2D Meat Visonary

"She looked at the wrestling room's open door; she breathed deeply and stepped inside. Immediately, she felt off-balance. Underfoot was a softly fleshy feel, and the wall sank under her touch when she leaned against it; she was inside a padded cell, the floor and the wall mats warm and yielding, the air so stifling hot and stench-full of sweat that she hardly dared to breathe.

"Shut the door!" said the man's hoarse voice - because wrestlers, she would later know, love the heat and their own sweat, especially when they're cutting weight, and they thrive when the walls and floors are as hot and giving as the buttocks of sleeping girls.

The batches of twosomes around the wrestling room were each locked in some violent tangle, the intent of each wrestler, in her eye, as deliberate and desperate as rape.
The wrestlers went suddenly limp, untying each other from each other with great slowness.

At fifteen, she had spend a lifetime of three-hour afternoons sitting in wrestling rooms, circling from New Amsterdam to Harlem Upper Manhattan, watching boys of many sizes sweat and throw each other around.

She would remark, years later, that spending her childhood as the only girl in a wrestling room had made her a reader. "I was brought up to be a spectator," She said. "I was raised to be a voyeur"."

(John Irving)