The Wrestling Coach

Now playing at CustomVideoTheatre.com: The Wrestling Coach

"I decided to hire a coach because I had turned into a fat, lazy slob. The weight gain had happened gradually as I worked less and less often. Dancing used to keep me in halfway decent shape, but I wasn't doing much of that anymore since most strip clubs had started going sharply downhill in recent years. I dreaded the thought of working in a club amongst women willing to give handjobs to customers for $10. Consequently, I began sitting home day after day and getting fatter and fatter. Empty wine bottles piled up in my recycle bin. Occasionally I would toss an empty vodka bottle on top of them just to break the monotony. I grew disgusted with myself. Even my neighbor, Mr. Hunter, felt compelled to talk to me about my corpulence.

"I know a really good conditioning coach." he said. "He works right here in our neighborhood and has access to a wrestling ring. Why don't you give him a call to see if he can put you through some workouts? His name is Duncan and here is his number."

I pondered the idea for a few days before I finally decided to call Duncan. He and I spoke for a while on the phone and I explained my predicament. I told him everything, all the sickening details of my slothful existence.

"Will I need to stop drinking to get in shape?" I asked him after I finished spilling out my tale of woe.

"Uh, no." Duncan responded. "No, I can't see why that would be necessary."

"Great!" I said with more enthusiasm than I had felt in a long time. "How much do you charge anyways?"

"Well.. " Duncan said slowly. "Mr. Hunter told me a little bit about you. He said you used to be a model. Actually, he showed me some pictures of you."

"I still do modelling work." I said.

"Uh, yeah. I saw some of your recent shots. Honestly, I think there's still a pretty girl waiting to get out from underneath all those layers of fat." he replied.

I said nothing, all of a sudden realizing that perhaps I had deteriorated even more than I had wanted to acknowledge. Saliva welled up in my throat and I swallowed hard.

"Listen," Duncan said. "I'm a world-class athlete and I know I have a habit of being a little too hard on people sometimes, but I really think you have potential. You need someone to crack down on you."

I remained silent.

"I'll tell you what.." he continued. "I coach a team of female wrestlers and I think you have what it takes to join our group. I'm willing to coach you for free if you will consider trying out for the team in a few months."

Wow. Duncan was really giving me an opportunity here. For some reason I did not think to ask him who was on this wrestling team and where they actually competed.

"I'll take you up on it!" I heard myself saying to Duncan.

We set up a meeting for the following day. Duncan told me to bring running shoes and a bikini. A bikini? That seemed odd, but I was certainly in no position to question the orders of a world-class athlete. The next day I wore some workout clothes over one of my old, neon pink stripper bikinis. Duncan greeted me at the doorway of his place and informed me that we were going running. He began jogging down the street and I fell in alongside him.

"Um.. I'm not wearing a running bra." I told him. "I didn't know we were going to be doing any high-impact activities."

"You need to learn to suck it up and stop complaining if you are going to be a serious athlete." Duncan told me gruffly.

Two miles later my boobs were killing me. They were bouncing so much that they were practically hitting me in my eye sockets. Somehow I survived a three-mile run with Duncan hurling verbal abuse at me the whole time. I slumped against his backyard gate when we got back to his home.

"Now we wrestle." Duncan informed me.

"Wrestle?" I said in disbelief. "We're going to wrestle now? After that run? Why are we running and wrestling on my first day? What are you trying to do to me?"

"Strip down to your bikini!" Duncan ordered.

I meekly complied although a few embers of deep-seated rage were starting to smolder inside of me. Who the fuck was this clown? Why did he think he could treat me like this? Adrenaline started coursing through my system, a sensation I'm all too familiar with. I have very little strength and very little athletic ability, but I do have one thing going for me: when I'm angry I don't care about getting hurt. I lose physical sensation. My adrenaline starts pounding and I don't even experience pain if someone is hitting me. All I feel is a grisly determination to inflict maximum injury on my opponent while I'm on my way down. I never think of winning - I just assume that I'm going to lose - but my anger comes from the bowels of hell and I've shocked a few people in my day. And sometimes I do end up winning.. "


So what exactly happened in the wrestling ring? Did Duncan beat me handily? Did I surprise him with my ferocity? Was I able to wrestle with sore boobs? Buy The Wrestling Coach at CustomVideoTheatre.com to find out the answers to all these questions now!




- XO Tanya











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