MY BEST SEX EVER WAS… with a wrestler

Ring­side seats meant Har­riet* got much closer to the ac­tion than in­tended...

Cosmopolitan (UK) - - Contents -

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. 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…

“He was so big and strong. He took to­tal con­trol”

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