Shapeshifter's blog

The difference in size was reflected in both height and weight and played an important part in the enjoyment and dynamic of the meet.

My opponent stood two inches taller than I, a negligible difference when it came to reach and up-close positioning, but he weighed over 15kg more than I did, and as he stripped out of his clothes to slide on the gear he’d chosen for the roll, I could see that the entire weight difference was in muscle, and that the difference was a debt that - if we were going to wrestle competitively - I would be paying for with interest.

His build wasn’t a complete surprise of course, I’d viewed with keen and grateful eyes the many pictures he’d shared, but the reality was so much better than the images his camera had captured.

As it happened the broad guy that smiled as he adjusted his gear and knelt opposite me was predominantly going to let me practice holds and take a more dominating role with him. The impressive size he carried and strength contained therein were to be my playground and playthings.

We didn’t want it to be entirely one-sided though, I was desperate to sample his power and wrestling style, the very way he filled his singlet alone had me licking my lips. Luckily for me my taunts in the weeks preceding our meet had combined with his existing deep love of wrestling to firmly establish a want to demonstrate his abilities, to lock me up and pay me back for the jabs and jibes I’d ceaselessly doled his way, and so - with awareness to the size difference - we started with a light competitive bout.

His headlock takedown made easy work of hoisting me from my knees and on to my back. Within half a second my world spun and I could tell in what I could see of his face from this position that this was absolutely zero effort for him. I grew all the more excited that I would be in control of the body that was so easily overpowering mine.

This headlock wasn’t solely to be a takedown, it was to also bring surrender, and he began the process with a slow, growing pressure, the size of his arms meaning he didn’t need to flex much at all to have his sizeable bicep swelling, closing the already small space the hold created and pressing down on my carotid artery.

I began to feel the pulse in my neck as the pressure grew and he readjusted himself forwards to bury me beneath his armpit, grinning down at me as he did so before turning and using his other arm to hook one of my legs that I’d started using to try and bridge in protest.

“Ready?” I heard him ask as he brought his arms together, effortlessly curling me around his back. The pressure on my neck and the growing stretch in my spine and hamstring were initially a fun mix of pleasurable punishment before - as I started to become lightheaded - I submitted to him.

He eased off the pressure, unlocked his arms from their respective holds and laid back, resting some of his muscular weight on top of me as he casually laced his hands behind his head. He mockingly sighed in contentment, turned to look at me to see that I'd heard him then moved forwards to kneel again and return to his side of the mat.

It had played out perfectly; a fun display of strength, a warning of his abilities, and an opportunity for me to experience his control before the imminent start of my place of command took hold.

I rolled up on to my knees and we locked up once again. This time I was the first to secure the headlock, and with definite cooperation on his part I took him down to his back and swiftly threw myself on top. From here I reworked my arms to have my left around the back of his neck, using the hand of this arm to lock on to my right bicep and bring my right hand up and across his mouth.

I instantly felt him move beneath me, his warm hands reaching up to grasp my arms as they tightened around him and I cupped the hand more firmly, forcing him now to breathe through only his nose. Each inhale became increasingly audible with the narrow, turbulent flow the location of my hand created.

This particular move was a new favourite that had been discovered fairly recently. Through my years of wrestling I’d learned where my strengths and weaknesses lay. One to one competitive matches? Fine if we are within a few pounds or kg of one another. Against bigger guys? With a disparity such as this? Not a chance for me. Not unless they sought a smaller-dominates-bigger dynamic, are severely lacking in skill or have a specific fetish for holds that they’d like me to apply.

I’d found in this time that I’d been naturally drawn to moves that work by restricting breathing. I’ve never been a big guy, in fact still at my current sub-70kg weight this was the most toned and muscular I’d been, and I’d learnt from my meets to date - both the fun and the disastrous - that my build allowed my limbs to fix firmly around a neck to apply a tight scissor or choke. The use of my hands came from the more recent tutelage of a long-term wrestle buddy who’d began introducing me to what he simply termed 'hand over mouth'.

It was these arms I was using now with increasing effect, the squeeze building incrementally as I drew them closer together, first one elbow walked and repositioned and then the other, reshaping ever smaller the frame they created. I commanded my opponent to open his eyes and keep them open as I focused mine directly into his. I wanted him to see the intent I had in controlling him and making him submit to me and for him to clearly see I was enjoying every single second of doing so.

His determination to not be beaten so quickly could be both seen in the defiant stare that looked back at me and felt in the deep, controlled breaths that raised and lowered his chest, taking my body up and down with each rise and fall, evidencing his ability to withstand my technique.

I sighed in mock disappointment.

“As you wish” I said as I moved to what I consider the second phase of this hold, reserved for stubborn opponents like this that didn’t grant easily the submission I so wanted to hear.

I slid my legs down alongside his and worked my feet beneath his thick thighs and down under his knees. He flexed his legs straight in response - perhaps thinking I was going to try and grapevine or scissor them together - and this is exactly what I wanted to feel. Using their now rigid form as a solid base, I straightened my own legs, hinged down at the waist, slightly arched my back and pulled myself down with my arms, creating a compressive force to add to my weight. I used my position to focus this on to his diaphragm and the lower aspect of his ribcage.

The muffled groan expelled beneath my still firmly cupped hand was a sweet, rewarding sound. He closed his eyes reflexively as he did this and I ordered them back open and fixed back on to mine. With the eye contact reestablished I cinched my arms as tight as I could get them, increasing the squeeze against his now hot and sweating neck.

He held on longer than I thought against this second stage application of my move, he was definitely tough! But eventually I got the tap, the signal of submission, and I instantly eased the pressure from all angles, remaining and relaxing on top of him a few seconds more before sliding off and moving around to be above his head.

I initially moved as though to apply a scissor, sliding first my left and then my right leg alongside his head as I tilted forwards and planted my hands either side of his waist, and just as he prepared for the expected wrapping up of his head I focused my weight into my arms, slid forwards further and planted down in a swift facesit.

Firmly in place I sat upright and slid my knees out on each side, bearing more weight down on his face that I could feel was trying to move from one side to the other beneath me to secure a channel of air. Not expecting another smother so soon he hadn’t taken a deep breath to replenish the stores for his oxygen hungry body, and was instead already feeling a burn in his lungs.

The movement of his head was to no avail. I had been blessed with glutes that curved naturally into what had been described as an eye catching bubble butt, and I had learnt exactly how to use that curve to my advantage on the mats. He could turn his head side to side or up and down as much as he wanted, there was no way without surrendering to me or unseating me that he’d get a single breath down there.

But the dynamic was already in play, he wouldn’t unseat me, he wouldn’t use that superior strength to lift me off, he would endure the position, experience the burn and the primal panic, the feel of my increasing weight (by grasping my shins and pulling down, using myself as an anchor to apply more weight), all until he could withstand it no more and finally submit. And that he did. His hand reaching up at the last second of his tolerance to pat my right thigh.

I lifted up and heard his deep intake of air, the breath he’d originally held had been spent beneath me on stifled groans and muffled moans, leaving his lungs empty and eager for a refill. I lowered once more as though to retake my position atop his face and heard him make a sharp inhale. I didn’t sit down but instead hovered, knowing from my position that all he would see above him, all that was his visual world, was the eclipse of my Speedo blocking the ceiling light above us and threatening to make his world completely dark and breathless once more with a simple lowering of two further inches.

I held this position until I heard him exhale the urgent breath he’d taken and instantly dropped, re-securing his face beneath and between my glutes. I held this for only twenty or so seconds before voluntarily rising, allowing him time to take a few breaths before - once again on exhale - I lowered, employing this technique in a chain of applications to both weaken him and affirm my place in control.

I was happy at this point, as this game of sit-upon-exhale played out, that smothering had played an ample and effective role in the introduction to the match, planning next to transition to restraining holds that would bend him and use his size against him.

But that would be for round two of my time in charge.