Fate has a funny way of working. Not just sometimes, but all the time. Now I ain't a believer in destiny or all that hooey mystical shit but I do believe that fate. Fate in the less traditional sense, removed from all the supernatural, preordained, controlled by God or Jesus or Buddha, or whatever other God you worship and believe in. To me, it's just the way things work out and how they work out exactly how they should.
We are where we're supposed to be when we're supposed to be there. Then there are times when things that you had planned out to go one way, go another, but that, in turn, brings you to an entirely different, possibly more rewarding place. There are people you're meant to meet and people you aren't supposed meet, meant to come and leave within moments but as important as someone in your life for the whole of it. Then people leave but come back. Fate, this thing you cannot control and need to make the most of, has other plans for you because that's just the way it goes. You are meant to find things, be certain places, meet certain people for a reason.
Sometimes exactly what you're meant to get is a tweet and sometimes you're meant to say yes without much thought behind it. It all takes you to a match with a competitor that you've been wanting to face again for a long time. There are opportunities you simply cannot pass up.
The Superwoman Battle Royale is exactly that.
Her body occasionally twitches with the remnants of her third orgasm. I kiss her mouth, cheek, and forehead; she tastes of the sweet, salty sweat of sex. Satisfied, content, and a lot worn out, I begin to dismount her.
Porsche quickly weaves her legs around mine and wraps her arms tightly around my back. “Net,” she moans.
“What?” I ask, looking at her wet face. I push a few errant strands of sweat-soaked hair off her face, let them fall on her pillow. vg
“Stay,” she demands as she pulls me in closer, deeper, harder. Nearly all 160-some-odd pounds of my muscle, flesh, and fat rest atop her, our bare hot flesh pressed together.
I worry about hurting her and making it hard for her to breath or causing her to overheat. “Are you sure?” I ask.
Porsche might be tall, taller than me as a matter of fact, but overall, she’s such a petite thing compared to me. I’m a professional athlete, built to run, jump, fight, fly through the air in a ring while she’s a model and ring announcer, built to look, sound, and be smart and pretty inside a ring. Honestly, she couldn’t handle her own in a fight, other than kicking a dude square in the nads. That’s okay, though, she’s got me now to protect her and do all the fighting.
“Da. I like this,” she says softly, relaxed and tired, utterly and undeniably comfortable. Her eyes close. I’ve finally worn her out. This young lady seems to have boundless energy and a sex drive that might outmatch mine. Oh, to be in my 20s again. Soon enough, her breathing slows, takes on the rhythm of sleep. I kiss her cheek and chin and neck then rest my head against her chest.
↼ ⟡ ⇁
Porsche has her forehead pressed up against the top of my back, sleeping as hard as a stone. If I could be so lucky. The glowing-green digital clock on the cable box let’s me that it’s very late to some people and very early to others, that the bars are closed but the bread isn’t being delivered yet, that I have no reason to be awake right now. Other than that I could use some kind of hydration. My lover rolls over to the opposite side of the bed and curls up tightly on herself.
As I slip into my underwear and make the long but dark walk to the kitchen, I debate between having a beer or a sensible glass of water. Once at the kitchen sink, I decide that water would be best, given how much activity that I’ve engaged in recently and there will probably be more. Porsche can’t get enough of me and I’m all too happy to oblige. We’ve been going at like bunnies for two days now, something even I didn’t imagine possible but wanted, even in the smallest way.
I stare out the kitchen window into the darkness of the backyard and realize that at some point, and I would have no idea when as I’ve been preoccupied, it started to rain. I never expected for any of this with Porsche to happen. It all started so innocently enough but some things are just irresistible. All the way back to Zoey’s housewarming party.
She looked at me for a little too long. Okay, so she was staring at me, but in that ‘I’m not looking at you but I totally want you to see me looking at you’ kind of way. Of course I looked back at her, sly and cool, smiling that half smile and with that raised eyebrow I do so well. We were both interested in each other; she just happened to have noticed me first and ensured that I saw her too.
Zoey Adler took it the rest of the way and made the introduction. “AJ, this is Porsche, Porsche, this is AJ,” Zoey said, using her hand to signify who is who is and what is what as if we didn’t already know.
Porsche and I smiled at each other, shook hands in this delicate way, and said hello, nice to meet you, how are you, all those pleasantries, except hers was in a Russian accent.
“I once heard that if French is the language of love, then Russian is the language of war,” I quipped. It elicited a smile from her and that seemed to be enough. We spent a little more time chatting about our work and I offered to get her a fresh drink. Instead of just waiting for me to return, she followed me into the kitchen and got closer and closer, more and more flirtatious.
Until she wasn’t.
Not sure what happened but she suddenly backed away, excused herself, and disappeared for the rest of the night. I asked Zoey about her and Zoey just answered with, “she’s straight,” as if it meant anything to me. After that, never saw or heard from her again. That is until I started showing up in Miami and at ECWF. Then I signed a contract with ECWF. From there, it moved rapidly.
She remembered me and I remembered her. We both remembered our attracted to each other as well. Our time together was spent backstage, chatting and doing things friends do, doing things that people do when they’re courting the other. And I was doing a lot of courting of Porsche.
It was like being hit by a brick outta nowhere when I realized how much I wanted Porsche in a sexual way and how much I really enjoyed her company. She knew that, too, and took advantage of it. Not in a bad way, but yeah, she knew what she was doing.
After a little incident backstage that left Porsche injured and with a broken shoe (and me with a guilty conscious), I took her out to lunch and bought her a brand new pair of shoes. It would make a liar if I said that didn’t make excuses to touch her. With her tender and sore ankle, I would slip the shoes on for her, letting my fingers slide up her calf, linger longer than normal. I would stand, lean over her, let our faces come so incredibly close, to the point of kissing.
The kissing didn’t come until a little later, back at my place. We drank some wine, relaxed, and talked. She told me all kinds of stories, especially of her childhood, as I messaged her swollen ankle. She had lived through the last days of the Soviet Union, her parents were in the Red Army for most her childhood, and of all things, she wanted to be a Cosmonaut.
I couldn’t resist teasing her about how she couldn’t make it through even the paperwork stage of basic training. That’s when she kissed me. She kissed me.
She suddenly sprang forward, pressed her lips up against mine, and held them there for about five seconds. I kissed her back and as soon I did, she pulled away. She sat there, shocked at herself and embarrassed, holding her fingers against her lips.
“I’m sorry,” she said in the softest of tones. “I do not know…”
Before she could finish her sentence, I was kissing her. I had grabbed her by the side of her head and kissed her hard. We continued to kiss, making out on the sofa with the very edited for TV version of Bad Boys playing almost silently in the background. Every time that I tried to slip my hands under her shirt, she would push them back. When I tried to unbutton her pants, my hands were removed. Porsche was not interested in having sex and that was okay. I am perfectly okay with just making out.
Even in dark corners and closets.
And we sure did and still do.
The first time was nothing short of unexpected.
She was hanging out backstage, prepping for the show, and I was doing a whole lot of nothing and getting paid for it. I sleathfully slid up behind her and said, “hey, wanna makeout?”
“Yes,” she answered without a moment of hesitation.
“What?” I ask, not sure if I heard what I think I just heard.
“Da. Yes,” she said with more earnest.
Usually when I ask a woman if she would like to makeout, I’m brutally rebuked and they look at me disgusted. Never has anyone ever said yes so quickly before. She grabbed me by the hand and lead me into the first room she could find and it turned out to be a utility closet. So in this little dark room we went at it hot and heavy and this time, she let me cop a feel.
And I guess that’s how we got here, having finally fucked for the first time on my sofa with Jenny Lewis playing on repeat. Or at least I fucked her. The very first woman to ever fuck her and I fucked her good. Then I fucked her in the kitchen. Then on the floor. Back on the sofa. Then I made a suggestion and we did it in my bed in a whole different way for a long time.
“Hi,” Porsche says softly, coming up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist, and resting her head on my shoulder. “Everything okay, shchegol?”
“Yeah,” I say, using my free hand to hold hers. “Just thirsty.”
“Oh.” She takes the glass from me and finishes it off. She puts the glass in the sink.
I turn around to face her. “That was mine, little lady,” I say flirtatiously.
“I know something else that is yours,” she says as she drops her arms on my shoulders and around my neck.
“I can see that,” I say with a smile. I grab her and lift her up, hold her up by the ass. She wraps her legs around my waist.
“Can you do that thing again?” she asks and then kisses me on the mouth.
“I can do all the things again,” I say.
“Yay,” she squeals. I carry her off into the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind me.
...To Be Continued…
Right, Ms. Ryan?
It's our fate to clash one more time, perhaps for the last time. After all, I was supposed to retire last year but meh, I do what I want and we all know that. I mean, why else would I do these rumbles and battle royals and tournaments? They're kinda becoming my thing as of late.
Hey, everyone has a speciality.
Ms. Ryan, unless she's mixed it up, loves her thumbtacks. I love my rumbles. I have no idea what the other women love because, aside from other one, I have never faced a single one of them. In fact, I've honestly never even heard those names before. I'll take the hit for that one. Usually I'm very good with names and learning them, who they are, what they do and have done… This lot…
That either says something about them or me, though it's probably them. Ladies - and Stacy and Ms. Ryan, you already know this so you can go back to whatever you were doing for a bit - ladies, I'm old, yes, but I'm also a veteran which means I've done this a few fucking times before. How many have you done it? At the risk of sounding like a dick, you're not really why I joined this thing to start.
It's honestly about time that Stacy and I faced off. If I don't win this shit, I want you to win, Stacy. Though I won't hesitate to throw you over those ropes if it's down to you or me or the opportunity is there. We are some of the top women around and we are gonna kill it in that ring. Don't disappoint me. I know you won't. I won't disappoint you either.
Sometimes it's just meant to be.
Oh, Ms. Ryan… How I've missed you. It's about time I got the chance to even the scales with you, or at least get the chance to. If I beat you, when I defeat you, throw you over the ropes, that will be a win for me. Winning the whole thing would be great, but oh, baby, it's you got my focus on. You're my main target, my main reason for being here.
That's a high honor.
I saw your name and I just couldn't say no. We are some kind of perfect pairing, don't you think? Brought together to bring CWF one hell of a show. Girl, you know you missed me and what we do to each other when we're in that ring together. No longer will the people be denied what they've been longing for. For what I've been longing for for a long time.
You know you want it to.
And all these other ladies should feel blessed to be in the ring as us, Ms. Ryan and Stacy. Though they could surprise us. Ya never know. Things outside our control and all that. But I'm pretty confident I'm gonna do just fine.
See ya there, ladies.
"The concession stands are now selling those cheap hotel room round soap disks that I have personally blessed for $100’s a bar….AND SINNERS….I suggest you buy one, and use it, because if you think your God wants you in his heaven smelling like a 3am New York City uber ride you got another thing coming."