Mixed Wrestling in London with Starr
What sort of men pay £150 per hour to wrestle a woman privately? And who are the women who wrestle them? Meet Starr, just one of a growing number of so-called “session wrestlers”. Living in London with her long-term boyfriend, Starr has been wrestling men professionally for several years and intends to carry on indefinitely (or until her Zimmer-frame gives out). What’s her story?
It gives me a great sense of power to wrestle a strong man and then bend or even break him. Or to toy with a weak man. Whichever, they all make really cute sounds when they’re in a headlock and their faces start turning red. I feel almost like a kitten, playing with her ball of wool. I really couldn’t ask for a more perfect job.
I started as kid, back in one of those little towns in Gloucestershire where everyone’s so terribly, terribly posh and proper. Except me, obviously. Unlike other girls, I just loved wrestling boys in the school playground. If I’d known then that it could be a career option, I could have avoided years of boring office work, waitressing, and stuffing envelopes. It was only when I’d taken up glamour modelling in my late teens that the opportunity arose.
One day, the guy doing my photo-shoot said he’d been approached by a company that produced wrestling videos: women vs. woman and men vs. women. Would I be interested? I jumped at the chance, even though my only experience so far had been in the playground. But it turned out I was a natural. They matched me with a fairly strong man and, although I didn’t then have any formal techniques or skills, I put literally everything into it. Amazingly, I pinned him to the ground and gained several submissions.
After this, I worked for production companies specializing in mixed wrestling, woman against woman, and fantasy stuff. After a while, though, I began to feel that maybe the men weren’t getting what they really wanted. The scenario was usually a straightforward bout with me in just a thong, and no talking allowed. Which is fine for anyone watching the video, but not necessarily for those taking part. Could I perhaps offer more? I thought I could, so I graduated to private session wrestling.
Within an hour of going live, I had 45 e-mails. It snowballed from there. Now I’m usually booked seven days a week, 12 months a year. I charge £150 for a one-hour session, which often turns into two or even three hours. You’d think I’d get exhausted, but I don’t. I feel such a “rush” as the endorphins kick in from the wrestling that I forget to be tired.
My boyfriend has no problem with what I do. He sees it as just another job, like the glamour work. He knows I can take care of myself. And because it is purely a job, he’d never want to wrestle me. That side he leaves to my clients.
My men are from about 21 through to their mid 60s, married and single, of all physical types and from a wide range of backgrounds. A couple of them are slightly odd, but quite harmless (Most men are a bit odd.). Some are British, but many are from abroad, visiting the UK on business. A few are wealthy professionals, while others are office or manual workers who save up to wrestle me. I don’t mind. They’re all equally important in my eyes. And all equally pliable.
I usually meet them in hotels for safety’s sake. Then, if something goes awry, there are always people around so you can scream for help. Not that I’ve ever needed to. I know there are nutters out there who get their kicks from hurting women, but they’re unlikely to pick one from a wrestling site full of girls like me: 5 foot 10, 140 pounds, naturally strong, and well able to look after herself. Besides, my boyfriend always knows exactly where I’m going and for how long. I phone to tell him I’ve arrived, and I phone again when I’ve left.
The exact wrestling scenario is down to the men. They’ll sometimes request a specific outfit. The minimum is a bikini, but some want me in, for example, an Amazon costume, others as a dominatrix. It depends – I have a whole wardrobe’s worth. A popular theme is me as the boss, dressed in formal office gear. Then we’ll play out a scene where he, as the employee, starts making sexist comments, or maybe confesses to making mistakes at work. Whatever. At this point I’ll either challenge him to a fight or simply attack and scissor him – I have phenomenally strong legs - until his body almost comes in half and he screams, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m just a man! You’re the boss!” To which I’ll reply, “I will sack you now, anyway” or else, “I’ll keep you on, but I will hurt you whenever I call you into my office!” That’s the pure fantasy side.
On other occasions it’s a straightforward wrestling match: me in a one-piece, for instance, him in swimming trunks, each trying to overpower the other. This is actually a very good way to get to know the man. Most of the time I’m much stronger and more skilled than he is so, whenever I feel like it, I can simply pin him to the ground or put him in a headlock. When he’s exactly where I want him, I say, sweetly, “So what do you do for a living, then? You’re not going anywhere until I let you, so let’s have a little chat, shall we?” Sometimes we’ll talk about his work. Sometimes current affairs. Or sometimes I’ll just laugh at him as he tries to struggle.
I’m able to “read” a man from the outset, which is useful, because they’re often nervous at first, particularly the wrestling “virgins”. So I take them where they want to go in terms of what I think they’ll consider funny, exciting, or challenging. Many are sexually aroused by the very fact of wrestling a woman. (I’d actually feel a bit insulted if they weren’t, I suppose.) For others it’s primarily competitive: that playground thing again, boys vs. girls – who’s really the stronger? Or it’s a combination of both.
For most men, having this sort of competitive, physical activity with a woman is something they’re quite unused to. Certainly not from their wives or girlfriends, whom they either wouldn’t want to wrestle – they’d feel it “inappropriate” - or who wouldn’t, or couldn’t, wrestle them. So to meet a woman who’ll happily fight them, pin them, and be aggressive is quite a revelation. For just a while they can give up all that responsibility for “being a man”, in control, while a big Amazon repeatedly hurls them to the ground, instead.
How long will I carry on? Until I’m an old lady, too weak to fight, I imagine. But I’d like to do it forever if possible. I’m carrying on what I always loved to do as a child, except I’m now getting paid for it. What more could I ask for?