The Simpsons: Bart

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***

For the first time, I was speaking in front of what could safely be called an audience. Of course, it wasn't an entire stadium of spectators, more like a hundred or so people, but even so it was getting hard to see everyone.

Spotting Becky, I waved at her. The family wasn't aware of the sectionals. Terry came down with a fever. Millhouse was on a trip with his parents. All in all, besides Becky, no one I know. I'm surprised she came all the way to D.C. just to see a wrestling match.

My first opponent was Bron. We fought the first round at full strength, right in the centre of the decking. Neither Bron nor I allowed the other to take control for even a second. And no, it wasn't because the fight could have been decided at any moment. Neither a hold or a five-point throw is nearly impossible to accomplish so early in the fight. It was just that our long-standing feud was taking its toll and we didn't want to give in to each other.

What did I say about early throws? So round two began with Bron in control. Who heard the signal and jerked his body upwards, lifting me up with his dead weight. If I hadn't wrapped my leg around his knee, I would have been out in the first few seconds of the second round.

Too much zeal cost Bron dearly. As soon as the adrenaline subsided for a second, I was able to open his bear hug, grab his left arm, and using the position of my leg behind his, I had no problem dropping the big guy to his knees and taking control of his arm.

At the end of the second round, I finished with an enviable advantage. Almost the entire round was spent in control. But Bron came out of it with some nice, dangerous throws.

The third round began with my control. Smiling, I sharply pressed my feet into the flooring, and with one jerk lifted Bron for a throw. Clearly not losing to me in experience, Bron also got his leg in, blocking a suplex.

However, when my arms were unlocked, I fell sharply to the decking. Bron had no opportunity to cover me sharply, for our legs were intertwined. So I pushed back with my elbows and grabbed the leg I had been holding.

Naturally Bron overpowered the pain and refused to fall, and then overpowered me as well, getting out of the grip. Then we spent the rest of the time in parterre. The bell rang and the referee announced:

- The winner on points, Bart Simpson.

I spent the rest of the day chillin' in my hotel room, nursing Bron's bruises. While watching my next opponent's matches.

.....

- In a time of six minutes and 23 seconds, the winner is Bart Simpson. - who I managed to hold on to.

That afternoon, I was greeted from the locker room by a man in a suit. The coach patted me on the shoulder and stepped away, apparently having some idea who the man was.

- Nice to meet you, Bart. - who immediately gave me a firm handshake and a white-hot smile. - I'm a scout from Penn State. - Of what? What? It's one of the best universities in the country. - We'd love to have you on our campus. Can you give us your parents' contact information? Or at least give them ours?

Left with a business card. I went numb and sat down on the steps. Next thing I knew, Coach Engle was laughing and telling me I'd made it to nationals. Even if I did lose my two remaining matches. The turn of events made me open my mouth.

- Bart? - and a few minutes later, I got a tap on the shoulder.

Turning around, I saw a cute blonde girl with a wide smile wearing braces. It was Becky.

- How did the rest of the matches go?

- You're gonna meet Kowalski. - Becky sat down next to me with a big smile on her face. Pretty close, so I moved over to make room for her.

- He's tight.

- He won both of his matches by aces. - Becky moved closer. Okay, lady, this handsome man is actually busy. Although. What are the chances she's actually into me? - What do you think your chances are?

- He's twenty-one, right? - so his body's a bit more advanced than mine, which is bad. However. - I'm counting on winning!

- You'll do your best. - with a blush on her cheeks, Becky pressed her head against the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

- Where are your parents? - Noticed the oddity of no one stopping besides Becky as they left the gym.

- Huh? I came alone.

- What?! You're 16! And they let you go?! - wide-eyed at the carelessness of Becky's parents.

- Somebody's got the age of majority on the brain. - she poked me in the forehead.

- How do you talk to adults?

- And they sell booze from twenty-one...

- What's the point of being 18?! - I shouted into the sky, then fell to my knees.

- Ha-ha-ha-ha. You're always so funny, Bart.

- Hey, Becky, are you busy today? - Determined not to leave her alone in the big city, I invited her to hang out together.

We ended up taking a tour of the city. We saw statues of people, buildings, all the things that tourists call interesting. Afterwards, I took Becky back to her hotel. I spent a couple of hours before bed watching Kowalski games.

.....

- And the winner of the holdout, Bart Simpson, with a time of six minutes and three seconds.

In the end, and this match, Kowalski decided to end with a TKO. However, as his body almost covered me in a stalemate, I managed to get my knee out, topple the carcass, and myself around his arms, greedily clutching at my body.

That's how I made it to the finals of the National Championship in my weight class.

- Bart, your neck. - While we were sitting in the park with Becky, she noticed something and abruptly pulled away.

When I touched my neck, I felt a sharp, dull pain. Kowalski's final grab must have left a hematoma.

- Here, put this on it. - Becky came back with a bag of ice with a slightly out of breath face.

- Thank you. - her ruddy face and panting could only make me smile. Becky really is a nice, sweet girl.

I spent the rest of the day in the room's bed. With Becky watching rubbish on TV and listening to stupid high school stories.

- And then, well. - until 'the moment' happened.

She was lying on the bed, her blouse pulled up, exposing her flat tummy. Whether it was the abstinence or our enjoyable time together, the mere steady movement of Becky's tummy turned me on.

Becky noticed my gaze. I felt uncomfortable, but her quickened breathing made me return my gaze. Becky's hands were also on my stomach. I expected her to adjust her blouse....

But she only pulled down her jeans. Forcing the pink lingerie to show. They weren't lacy panties, just plain cotton panties, but I wanted to rip them off with my teeth just as much.

I let the remnants of my self-control slip away so that my actions were limited to a mere glance. But that was me. Becky, on the other hand, slid her hands back up to her jumper.

With a distinctive, snapping sound, the bottom button flew out of its confinement. The edges of the jumper parted wider, revealing my ribs, the shadow of my bra.

Swallowing, I realised I'd lost all self-control and was ready to pounce on Becky like...

*Call*

The hotel phone rang. I rushed to it as fast as I could.

- Hello, our hotel is wondering if you need anything. - an emotionless voice came from the other end.

- Can I punch you in the face?

- I'm sorry, what?

- Haaah... Nothing, thank you very much, really thank you.

When I turned back around, Becky once again realised everything from just a glance, and adjusted her outfit. Thanks to the call, I managed to remember that I actually had a girlfriend after all.

After that, Becky and I curled up pretty quickly, said our goodbyes, and yes I put her in a taxi. The only match I watched that night was the Tommy Cornell vs Bart Simpson match from a month ago.

.....

Tommy Cornell is almost thirty years old, and is a fairly frequent participant in wrestling tournaments around the country. In the last eight years, he's been called up to the national team for the Olympics twice.

The last time we met was at the semi-final stage. And ended in a first-round stoppage. Truly embarrassing for me. Since then I've been working even harder with the guys in the gym, concentrating on technique and passing. I made it a condition to myself not to throw a single throw per sparring session.

After hours of humiliation. I started to see results. I began to notice other people's passes in advance, even feel them with my skin. Mine were no longer limited to the simple and trivial. I began to realise that fighting in the parterre is like chess. Taking advantage of the limitations of the movement of the pieces, the limitations of the human body, the attacker's task is to lead his opponent into a trap, putting a check, locking the body.

.....

As usual, Cornell was unfazed. More resembling a statue than a human. As much as I didn't want to, my palms were starting to sweat in his presence.

The first round started, and we went at it. The next second, Tommy was at my back, throwing his leg over mine.

My ill-considered attempt to grab his arms resulted in being locked on the floor in a full-nelson position, with my hands behind my head. The only thing that saved me from being held down was the speed of crashing my other foot into his, tripping me up.

Pulling my body upwards, enduring the pain a bit, I pushed off with my foot as hard as I could and managed to jump out of the hold, moreover went in an attempt to cover Cornell.

Who, like a snake, managed to get out before the timer beeped. While I was on my knees, Tommy got up and took a step back, adjusting his tights.

With a few sweeps of his arms, I continued to kneel, waiting for the throw at me that I had rehearsed many times. However...

Cornell knelt down on his own, and instead of a top-down throw and head grab, he threw himself at my stomach. I tried to hold him back, but before our bodies could go down, Cornell made a full body turn, causing mine to fall backwards with his shoulder blades.

The timer lit up. I clenched my teeth at the way the milliseconds ran on the second second, and put all my energy into....

- Whoa...

Suddenly there was an audible gasp from the crowd, worth it as I climbed up onto the bridge on my toes. Cornell started to press his body down, and already I took advantage of it, twisting my body so that I was finally on top of him, however...

- Time. - the referee called the end of the first round.

The fact that I had almost won at the end of the round, and I was just short on time, was infuriating. I only had thirty seconds to lose steam.

Cornell started the second round in control. At the signal that time had started, he abruptly raised his hands higher, to my chest, into a position from which they could easily be unlocked. Which I tried to do.

As soon as my arms were up, however, Cornell wrapped his legs around my lower back. The backward movement didn't put me on my back, but, at Tommy's command, on my side.

A second rash attempt to unhook my arms resulted in Cornell's hands hooking over my arms, but over my neck. Apparently the new grip was much tighter.

I decided to go for the leg. Having somehow unclasped the lock of them, I went up on one knee for an auxiliary support. And as soon as I pulled my leg back enough, Tommy slammed it into the floor, passed under my ribs, and in the next instant....

- Winning by pinfall, Tommy Cornell with a time of four minutes and 16 seconds. - he had me in a stalemate.

The score of our confrontations became two nil.