I wonder when so-called mainstream society is going to catch up with the new woman? More to the point, I wonder when we men will catch up with the new woman? When will we realize that the colleague in the next cubicle is the new woman? Or that the woman on the crowded subway, the woman on the movie line, the woman confidently approaching us on the street, is the new woman?

She’s here. Now. Today.

This was brought home to me with tremendous force during a recent mixed
wrestling encounter in NYC. The force was both physical and psychological. The woman — call her Andy — was young, 28-years old, Black. When we shook hands, I literally felt her self-confidence in her firm grip.

Tall, perhaps 5’8″, she carried some 150 lbs. on a lean, deceptively muscular physique. Her smile was open, engaging. A very attractive woman, with strong African features. As the match went on and we chatted between falls, I came to realize that the new woman is here.

We agreed on the rules, submission style: tap out and the opponent immediately releases the hold. Andy had asked if I minded if a friend of hers took some photos of the match. I had agreed and her friend stood to the side, camera ready, as Andy and I slowly circled in the center of the mat. Since I am 6’3” and 180 lbs., I was sure that my height and size advantage would make up for the fact that I am in my fifties.

I took the offensive and grabbed Andy’s shoulder, as if to gain a headlock. Instead, I spun her around and tried for a full nelson. But as I snaked my arms under hers, Andy went limp and dropped through to the mat. I stepped back and grabbed for her right arm. She rolled away, leapt to her feet and we faced off again.

Andy took the initiative now. She feinted to her left, I moved to my right, and fell right into her trap. She was suddenly in front of me and my head was clamped tight in a vise-like headlock. She bent me to my waist. I struggled, bucking, but her grip was too tight and I couldn’t breath. She forced me to my knees and shoved my head between her thighs. I tried prying my head loose, but my arms were no match for her muscular thighs.

Her friend crouched before me, snapping my pale white face peeking out between Andy’s rich ebony legs. She made a wry comment to Andy about my plight, about what a great photo it’ll make. Andy assured her that there’d be plenty more to come.

At last, unable to free myself and growing slightly woozy from Andy’s
increasingly tight standing head scissor, I tapped out. Andy released me at once. I flopped to my hands and knees and worked to catch my breath. Andy made sure I was alright and her friend gave me a water glass. It was cold, invigorating.

As my breathing returned to normal, I learned that Andy had finished law school and only recently taken the Bar exam. I was momentarily thrown off, staring at this beautiful woman. Gorgeous, athletic … and a lawyer.

Hmmm …

We clashed again. I tried for a bear hug and we tumbled to the mat, rolling over and over, neither gaining an advantage. Still on my side, I managed to get Andy on her back. I reached across her stomach and gripped her arm, shoving it to the mat. Now I slipped my other arm under Andy and tried to get her trapped arm. But Andy bridged, breaking my cross-body hold. Before I could counter, she rolled on me and straddled my upper chest. My arms were trapped beneath her legs and she had me in a classic schoolgirl pin.

Andy slithered up my chest until her crotch was at my neck, her lovely dark brown thighs tight around my head. Her friend stood over us, gleefully snapping away. They both agreed this would make a terrific photo. I was beginning to feel the pressure from Andy’s thighs, scrunching my head tighter and tighter. I struggled, heaving my chest, but I — and Andy –- and her friend — knew this was futile, a waste of my energy. I lay there, staring up at this stunning, grinning woman.

Without giving me a chance to tap out, Andy abruptly lifted herself and moved forward, dropping full weight atop my face. I was unable to breath, her rear cheeks — amazingly muscular! — pillowed out on either side of my face. I was aware of her raw powerful rear essence. She lifted several inches off my head and I gratefully took in gasps of air.

I thought she was doing this to permit me to breath. Yeah, right! She was giving her friend, flat on the mat, her camera two feet from my face and Andy’s chocolate-kissed buttocks, a great camera angle. When her friend finished, Andy sat back down. She and her friend talked as I lay helpless under her ass. They joked about my admittedly ineffectual showing against Andy.

During our next break, I learned more about Andy. How she was a track-and- field athlete, had been interested in wrestling and boxing at an early age.

Boxing? Yes, boxing.

This beautiful young woman, with her warm, ingratiating smile, whom you’d meet at an office, see on the subway, and never once imagine she was this much athlete. Andy was confident inside herself. She knew who and what she was and felt no compulsion to announce it to the world.

The match continued. By now, I was sweating, winded. Though Andy had a ring of perspiration on her forehead — highly erotic — she was as fresh as the moment we began. Her speed, superior lower body strength, and athleticism were taking their toll. From now on, my job was to fend off the woman as long as I could.

But she well knew this.

She grabbed my wrist and swung it over her head as she twisted in a full 360, my arm now jammed high up my back. Her friend joked to Andy that the match was so one-sided, people will think it was fixed. They both got a huge kick out of that one. Andy forced me to my knees and again got me in a standing head scissor. This time my face was looking out through the back of Andy’s legs.

Andy released me and turned, trapping me back in a standing head scissor, my face now forward. Squeezing tightly, she started walking, pulling me along by her amazingly tight scissor. I scrambled on my hands and knees, keeping up as Andy walked around the entire room. I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror, crawling, Andy’s dark ebony thighs coiled tight, muscles straining as she squeezed my head even as she sashayed around the room. Her friend gave her a loud, vigorous
ovation and regretted that they hadn’t video- taped the match. Next time, she said.

Oh?!?

Andy released my poor head and I collapsed to the mat, panting. Andy stood triumphantly over me, hands on her hips, tall and black, and, no other way around it, straight-out majestic. She decided that I’d had enough. Andy wondered if I’d be interested in doing a little boxing another time. I was not prepared for this, especially after the one-sided trouncing I’d just been given. She told me she’d use light gloves and wouldn’t go hard on me. Though I didn’t say yes, I’ll admit that, a few days later, the idea of donning gloves and sparring with the remarkable Andy was rather enticing.

Andy, truly the new women. Self-confident, bright, educated, athletic, and superior.

And she is not unique. She’s the woman in the next cubicle, on the subway, in the book store. On the subway home, I noticed two young women talking. They were attractive women, without attitude, enjoying their conversation. And as I watched them, I realized I was assuming certain feminine things about them which, frankly, no longer hold true in the year 2007.

And it’s only going to get better. Women are poised to take their inherent place at the top of the human pyramid. And we men will finally be able to assume our naturally subservient position in their wake.

Frank Butler

One woman whom I had been serving — in private, in public and on camera — Mistress Chocolate, felt it important that I sign a consensual slave contract. Which I did. And it is amazing how, immediately, there was an added depth to my submissiveness. I found myself striving ever harder to be everything she wanted in a slave.

Because I had been serving her on camera, she had me put together a page to be posted on the net, with an abbreviated contract. After it was posted, and had become quite popular, I found myself being contacted by other subs about the signing of such a contract.

I’ve added a link here, since the page is still up. Even though Mistress Chocolate and I are no longer Mistress/slave, she felt it important that it remain in the public sphere. Oddly, I no longer have contact with her, and there is no way for me to have the contract removed. It is on an endless loop, reaches 100,000 hits, returns to zero, and keeps churning along.

This site is aces! Thanks so much,

Frank Butler