In continuing my little essay on the beauty and compelling nature of the barefoot female wrestler, I’ll continue to document one of the best matches I ever filmed. This was Georgette vs Victor Black (me).

A picture of arrogance


We see in the photo above Georgette as she stands on my chest looking down on me on the wrestling mat. As I’d asked you to examine in the last post on this theme, please now examine the look on her face. There is almost utter disdain for me, her opponent; there is amusement, too. What amuses her? Having spoken to her before, after, and even during the match (well, listened to her), I can tell you she was almost disgusted by my relative lack of wrestling skill as compared with her, and she was astonished by how far she was able to go in dominating me.

She told me she thought it would be funny to try to use her feet to humiliate me in the match, but that she thought it would take minutes of hard wrestling to wear me down to the point where she could do anything very embarrassing to me with her feet. Instead, she found it was very easy for her to land kicks and stomps into my stomach and face and head, and that once I was down on the mat, it was surprisingly easy for her to keep me there just by standing on me. In face, she expected to have to use her entire body to keep me on the ground, and she was amused to no end that she could shelve all of her long-studied techniques for putting an opponent on his back and simply control me utterly with her weight alone, by putting one foot, and then the other, on my body. This made her laugh more than once throughout the match as I would be let up by her and she would easily drop me to the mat with kicks and resume her dominant and controlling position on my stomach or my chest.

Georgette prepares to stand on my face with both feet, thus pinning me conveniently to the mat.


The second time she’d easily stood atop my chest, I watched her eyes shine and a wicked smile form on her lips. She’d thought of something truly michievous or downright sadistic, I worried. It turned out to be both. I’d never suggested she try this for fear of being injured. After all, we weren’t acrobats or gymnasts with years of training in how to work with each others weight. And even if we were, I’ve never seen one acrobat actually stand with her full weight on her male or female base’s face.

I was initially excited when I felt her left foot come to rest on my face and thought she was simply affecting a kind of humiliating victory pose, of the kind you see in movies and artwork showing gladiatorial combats. The victorious gladiator symbolises their victory over a fallen opponent by putting their foot on their opponent’s chest as they lay supine and incapacitated. I was a little turned on, and felt very self-conscious about being filmed as a much smaller female opponent was manhandling me in this fashion. Then I noticed that she wasn’t putting her left foot in the middle of my face as I’d expect, in order to show callous disregard for my facial features and just mash my nose flat. She was sliding her foot sideways on my face, and actually trying to leave enough room on the right side of it for her right foot. I tried to protest, realizing what she intended, and I probably managed to get off a “whoa!” out of the left corner of my mouth before her left foot pressed down on the right side of my face with her entire 110 lbs of weight, causing me a dull pain and spike of anxiety as I worried about whether my facial bones could support a whole person, even though she was a slender woman half my size and weight. I knew I had to simply bear it, because her left foot found purchase on the right side of my face almost instantly, as though she’d done this a hundred times before to a hundred different men. And then my mouth was blocks, her bare heels mashing my lips up against my teeth. I couldn’t talk, nor even yell for her to stop. She also had excellent balance, and was having no problem keeping it as she stood on my face with both feet. We hadn’t been wrestling long, and my face and head were still dry, as were her feet, so I couldn’t even hope that she would slide off my face on my perspiration. Her feet felt well muscled, graceful, and just a little cool and moist; her skin was very smooth and soft. The balls of her feet pressed down hard on my forehead, holding two-thirds of her weight, and the rest of her weight rested on my lips, transmitted through her bare heels. I felt like I was being forced to kiss her bare heels, as spit was squeezed though my lips by the pressure and pooled under her heels, wetting them.

This is what it looked like to my camerawoman:

Just look at what she's doing to me...


Can you see how cruel and painful this “wrestling hold-down” is? She not only standing on my face, but she’s eased her feet to the sides of my face a little, just enough to drag both sides of my face apart, making my lips feel about to tear in the middle. The skin on my forehead felt like it was about to break at some imaginary seam right down the centre as all of her weight pushed the sides of my face down toward the canvas on opposite sides of my head. And she knew what she was doing. She was pressing hard with the insteps of her feet to keep as snug a hold as she could on my skin so that it travelled sideways with her feet even as she let her weight drag her feet and my skin away from my nose and down towards my ears. It felt like she were trying to skin me alive from the neck up!

This fantastic set of clips are available on my webstore.

I’ll continue documenting the match soon!