. His strong arms lifted her off her feet and gently placed her on the bed. Ron resumed his kissing, moving down his wife’s body, kissing, her stomach, her hips, and finally her pussy. Michelle gasped as Ron’s tongue worked its way into her inner lips, finding her clit, teasing it gently, before meeting it full contact. Michelle moaned and bucked her hips as Ron licked and sucked, bringing her closer to the edge.
Ron slid up Michelle’s body, kissing her mouth. She gasped with pleasure as he entered her, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper inside of her. Their bodies moved together in harmony as Ron thrust deeper and deeper. Michelle came hard, letting out a scream, her body shaking with pleasure. Ron followed shortly after, his body tensing as he emptied himself inside of his wife.
As they lay together, holding hands, the sting of defeat and failure slightly lessened its hold on Michelle. She knew in time that she would remember the match as exciting and exhilarating, although the ending was disappointing. The first spark of recovery and self-determination flashed through the darkness.
“Ron,” she said, “I’m going to wrestle again. And I’m going to win next time. I know what I did wrong and I’m already learning from it.”
“That’s my girl,” he smiled.
“And Ron?” she said. “You know how you always say you let me be me?”
“Yeah”
“Well, don’t let me be me. I want you to help me be a better me.”
