A Wrestler’s Tale: Episode 1
By Dark J

I sat in my car crying. After eight years with the same company, I received four weeks severance pay, a continuation of my health insurance (as long as I pay the entire premium), and those warm words, “we wish you well with all future endeavors.” Just a few weeks ago, they were calling us “family” in one of those phony baloney meetings. I know it’s all bullshit, but I hate company-speak!

I was shocked. I had no idea that the company was up for sale, and certainly no clue that we’d all be let go. The obvious question was, what do I do next?

I had to think of something fast. I’m a single mother with two beautiful children. Their names are Julia and Jason, and they’re twins, seven years old. I do not receive a whole lot of child support, so my income is vital. Their father is a professional wrestler, but it’s not what you think. He’s not in WWE working twenty thousand seat arenas, and monthly Pay Per Views. Nope, he works the independents and only keeps going because he’s addicted to the lifestyle. Many people have told him to get a “real job,” maybe spend a little more time with his kids, but he loves being on the road with his boys and girl groupies, or “ring rats,” as they call them in the business. Yep, wrestlers have female groupies who do “booty calls” and NO, I wasn’t one of them!

I was also a professional wrestler. I met him when we worked together in a local promotion. We fell in love, and had the twins, but being a dad with a regular job was never going to satisfy him. He left. I guess I could see it coming…I wanted to get married, but he kept avoiding the topic.

My wrestling career ended when I became pregnant. Obviously, I couldn’t wrestle while I was carrying the baby(s), and even when I made a full recovery I wanted to be home for my kids. Plus, let’s face it, this was professional wrestling with violence, adult storylines, and skimpy costumes. Did I really want my children seeing me in such an environment?

I gave up wrestling and got a job in computers. Was I happy with my career? Not really. I loved wrestling and I was relatively successful in it, but I had to put my kids ahead of everything. Still, I never stopped thinking about wrestling, watching it on television, and imagining what I’d be doing now if I were still in the industry. I even maintained a wrestling room in my home with all kinds of memorabilia from my career, all of my gear, and a couple of championship belts that I was able to keep.

Of course, my most prized possessions were my pictures with Shawn Michaels, The Rock, Mick Foley, Chris Jericho, and my idol, Trish Stratus. I never worked under a WWE contract, but I was able to wrestle some dark matches (non-televised matches), and even do a job (lose) to Trish on television. Definitely, the biggest thrill of my career. I got my butt kicked, as any good jobber should, but just being in there with Trish was amazing! A little embarrassing too, as she gave me a huge wedgie by accident. It wasn’t my first wedgie in wrestling (not even close!), but on national TV? And of course the camera was focused right on my soon-to-be-exposed booty, and got the full cleavage shot! It really wasn’t Trish’s fault. The match was running long and the ref signaled to her to speed things up. I was selling (acting like I’m hurt from her offense) outside the ring, so she had to get me back in quickly, and grabbed the back of my Adidas leotard. Being that it was a high-cut one-piece, it went up my crack with little effort! Trish was such a sweetheart…she even apologized once we got to the back (out of view of the audience). I was the butt (pun intended) of a lot of jokes, but it was an honor to have Trish Stratus give me a wedgie! Haha!

I should tell you about my wrestling career. In the beginning, my character’s name was “Allison The Athlete”. My real name is Allison. My gimmick (personality, attire, and character traits that separate you from the other wrestlers) was this cocky wrestler who saw herself as a real athlete. I looked down on the “Divas”, or models, with their breast implants and bleached-blonde hair. They weren’t really wrestlers, according to my character, as they didn’t go to a real wrestling school, didn’t get beaten up (as a way to toughen them up for the ring), and were more concerned with fashion and hair than kicking ass.

I, on the other hand, maintained my naturally black hair, wore sports leotards instead of hotpants or those long spandex/leather “hooker outfits”, and looked like I actually ate three square meals a day. Plus, I had my own boobs, which are actually a nice C, I must say! I am told that I have a very nice face. A lot of people say that I look like Jennifer Connelly. I’ll definitely take that!

I was very good at cutting promos (when you talk on the microphone to promote yourself, hype a match, or further a storyline), so I would frequently come to the ring and run the other women down. I started as a heel (a badguy). The booker (someone who writes the storylines and plans the matches) wanted the fans to boo me, and of course cheer the girls I was insulting, but the crowd reaction isn’t always as predictable as they would like.

After a few months of getting booed, the crowds started cheering me. I really didn’t change anything in my act as I’d not only insult my fellow “competitors”, but promo the crowds calling the men “fat losers” and the women “ugly housewives”, and cheating my way to victory, of course. But the fans started to like me! They began embracing my kick-ass wrestling style as I could do various submission holds, took great bumps (hitting the mat, or even the floor, after absorbing a move in a convincing manner), and did some spectacular aerial moves. For the female fans, I was someone to look up to because I had something to offer (talent) beyond looks, and for the men, guys do like girls who can kick ass and I wasn’t bad to look at, either! Remember, Jennifer Connelly with a lot of curves!

Also, while my leotards weren’t as stylish as what the other gals wore, they were cut high on the leg, and I was always showing some ass! Sometimes a lot of ass depending on how well my leo was staying in place, or what my opponent was doing to me. My nickname in the locker room was “Wedgie Woman” because my leotards were always riding up and my opponents, often inadvertently, gave me wedgies while performing moves. I received quite a few wedgies on purpose too, as a form of humiliation, or just to entertain the fans. In some cases, the girl was just a crappy wrestler, and couldn’t do anything else! So, for our male fans, and even some of the females (oh, that fan mail!), my high-riding leotards and exposed bouncing buns were a major attraction!

Well, getting away from my ass for a bit (don’t worry, we’ll get back to it!), I became the biggest star in our regional promotion, adopted the much friendlier name of “Sporty Ally”, and won the women’s championship, but my pregnancy changed it all. After a couple of great years, I dropped the title, retired from the squared-circle, and became a mom.

Yes, the glory days, but back to the present where I’m unemployed. UGH!

After work and my subsequent dismissal, I picked up the kids at a friend’s house making sure to hold back the tears in front of them. They shouldn’t have to worry about money, or anything, really, at their age. After feeding them and putting them to bed, I started searching the job websites, submitting resumes to any job that remotely fit my skill-set and experience. I wasn’t overly optimistic about my prospects as I wasn’t a college graduate, and we were in the middle of a really bad economy. My head spins when I hear those Wall Street types discuss recessions and recoveries, but it didn’t sound good.

All I knew was that it was early November, and I needed money to give my kids the Thanksgiving and Christmas they deserve! Maybe “deserve” is the wrong word, but that’s truly how I feel. I couldn’t let my kids down!

I did have one other source of income during my wrestling days. I would do private wrestling sessions for men, and a couple of women hired me too. It was strictly wrestling, nothing sexual, although it was a turn-on for my clients. That’s why they hired me in the first place. Wrestling is a pretty big fetish, actually. I would do the session at the client’s home. I didn’t want anyone knowing where I lived, and while there was some danger, I was also a trained shooter (real wrestling/fighting). I could beat up most normal men, if I had to, and I even surprised some so-called “tough guys” in a couple of bar fights.

I charged five hundred dollars for an hour. Very good money, of course, but with the downside being the danger, getting handled by a stranger, and some of the guys weren’t exactly hygienic, although I specified that they shower before the session. This wasn’t something that I wanted to do regularly, yet it seemed like a pretty good option right now.

I still had my website, Sportyally.com, going. Even after years of being out of wrestling, fans remembered me and I liked having something online to chronicle my brief, but pretty cool career. I also used the site to book these private sessions, so I posted an update saying that I was taking bookings again.

Sure enough, within an hour I had my first customer:

From: [email protected]
Subject: Private Sessions
To: [email protected]
Date: Monday, November 3, 2008, 9:05 PM

Hi Sporty Ally,

I’m a huge fan of yours from way back, and I’d love to do a private wrestling session with you! I’m perfectly fine with all of your rules and specifications and Wednesday night at 7:00 is great. I’d like to do a semi-competitive match. Nothing where either of us gets hurt, but going for pins and such. I see that you take “special requests”. Can I give you a wedgie? Maybe more than one? Along with wrestling, wedgies are a big fetish of mine and you’re my favorite “Wedgiegirl” of all-time! Your constant wedgies on “Tri-State Championship Wrestling” were like my dream-come-true! Money isn’t a problem and I bathe regularly. I even use mouthwash!

Hope to hear from you soon,
Zachary

Well, Zachary sounds okay. He wants to give me a wedgie? I guess I’ve heard worse. I had a guy who wanted to lick between my sweaty toes. Yuck! I said “no” to that, FAST! I guess I’ll let him give me a wedgie. It’s not like a wedgie is anything new for me! Just a little weird being that it isn’t a girl I'm wrestling, and a total stranger! I’ll write back and tell "Mr. Wedgie" that he has a match…

To be continued

Episode 1 continues...

Wednesday came and I started regretting my decision to wrestle Zachary. It had nothing to do with him, specifically. As a mother, I just questioned whether I should be doing these private sessions again? Like I said earlier, there was nothing overtly sexual about the sessions, but I was still being handled by a stranger, and in little more than a bathing suit. As I picked Julia and Jason up at school, and watched all of the other mothers, I got this really weird feeling…

“All right, I’m going to email Zachary and tell him I’m canceling,” I thought, after getting the kids some snacks and starting them on their homework. I had the email written, but I couldn’t hit the “Send” button. I started thinking about Thanksgiving and Christmas, and the job interview the day before that I hadn’t heard back from, and the three responses I received on Monster.com reading, “We do not have any positions available at this time, but we will keep your resume on file for ninety days”…

Damn it, my kids have a father who’s a lousy provider and I had to do something!

I made up my mind that I was going to keep my appointment with Zachary. Then, a feeling of dread came over me. I hadn’t tried on any of my leotards yet! It had been eight years! I am in really good shape, but your body tends to change…especially when you give birth!

I quickly checked on the kids then ran down to my bedroom to try a leotard on. They were all the same size and style, but I picked the one with the most “girly” colors. The leotard was “baby blue”, and the trademark Adidas stripes down the sides were pink. I pulled it on and began adjusting -- first pulling up the top so my chest was properly covered, then fixing the front and back as I had given myself a bit of a wedgie on both sides. The high-cut style leg exposed all of my hips and some of my butt. I really couldn’t see back there, so you’ll have to be the judge on how much tush was on display!

I was definitely bigger in the hips and rear than I was eight years ago. I thought I looked better, and my guy friends all agreed! More curves, but still firm and athletic. I always thought of myself as an athlete first, and a babe second, anyway. Still, my leotard wedged quite a bit when I was smaller, so I could be in for a lot of trouble now!

I left the leotard on. I was going to be dropping the kids off at my best friend Emily’s, then heading over to Zachary’s in about an hour. I decided to give him the full “Sporty Ally” experience, so I put my wrestling boots on, along with some pink kneepads. It really felt great having the gear on again. Even with the constant wedgie! Of course, I didn’t want the kids or Em seeing me in my wrestling attire, so I put a blue nylon tracksuit over it.

********************

“I’m really going to do this!” I thought as I sat outside Zachary’s house in my 2006 black Nissan Altima. I knocked on the door and there he was. Not at all what I expected! Yes, I love wrestling, and the fans, but it wasn’t the cleanest, most physically fit group of people who you’ll ever met. Zachary, on the other hand, was thin, with medium length brown hair, those John Lennon glasses, and a well-groomed goatee. He was average height and kind of gave off that artsy/hippie vibe. He even had Pearl Jam’s Ten playing in the background…one of my favorite albums of all-time! I was relieved because I really hated handling big, heavy guys, and as promised, he looked clean!

“Hi, Sporty Ally!” he said enthusiastically.
“Just call me Sporty,” I responded, noticing a slightly confused look on his face. “Just kidding! Ally is fine! And hi there, Zachary!”
“ ‘Zach’ is fine.”
“Cool, and I love the music choice! I’m a huge Pearl Jam fan from waaaay back.”
“Wow, sexy as hell and she likes Pearl Jam. Will you marry me?”
“Ha ha! Pin me and I’m yours, tough guy!”
“Now that’s what I call motivation! But before we start, I’m going to change CD’s”
“Interrupting Pearl Jam? Now, I’m really going to kick your ass!”

Zach had a big smile on his face as he went to change CD’s. I knew he was up to something good, and I wasn’t disappointed!

“Awwwwwwww! You remembered!” I exclaimed, flashing my pearly whites. Zach put on Smashing Pumpkins’ “Cherub Rock”, which was not only a favorite song of mine, but my entrance music from when I wrestled professionally.

“Of course!” said Zach. “Besides your looks, and talent, I always loved that you came out to good music. Not some cheesy dance music or bad Heavy Metal!”

I got into my stance, and again Zach looked confused. “Oh, you want me to take these off?” I said with a goofy smile, grabbing at my nylon jacket and pants. I began undressing and Zach turned his head. “You can watch, silly! I just have my gear on underneath.”

I stripped down to my leotard, and was ready for action. Well, ready once I picked the back, which was at least halfway up my butt. I tried to grab Zach in a simple lock up (how most matches begin), but he was already confused, so I quickly got behind him and took him down. With him down on his back, I wrapped my thighs around his head and locked on a head scissors. Guys love the head scissors. Must be the view!

Meanwhile, my leotard had a mind of its own! When I lifted my right leg to apply the scissors, that side of my Adidas suit shot right up my crack. I could feel my entire cheek hanging out! Of course, the Zach-attack was helpless between my still powerful thighs, so I could easily reach back and fix my little wardrobe malfunction.

“You awake down there?” I asked, as Zach had stopped struggling. I think I could have held him here for the full hour, but that wouldn’t be fair (and I was getting bored), so I released the hold.

We were both back up on our feet. I decided that I’d let Zach get the advantage next. There was absolutely no way that he’d be able to pull off a move, never mind take me, if I tried. I wanted to give the poor sap at least a little satisfaction.

“Bring it, Zach-attack!” I challenged trying to get a little aggression out of the young hipster. He put his arms around my waist in what appeared to be the beginning of a bearhug. His arms became tighter indicating he might try to pick me up. He better be able to pick me up! That would be embarrassing if he couldn’t!

Well, Zach didn’t disappoint as my feet left the ground. He also confirmed that my leotard was a problem – it shot up my butt crack as he clutched his hands on my back, and lifted me up.

“Ouch!” I yelped.
“What’s wrong?” he asked
“Wedgie! You’re giving me a huge one…”
“Oh…sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Right! You requested a wedgie in the email.”
“Sure, but a proper wedgie…where I can see what I’m doing. This was an accident. Really!”
“It’s okay! My leotard seems to think that it should be inside my butt instead of covering it!”

I stuck my arms inside of his arms and broke the bearhug. “No fair!” I protested jokingly, with my leotard pulled high and tight between my cheeks. “You’re in those long baggy shorts while I’m practically naked!”

I fixed my leotard, which the Zachster seemed to enjoy watching, and grabbed him in a headlock. I felt his hand on my back. Was this going to be that so-called ‘proper wedgie’? Not yet, but the spandex was creeping up again, but at a far slower pace, at least. “Time for a ride”, I said, hip tossing Zach to the floor, followed by a pin.

“1…2…3”, I counted. I pinned Zach, although I’m not sure that he really wanted to kick out. I think he enjoyed having me on top of him!
“I win!” I announced, putting a foot on Zach’s chest to signify my dominance. Well, the Z-Man wasn’t going to take this one lying down. He grabbed my ankle and took me down to the floor! “Whoa, you fight dirty, Zachy,” I mocked, but I didn’t know how dirty!

“Hey!” I screamed, as he took advantage of my positioning (flat on my stomach), and yanked my leotard up my butt! Not just up my butt, halfway up my back! I could tell that he was really into wedgies. Yes, the fact that he was pulling my leotard up my butt was a pretty good clue, but he was doing it with SUCH feeling! A true labor of love! OUCH!

I decided to let him have his moment, and just lie there for a bit. He was practically splitting me in half. I even started kicking my legs to the sell the embarrassing maneuver, and because it did hurt quite a bit! Then, he took his free hand (still applying the wedgie with the other) and spanked me! He spanked me hard, too, like the next door neighbors could hear the sound of flesh smacking flesh, and I thought my buns might jiggle for a month. I didn’t agree to a spanking!

I jumped up to my feet, forcing Zach to lose his grip on my leotard, and lifted a knee into his stomach. The poor fool dropped immediately, clutching his sore belly. I asked him how he was doing, but he couldn’t talk since I ‘knocked the wind out of him’.

“I’m sorry,” Zach said, standing up and sitting on the couch. He was still rubbing his belly.

“Don’t worry about it,” I answered. I was tending to my own pain, first rubbing my sore tush, followed by some intense wedgie picking. My index fingers were getting quite the workout on that night!

“No, really,” said Zach, who looked like he was about to cry. I was starting to get nervous. Was this guy a few cards short of a full deck?? He seemed like a pretty normal dude, but I really didn’t know him, of course. “You’re so nice,” he continued, dropping his head and running his fingers through his hair. “I just always end up doing the wrong thing…”

“It’s all right, Zach,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. “No, I shouldn’t have spanked you,” he countered. “It wasn’t ‘all right’...”

“BUT this is….”

Again I screamed as my leotard rocketed up my butt crack! The devious little prick lulled me into a false sense of security, only to give me another wedgie! How did I fall for that one? It was a pretty funny move, though, and as an old wrestling heel (bad guy), I appreciated it.

“I give! I give!” I yelled, as he continued bouncing me by my skimpy sportswear. ‘Bouncing’ being the operative word with my thighs, boobs, and buns jiggling up a storm! “I said I give up! Where’s a referee when I need one! I give! I give!”

Zach let go of my leotard and said, “Now, you have to marry me!”
“Nope! I said PIN, big boy! I submitted. Am I the first wrestler to ever submit to a wedgie? I think so. A sad day for the Sporty Ally-maniacs around the world!”

“Hey! What, now?!” I yelled, as I felt Zach’s fingers inside my legholes. He fixed my wedgie! “Awwww…what a gentleman”, I said with a smile. I extended a hand, as a sign of sportsmanship, then bent Zach’s arm behind his back. He gave up in like 5 seconds!

“We still have some time left,” I said. “Do you want to do some more wrestling?”
“Nah,” he answered. “I just really wanted to give you those wedgies. I’m a pretty crappy wrestler, as I’m sure you know by now. I am curious…why did you stop wrestling? You were a big star…and you just disappeared.”
“I got pregnant, and everything changed. Remember ‘Daring Dan Dickerson’? Or ‘3D’? He was my real life boyfriend, and…well, you know…”
“So, you’re married?”
“NO, never married. We lived together for a while, but he had to ‘chase his dreams’, or something. He comes back to visit Julia and Jason, every once in a while, but he’s out of my life, otherwise.”

“Tri-State Wrestling hasn’t been the same without you!” he continued.
“Well, you’ve been watching for the eight years since I left, so it can’t be that bad! I’m just kidding, Zach! I do that a lot. Seriously, that’s really sweet of you to say.”
“Ever think about wrestling again? I see the hits on your website. People still love you.”
“Yeah, I have been thinking about it a little, lately. Actually, a lot, to be truthful. I recently lost my job, and well, it’s scary…it’s just tough with the kids. And the money isn’t great in a local promotion.”
“That’s true, but it’s a lot different from when you wrestled, Ally. Have you been to the TSW website lately? They now sell DVD’s, full show and single match downloads, and all kinds of merchandise, to go along with the TV show. People around the world could become Sporty Ally fans, even if you just wrestle in the Tri-State area!”
“Wow, that’s something I really need to think about! Thanks, Zach! I really have to go pick up my kids, but it’s been great meeting you. Maybe we can do it again? Just as friends…no appointments, or anything like that?”
“Yeah, I’d love to,” he answered, grinning from ear to ear.

I left Zach’s house feeling very good. He was a nice guy, and he really got me thinking about wrestling again. I just dreaded the kids or Emily asking me what I did tonight. “Oh, I just met a stranger who gave me a few wedgies for five hundred dollars…and he spanked me too!”

I hate lying, but I’ll have to come up with a story…

More importantly, was ‘Sporty Ally’ reborn tonight?

To be continued

Episode 1 concludes...

The first notes to “Cherub Rock” played over the sound system, and all I could think was, “please, PLEASE react.” Reaction from the live crowd is really the “lifeblood” for a wrestler. Ultimately, it’s the money you (and the promotion) draw that decides whether you’re a success or not, but for that one show, the live crowd can make you or break you. If they’re cheering, it means they like you and want to see you perform, and if you’re a heel (bad guy), booing is what you live for. Booing is the bane of almost every other form of entertainment, but not professional wrestling. The Heel (bad guy) wants to be booed because it makes that wrestler a draw. The fans want to see her or him lose, thus transferring a positive energy towards the Babyface (good guy). Of course, the worst reaction is no reaction. Simply put, that means the crowd doesn’t care about you either way, and would never pay to see you. In my case, I was really just hoping that the fans would remember me after eight years!

I’m getting way ahead of myself, but as you can probably tell, I’m working for Tri-State Championship wrestling again! I was quite excited to be back with the promotion. Were the other wrestlers excited to have me back? I’m not so sure about that. It’s a super-competitive business and there are only so many spots for talent. Unfortunately, I’m not so sure that the owner, John O’Reilly Jr., was excited to have me back, either, but he was giving me a chance. I actually worked for his father, John Sr., but he was now retired and living in Florida. Why my welcome back was lukewarm at best, I wasn’t sure, but John Jr. was romantically involved with the top female star in the promotion, Phoebe Flare. That might have had something to do with it, but we’ll have to see about that.

John basically told me that I was rehired to help develop the younger (ouch!), greener girls, and not to expect too much in the way of an individual push (how heavily a promotion features/promotes a wrestler). He wasn't sure if people would even remember me! It was very common in the industry to have veteran wrestlers around to school the newbies. I wasn’t insulted, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed. I was the biggest star in the promotion (even among the men), and I was hoping that they’d see my return as a bigger deal. Anyway, I was back, and I certainly didn’t want to be seen as the bitter, disgruntled veteran.

It was my first show and I’d be wrestling a girl named “Paris”. It also happened to be Paris’s first match ever. She was fresh out of wrestling school, or whatever passes for training these days. She looked a lot like Paris Hilton, so the creative geniuses came up with that name. They had high hopes for her as a potential challenger to Phoebe down the line, so she was booked (pre-determined finish to the match) to beat me.

The way it works is that you get the finish then talk (with the other wrestler) about how you’re going to get to that finish. It does depend on the experience of the wrestlers involved (whether an agent or someone else gets involved), but the bookers knew that I could plan a match.

I met with Paris and she seemed nice and more importantly, eager to listen and learn. We talked about moves and the psychology of the match. “Psychology” is basically the story the match tells and the effect that has on the crowd (and the viewers at home). Paris was the Heel and she was booked to pretty much dominate me so she’d look strong for greater challenges. I didn’t mind losing (you really get a bad name in the business if you hate losing…somebody has to lose), but I was hoping that it would at least be a competitive match.

As we finished planning the match, Paris asked the big question - “Ally, can I give you a wedgie?”

What’s going on? Why does everyone want to give me a wedgie?! I really didn’t want her giving me a wedgie. It was bad enough that I was going to get my butt kicked. Did I really need to be further humiliated? Plus, my friends and family could see this eventually (I hadn’t told anyone that I was back in the business again, and the show was being taped to be shown at a later date). I tried to explain to her that it was usually the heels getting wedgied, as the crowd wanted to see them humiliated, but she either didn’t care, or didn’t understand.

After a few moments of silence, an agent (a liaison between management and the wrestlers who helps plan matches, promos, etc.), who was listening in on us apparently, walked in and said, “Let her give you a wedgie. She’s limited in the ring, so it will spice things up.”

I was upset, but I wasn’t going to argue. Especially on my first night back. Unfortunately, I didn’t do a good job of hiding my disappointment as I dropped my head and sighed. “Relax, Ally,” said the agent. “Besides, that leotard is halfway up your butt, anyway.” What a pig! I just ignored him and began stretching for the match.

“Also,” he continued. “A couple of segments are going to run longer than originally planned, so you guys just lost a couple of minutes. Basically, Paris you squash (dominant, totally one-sided match) Ally. In and out fast…”

Ugh! This wasn’t going to exactly be the classic return of the conquering hero (understatement of the year!).

So, back to where we started. The first notes of “Cherub Rock” blasted over the sound system, and within seconds the crowd was cheering! I couldn’t believe it, and almost started crying as I came through the curtain. I was wearing a dark blue Adidas leotard with red stripes on the sides, matching red kneepads, and dark blue boots with “S.A.” in large, white letters on the sides.

I walked down the aisle to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as they were still going crazy. Not only did they remember me…there was still plenty of Sport Ally love! I really couldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t have been happier!

I climbed into the ring and immediately had a wedgie to pick. I definitely had a little more butt than I did eight years ago! The ring announcer introduced me, and the crowd started a “Welcome back, Ally!” chant. It was just incredible! They made me feel sooooooo good! I did all I could not to cry, although a few tears trickled down my cheeks. I waved to all four sides of the crowd and mouthed, “thank you.”

Paris came out next, and she looked pissed. She grabbed a microphone and said, “How can you cheer for this old, fat has-been? You’re all disgusting losers, just like her!”

Apparently, that was total improvisation, as they couldn’t have known how big a reaction I would get. Paris was pretty good, I must admit, although it did hurt a bit. Old? I’m twenty-eight! And I’m NOT fat! I wasn’t a stick figure like her, but that was a big part of my appeal.

Paris entered the ring in long, pink tights covered in flowers and a matching top/sports bra. The crowd really didn’t know her since this was her first match, but they booed anyway, due to her microphone work.

I adjusted my kneepads in the corner with my back turned, and fell victim to a vicious sneak attack from the tall blonde. It was cliché booking, but it helped get her over as a heel, and explained how I got my butt kicked (even though I was going to look weak no matter what…*sigh*).

They rang the bell and my pummeling continued. She really sucked, as some of her punches and kicks were landing a little too hard. Usually, a bad worker's (wrestler's) offense looks weak, but this Barbie doll was going for the opposite approach. I wasn’t really hurt, but she was cutting things a bit too close.

I was down on the mat selling and suddenly felt my leotard shoot up my ass! She grabbed the back of the leotard and my hair, and threw me out of the ring. We hadn’t even planned that, but I still took a safe bump (fall), so I wasn’t hurt.

I stayed down on the floor for a few seconds with the classic dilemma – should I pick my wedgie, or leave it in? It had to look like a thong as it was HIGH and TIGHT between my cheeks. As Paris left the ring and began kicking me some more, I finally did pick the wedgie. It was rather uncomfortable!

Next, Paris grabbed me by the arm and whipped me against the steel steps that led up to ring. I was proud of myself as I hit the steps hard (taking my own bump so I really didn’t get hurt) and made a huge noise. I was not in top “wrestling shape,” of course, but I knew that I still had it in me.

The referee was nearing a ten count (if one or both wrestlers are outside of the ring for a count of ten, the match ends in a “Count Out”), so Paris went to throw me back in the ring. I was really hoping that she’d just grab me under the arms and I’d basically climb back into the ring by myself, but again she grabbed me by the back of my leotard and hair.

“Please don’t…” I thought, as she lifted me up, but within seconds, the stretchy, blue spandex had disappeared up and into my sporty tushy! As if I wasn't embarrassed enough already, a bunch of guys in the front row began chanting “WEDGIE”. What a triumphant return!

We were both back in the ring before the count of ten, and I decided to just leave the wedgie in. What was the point? I was just hoping that Paris was done with the wedgies, meaning she’d forget the one we planned (since she seemed to forget almost everything else we planned!).

I was down on my knees and she was “choking” me on the ring ropes. Suddenly, Paris leaned in so she could whisper in my ear. “We still have to do that wedgie,” she said. “Just pick the wedgie you have now, so we get the full effect.”

“You’ve already wedgied me enough,” I responded.
“The agent wants a proper wedgie. Just do it,” Paris countered.
“Don’t worry…I’ll talk to him,” I said.
“No, we’re doing it,” she whispered sternly. “I want to get over, and if I have to humiliate your fat ass, I will. Remember, you have to lay there unconscious after I beat you…some embarrassing things could happen to you then…”

What a b***h! Again, it was my first night back (blah, blah, blah), so I decided to go along with what she wanted. I staggered to my feet, picking my leotard out of my crack as I did. Paris yelled, “I don’t think so,” and yanked the leotard up my ass again! She did it really hard this time, pulling it three quarters of the way up my back. I figured that I’d be a really good sport and sell it huge. I screamed and jumped around as she continued yanking. Gosh, was it humiliating! Not only because of the wedgie and my ass being totally exposed, but my boobs and butt cheeks were jiggling all over the place. This was going to be an instant YouTube classic!

Fortunately for me, and more specifically, my sore tush, the ref was telling us to go to the finish, so Paris released my leotard, and gave me a DDT. It’s a move where you put your opponent in a front face lock and drive her headfirst into the mat. It’s a pretty simple move, thankfully, then Paris pinned me for the 1-2-3 count.

The crowd booed, but I really think the reaction was due to the decision (having me lose so easily), than a hatred of Paris. I laid there like I was dead (proper behavior after a pin), but again Paris took liberties with me, rolling me over on my stomach and spanking my butt (as I was still sporting a major wedgie). That really pissed me off, but I remained professional, and stayed down.

Paris finally left the ring and I started to stir. The fans began cheering again! I couldn’t believe it! I thought they’d see me as a total loser after such a decisive AND humiliating defeat. As I got back to my feet, they began cheering, “We love Ally!” I was soooooooo touched! So caught up in the moment that I forgot to pick my wedgie. And as I later found out, I had one hell of a camel toe going, too! Still, nothing could ruin the moment, and I cried all the way back to the locker room.

Yep, the fans still remember me! Take that, John O’Reilly Jr.!

The End