It had been a full year since you had sparred Corey. Two high level wrestlers against each-other, presumptively the best in both of their clubs. You had worked for this match for ages, to win and take home a gold metal. Though you did take home a metal, it wasn’t a gold one, because the gold one was slung over Corey’s neck.

This year, you had to take home the win. Your muscles aches for the pleasure of not only recieveing a new gold metal, but relishing in the win against Corey. But who’s to say? Maybe Corey spent all of her time at the gym, working on new skills and ways to beat your ass once again.

It was time. You were dressed and ready for your match. It was right after the one going on before, which happened to have just finished. You were already drawing blood from all the nervous nail biting you’ve been doing for the past-who knows how long, and the match hadn’t even started.

A whistle blew and you walked onto the mat, standing on a corner. You tugged nervously at the shorts of your singlet, looking Corey up and down. Muscles everywhere. Abs so toned you could see them pressing against the tight fabric of her singlet. Quads popping out from her shorts. Fuck.

And the whistle blew, signaling for you to begin.