Essays

Hi Community,
this essay is for the most part from a thread,
I had started this one in May last year.

Predestination or autonomy?

Many of us will wonder where their obsession derives from. Is it connate or is it acquired by circumstances? To grow more acute: Disposition for the thing itself or genomic imprinting through a stimulus from the outside. I, for one don’t believe so much that some have a special genetic building plan which inevitably makes them catfightfans. The lust to fight is a natural attribute of man, no matter if male or female. Resulting from the times when human being was struggle for survive. The wisdom of nature managed it that things we need to do are things we even wanted to do. If it’s sex that is needed for conversation of mankind or if it’s joy on fight that is needed for the work out of skills. That’s why we love to fight somehow. In the animality is code-of-behaviour-fighting usable – it’s usually an acerb kinda tussle. But serious injuries caused by this shall be avoid because otherwise it became counterproductive. Human behaviour looks similar – at least it should. Additional it’s a human attribute to learn from examples. That’s why we love to spectate at this exercises and to appraise several techniques. Each one of us with the view of an expert.

Summary: The drives of fight similarly of sex lives in the same centre of the brain in friendly neighbourhood without having harm with each other normally. But I won’t start a ‘scientific paper’, that was simple pseudo look alike. I only wanted to point out the narrow affinity of both drives. So how can turn from one like me, what I am? A short life-story could give information:

I was born in 1948. Therefore I’m three month older than the Federal Republic of Germany and grew up with this new founded republic. Three weeks after my birth I got a heavy neurodermatitis appeared with me, whereabouts unavoidably made me to wider in the maternity clinic. Well, then no cortisone was available to deal with this problem. And the attending physicians never heard anything about neurodermatitis. They tried to combat my disease as ‘cradle cap’. And that means my nutrition changed over to pap boiled in buttermilk *spit*. To fight the latent itchiness the nursling became to simplify matters fixed with arms and legs onto his crib. I bet that were cloudy days for me. The only arlternation in this barren ambience were perhaps the charming baby nurses, spending a little care and affection to me, I presume. They gave me the urgent needed nurture and share of kindness and affection, too. I’m sorry to say it, but likewise they gave me the finally immobilization back I’ve had before. That means I was handcuffed to my bed again to prevent me from that back-breaking itch. Baby nurses already then had a lack of time to care for their fosterlings. I bet most of you understand yet now.
Most of the people I’d told about this predisposition of mine told me that for sure in the meantime I had become a bondage-fetishist. Paradoxically I ain’t. I prefer f/f and I won’t let from it. Except the case it was f/m and I’m the m in it. Besides that leaves me rather cold.

Let’s take a ride down Memory Lane to my early childhood: Primal traces of commemoration started at the age of five. And yet this time – that’s noteworthy – I was nuts to watch little girls’ tussles. An early developed distinctive voyeuristic intention led me to scent and find such specific situations. For example here is one of this infantile fantasies from the early childhood I can remember yet somehow: A little girl (imagine children between the age of four and eight) managed to defeat me in a kinda wrestling match. We were surrounded by a bunch of contemporary girls. The victress lifts up my bodice and points on my tiny nevertheless erected willie. Blimey! What wrecked rascal I was! By-and-by my preferences changed. But I always attended if there was a hearty fight between the girls to ogle. If this happened at school or at home in the neighbourhood: My radar eyes were immediately on the spot if somehow somewhere something got initiated. The outcome of this maybe is my fixation about the skirts which girls kindly have to wear on this occasion whilst fighting. It was custom then. And it was sexy also. So I was up to one’s mischief , drifting aimless trough the years of my childhood and if one wanna tell me something about this so called ‘latency period’ I’ll only have to laugh at him. Without any doubt infantile sexuality is a topmost value and we have to protect it wherever it’s needed. But that’s not a theme of my disquisition. Chatting up children is a crime and freaks acting so are swine. Period!

We gonna talk about my puberty now and get closer by and by to that thing that’s called libidinous behaviour. I was no longer satisfied with an observatory status. Of course I wanted more sensory thrills. I became daredevil and dreamt that I would challenge a girl for having a bout with me. Fate’s attitude was benevolent these days. The accident came to my rescue, dear Karin, joined us boys unexpectedly when we lads had a rampage on a neighbour’s meadow and did playful wrestling. She was 13 y/o and I was 14. There was a lot of pubescent in the air, I bet. “May I participate?” this sweetie pie asked in all her innocence guileless. Of course she could! Instantly I was looking after to instruct her in this special field. Lucky circumstances: We could extend our wrestling games for several weeks. Sometimes she came accompanied by her girlfriend Anette together with her sister. And that meant besides f/f in this beautiful wide skirts baggy by a petticoat it got for a change because I could teach Anette some good tricks. I had beautiful days and IMHO they could last forever. But as it always is in stories written by life, the doom stood just a step aside. To display itself it acts as Karin’s little brother. He told their parents about the things we both arranged then. They were strict catholics and natural born kill-joys. They took poor Karin in a kinda corrective training and further on for her it was a no-go-area to meet me. She’d got a proper guilt complex, this poor girl, so she was belaboured. Unfortunately this episode ended and our friendship together with our childlike innocence was past, too. Once and for all.

But an explorer’s curiosity won’t weaken such artless. I had to aim new targets and I had to look for new alternatives to calm the urgent. I have to admit that wasn’t easy. This days the view of the world dictates a seemly behaviour to all the women.. It was entrenched and far and wide was no one of the ordinary people who would have tried to go to the bottom of it. So I’d got a banana problem because there was far and wide no girl in sight which could embark upon something with my odd affectations. By today I get sick by liking circle skirts with bombastic wide petticoats. It’s like as if electrified by thinking on fights with girls wearing this dress code. At ‘fightingwoman.de’ once such fights have been posted. Log in and have a look, maybe some pics remained.

Oops, I stray from the subject. I wrote about the outer- and the underwear worn as usual these days. In spite of the enthusing appearance of such dolled up girls they had no idea of getting zealous to please with guys like me. Their minds were surrounded by this awful kitsch which was an integral part of the ‘German Schlagers’ that implies the hits in the german charts then.
They dreamt from Rex Gildo or Thomas Fritsch (both were important persons in this scene). Girls became very aggressive if you told them the absolute correct cognition this two guys were gays and impenitent queer. You’d earned a lot of nagging. At an outside estimate. But a catfight? Never ever! All that left was peeping tom to pull through.
But in the darkest deep night sometimes a light shines up. And this appears in the shape of an idea: I’ve got a female cousin and I knew she never prevented – in our childhood at least – to blunder into a wrestling match. It was more likely she asked for those troubles because she was looking for the limits of her abilities, self-awareness and all this things that lusty people wanna find out. I lost against her when I was a little brat. Hardly surprising – I was 8 y/o and she was 12. How could I resist and achieve success?

So I zoom my interests in on my female cousin. I’d got a mighty fine starting point. She’d once defeated me in a wrestling match and even if this was unsurprising I pretended so with my youthful luscious years of age. I challenged her for revenge. I acted in accordance with this outrageous incidence. I was claiming my concupiscence. I was certain that she surely would answer my prayers with all my juvenile greenness. What ridiculous! Now I had to learn how massy a conditioning can work. I received the whole catalogue of brickbats booked for evil sex fiends then. That’s what you think! 1963 won’t become a good year for those who thought it was easy to coerce a young lady for wrestling matches just for fun. Less than ever if they’re standing around, show pure fidgety and act badly pubescent, babbling absolute nonsense. Yep, it became real agonizing. All that left was to beat a retreat. And I had to find a new concept. We would say today: Let’s compile a roadmap. I cogitated, what was the destination and how could I achieve it. A whole lot of contrarieties stood in my path adjunct to taboos. I saw a frontline of cumulative resistance. But how could I carry the enemy’s positions? I’d chosen the subversive kind. I started to weaken the dogmas by impeachment and asked her for sexual equality. Told her how many women (already then) had their own ways in typical male professions. I talked this stereotyped ideas of female behaviour down wherever I could.  Prattled about ‘housewives’ who seen their dreams come true by making happy their lord and master as well as the sweet swarm of children. This wasn’t too much complicated. In the postwar period (the comedown of the third reich) women already had learned that they’re able to rebuilt a polity without all those ubiquitously mighty men. They’d forgotten it as the first prisoners of war went home. Worse luck! But the rubble women passed on their experiences to the next female generation. In spit of: Restoration of patriarchy could start again for a long time.
So the difficulty wasn’t to talk her out of a ladylike accordant conduct, it was more heavy to clarify to which extent there were anything common with wrestling me.

‘I would act out of my character’ she argued. ’That was quite impossible!’ – ‘A girl doesn’t do that!’ This and akin refutations were served.
‘You should simply give it a try’, I replied to her objections. ‘Then you could decide about it.’
I wanted to arouse hers curiosity about a thing she feared or – at least – discomfits her. Well, the only thing that worries me in this context: I left her in somewhat vague terms relating my well hidden agenda of sexual intentions. Apart from that: How could one expect from a 15 y/o boy that he’s able to articulate his needs resulting from his arousing virility. He’d died for shame. Leastwise he’ did then.
To cut a long story short: I got my personal event. She became a little inquisitive and agreed. So we fought thrice with each other. I wrote a book about it but never ever it’ll be published. So don’t ask for.
By the why: We did it three times. I achieved one win and had to suffer two defeats. That’s quite rightly. But how? Well, as I gained that success it happened more by accident. I faked a lot to lose because I was afraid otherwise I could put her off. But we have to keep this secret. Finally her self-confidence became an enormous boost by bearing the palm. I grant each girl her feeling of success.

And before I tell you about my feeble attempt to start a life in trying to become gentrified with my passion I have to couch about a sort of timeframe that opened itself among the matches I had with the female cousin and the next chapter of my story. After my plans with Evelyn (that was her name) were carried out  I became conscience-stricken and was very ashamed somehow about my drive. Even so I got all I wanted I wasn’t so happy about it. I felt a kinda hangover. Indeed much later Evelyn told me (as I made investigations about the subject of my novel in the late nineties) that she also felt a sexual thrill in a non-negligible way whilst we wrestled each other. This means she likewise enjoyed it by all means. But then I was blissfully ignorant then. Plagued by bad feelings of guilt I bore the strong aspiration she’d overlooked the arousal of my sexuality. O sancta simplicitas! Of course she detected this strange bulge on the characteristic place of my pleated-front trousers. She felt it whilst fighting and classified it consequently as right as rain. However, as she confessed in our conversation of the late years: She was delighted by the circumstance that she was able to cause such excitement of her cousin that implicated cross eyes. So what! I ain’t got no idea of this and was busy with this crazy thought that my condition was truly buried and well hidden, concealed from her curious eyes. Finally I thought I slated her for savage satisfaction of my confounded urge.

So to say I wasn’t proud about my achieved results. As time went by I kept out of mischief and finished in-service training.  In the meantime by and by the climate of public opinion changed. I saw the dawning of the year 1965. It was accompanied by Rolling Stones, Yardbirds, Pretty Things, Animals. They were hardcore against the Beatles i.e. their sound was innovative while the fab four was pure mainstream (She loves you, I wanna hold your hand and akin horseplay). First loafers were seen (to call them bums were a wrong item, loafers were youngsters with similar attitudes). A tabloid – called ‘BILD-Zeitung’ – published snidely headlines about it. First joints rotated. I toke one, got soon high and found out that in a druggy condition I prefer to fondle sexual approach. Sudden I became cross-over with my old fondness for tussling girls. I became a hippie and favoured ‘love and peace’ over ‘street fighting’. It’s all in all an abbreviated description. But I have to mention it for the understanding of my way, too. But I didn’t come to terms with dope in the long run. I wanted all or nothing. All I got was nothing. It ain’t much homey in the world of dope city. Too much heartedness is around there, too much friends got an overdose and died without any sense. I’d got a lot of unearned luck that I’d escaped a withdrawal treatment. I simply stopped it. Fortunately I’m not inclined to do addiction.

So I grew back to mother earth. 1974 arrived and I got to know a girl that convinced me it was good anyhow to be married with each other. I was devoted anyhow and had a crush on her. But there was another basically more important circumstance: Goddamned! She knew how to wrestle and acted so teachable that she sometimes could manage it to restrain me definitely down on the floor. She was a damned good pal and she is until today. I short: Even if a marriage certificate isn’t on my wavelength (much too white-bread) we got hitched.
We’ve got ground floor lodging with street number 7 and even seven cats shared this abode with us. So we lived in a ‘cloud-cat-land’ (an allusion of cloud-coockoo-land) and were nearly auspicious.

Marvellous years came for my fetish now. My wive Eliza was his fulfilment. A fight day was planned at least once per week. Our matches were hard but fair and I don’t know, who how often has won. I hadn’t to feign, so as if at her. I fought seriously exerting combats for an overcome  and this often was left much little to be desired. Truthfully: Sometimes it ended in an inferior position for me. No need to simulate anything because I got defeated througout. The best of all: We were both most sapped by this matches. After an adequate rest period we could have normal sex with each other. And without any exaggeration, this amounted to a real revelation.

C’mon! On with the story, I’m getting tired. In our circle of friends then there were two were Monikas, also splendid Girls which both were good on the ball. At that time (1976) an arcane enterprise was on tour cross-country. They also stopped in Düsseldorf (my hometown). The event was called a little flamboyant: Damen-Catchen (that meant all-in-wrestling or catch-as-catch-can for ladies). As follows the local press noted: ‘Savage screaming women throwing each other down to the floor. However, to hit the donnybrook’s peak there’s a bear within and brave visitors could dabble in with, too.’ As we see: This was an axiomatic object of virtu then. It sounded like fun fair, nothing for take seriously. People like good old Oswalt Kolle laboured hard for facts of life or sex education of the dozy people. He’d tried this with some silly films and more better books. Günther Ahmend’s ‘Sexfront’ was a lot more articulated. It pointed facts up and no doubts were left. In spite of: The world view than was lashed in yesterday with an accordingly behaviour of females. However – this event impended. Eliza, Monika 1 and me planned to go there. But something intervened, that’s why we stood at home. I expressed my fairly regret about it because we passed fun up. Abruptly Monika 1 suggested she and Eliza could give a match a chance. O how strained I tried to play my apparently interests down and answered as if I was very noninvolved: ‘Whatever you think …’

Both had bandy looks, a short nod and already they were clinched with each other. No opportunity offered itself to hide my surprise. Under the zip-fastener of my jeans something testily was deeply stirred. It wanted to cleave throug the narrowness of the trouser leg. It was a tight one, a la mode et dernir cri, mais oui! So I jumped up in search of an uncontroversal hideout to spiff up this eye-catching mishap that sticked out in the quarter and with it in other people reception, too. I won’t describe the fight for now. The topic is not catfight-stories. Just this: Eliza prevailed because Monika 1 was a lousy fighter. But she knows how to succumb to an adversary. She proved real good endurance. She needed a whole quarter of an hour before she condescended to admit her defeat. Several times the game was repeated but it always ended in the same quick way and was only delayed by the stamnia of Monika 1. So soon the girls and I got bland by it. By reason of it became uneventful, it simply slitted up. It became ticked off – likewise from me, too – without regrets. The fights Eliza had with me were much more thrilling.

Before we’re gonna write about Moni 2 I wanna put a question on you out there: Do you know this feeling of boundless boredom in your head and your imagination throws you little by little into the realms of sexual fantasies? In the centre of attention is the ‘ultimate fight’, isn’t it? How does it look like, what’s corresponding, what details belonging to it? An egregious chainreaction of connotations may follow with such a momentum to stoke a plant. Some try to couch it in stories, writing on and on as mad as a hatter. Others take a pencil and with a twinkle of an eye waste paper baskets run to overflow with failed scribbles. They put drawning on paper about the one and only ‘real thing’. Latterly they tried their’s best with Poser 3-D-animations. I must admit rarely I take to it. Pure second hand emotions. Only a whiff of the inspiration a painting can show. It only can become better. It was an Austrian (Andre Heller) who said: ‘Real adventures are in your head. If they aren’t they are nowhere.’ For hours I could get busy with reflections about that ‘real thing’, too. Sometimes my lawful wife Eliza left me alone and went away to visit her grandparents in Sauerland (a German region). Time enough to crank up my inner projector.

Yep, I basked in scenes searching for others like it. I bet each one of us know about this. That’s our common denominator. No matter how different the rest may be.

And now let’s have a look on Moni 2. I knew her from the days when I strayed around the downtown of Düsseldorf lurking for sine qua non: I hoped for salvation via dope containing THC, you know the thing that usual dissolves into a whaft of mist in your brain. LSD was also a suitable possibility to evade this damned yearning for girls in wrestlings. I told it yet. Moni 2 roamed around there, too. We digged each other but we were too much stoned to start any liaison. But we kept in touch and met each other continious. She was a student of the graphic art, studying on the local academy. Joseph Beuys had cachet then. His sentence: ‘Each one is an artist.’ It’s simply divine I guess. Each one of us got creativ capabilities. Have a look inside yourself and boost it out.

Some fine day Eliza, Moni 2 and me sat together and babbled like we were fond to doing so. Moni 2 narrated whom of our combined aquaintance were vanquished by her in playful wrestling matches. Hannes, Kuddi, David, Siggi, however they were named. Loudmouthed she swaggered about it. So my ears began with nervous twitches by listening to all this heroic deeds. But now she gained the top and told us about a man who once was her lover. He once were loathly to do coition, so she overpowered him without further ado and raped him. That were her words.
‘Ho!’, I thaught, ‘I know that’s absolutely feasible and possible it’s also. But now I’m gonna fake as if I won’t believe it.’ That’s why I claimed my so-called nagging doubts. Eliza sat there grinning and let alone apart from that. As I’d planned: Now we started quarreling and I deputised the accepted opinion. Notabene: Not my own. I acted quasi as an advocatus diaboli. I learned a lot about Monis world view and I enjoyed the detected news. We had an endless debate (it was essential then because of the political climate), we appointed positions and we confessed emotions until we got drunk by our babbling filled with consternation. Remember the times: 1977 we tried to found a better world and we believed we could. At last we resumed that we agreed with each other. Eliza shortened this ritual procedure monumental and said: ‘Frank loves to wrestle, too. So why don’t you start a match now?’
I have to avow I scrambled a victory. Moni was well versed and able-bodied. When she had to swallow her defeat she started anew and thrashed her’s opponent in a jiffy.
We had several re-matches, too. To my digrace every now and then I became defeated by her. She was a real hottie, fast as lightning without any primness. If she gained an advantage for starters she never ever handed it over. Eliza and me could learn a lot from her. That were the fights to note them in the margin. They ain’t the heart of this essay. I wanted to explain how to get a bias and how to handle it without to indulge in sexual perversion.

Our daughter was born in 1981. So my wrestling-beatitude came to an end a little earlier. I became an uxoriously careful father and I loved it. It was a homebirth and I was very involved in it because there were complications with a breech presentation. There were a midwife old as the hills and a female doctor, old alike the other one and additional almost blind. It wasn’t quite the optimum. That meant I was busy with applying a heavy pressure on the mother’s alvus to twist the unborn baby’s arm to get out of there. But I don’t believe that most of you were interested in such details from the being of an obstetrician. So I cancel it. It was only mentioned to clarify my strong emotional attachment to my daughter.
Whilst the following years Eliza and me driftet apart by and by. Uexpected we met again in different worlds. In bilateral agreement we decided to go apart and to share the child custody.
All went well, everything’s easy? Of course it ain’t. Anything is always in the air, isn’t it? But I guess it could become a worse end.
Well, this was nicnac’s story. Sorry for my prolixity. Self-exposers: There’s no holding them back. Take my excusions for all the mistakes I’ve made. Please feel free to adjust me where I’m wrong. I would be grateful if you do so. This is the reason to post it in the general discussions board. So you can corrigate this rubbish.
Now you know about my personal idiosyncrasy.
I hope my example incites others to follow suit. I’m very interested in other experiences.

Best wishes to all whom it may concern and to all the others, too

nicnac

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