Fighting Wrath

by Jennifer Miller

Waiting for the water to warm up, I pause, flex slightly, and check myself out in the mirror. Hmm…looking pretty good, Martin. Rubbing my hand over the stubble on my face I decide to forego shaving. I’ll sport the five o’clock shadow look today. Showering, each drop that reaches my body stimulates rather than soothes. Reaching to adjust the showerhead pressure, I’m surprised to find it’s already set to maximum. I consider turning the tap to make the water cold in an effort to push back the desire I’m feeling, but instead decide my need for release is too strong. My cock is twitching just at the thought. Clutching the soap, I lather it up and run it over my body. Sydney – what I’ve seen and what I can imagine - enters my psyche again and my cock is quickly stiff and vertical clearly fond of where my thoughts are headed. Taking myself into my hand, I work myself up and down as I visualize Sydney wearing nothing but a smile. Blonde hair wet and slicked back from her face, large round, firm breasts that would be heavy in my hands, and heaven in my mouth, beckon me with their luscious pink nipples. Her small waist, offset by her toned abdomen, that lead to her perfect curvy hips and tight ass. And of course, those long, thin, shapely legs. Imagining touching and stroking her body and chasing the trailing water with my tongue, I grunt at the imagery. Squeezing my eyes tighter, the water disappears and instead she’s touching me, fondling me. Her fingertips explore the contours of my body. Her lips and tongue taste me; her teeth nibbling me in places that make me jerk and tremble with need. As I imagine her wet and soft body pressing up against mine, I groan loudly as I release into the water, coming hard enough to make me shiver.

  Breathing hard, I brace my hands on the shower wall, drop my head, and catch my breath. When my eyes open, I feel a twinge of loss as her image fades away. I finish up, step out of the shower, dry off and get dressed. Wishing I could forget about my responsibilities and track Sydney down to make my fantasy come true, I brew some coffee and consider the day before me instead. As I’m looking into my barren refrigerator thinking it’s past time I get to the store, my phone goes off alerting me of a new text message. Looking at the screen, I see the message is from Eli. It contains the time and place for a fight tonight, if I’m interested. Briefly, I consider calling him and telling him I’m not game for this shit and to not contact me about it again. But then I recall my rent is due in a week and acknowledge the extra cash would really come in handy for some ideas I have. So instead, my fingers move over my phone texting him back, telling him I’ll be there.

  I spend the day working on a car, lost in thought. Occasionally, thoughts of calling Eli and backing out of the fight bounce around my mind. While I’m training for the MMA, it’s stupid of me to do this underground shit. If Jax found out, he’d be so fucking pissed and I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want to train me anymore, let alone kick me off as one of the fighters supported by his gym. Hell, he’d be so infuriated he wouldn’t let my ass ever enter that gym of his. And physically? All it would take is one good kick or shot to break through my block and break a bone. I’d be out of the running. Done. All of my hard work and the investment Jax has made in me would go out the window. Shit, the right injury would require months of healing or rehab. And retraining? Jax wouldn’t give me the time of day. Even after I healed I doubt he’d be willing to ever work with me or endorse me especially considering how the injury would have been obtained in the first place. And Rowan? She’d be disappointed in me as well. Hell, she’d be irate. And enraged at what it would mean to Jax. I should call and cancel. I shouldn’t take the risk. I know I’m not invincible. I should; but I don’t.

  The day passes quickly and the next thing I know, I’m standing in the middle of the desert shirtless and ready to get this shit over with. The organizers of these fights take it seriously though; it’s well planned, carefully advertised, and the dollars at stake are high. Spotlights are hooked up to generators, lighting up the area where the fight will take place. Beyond the light, people move around like shadows, congregating in small groups, sharing opinions or known facts, placing bets and talking about the fighter they picked to win. A couple guys help park cars as people arrive. And there’s many. Invites are sent by text message only a few hours before the fight in order to manage the spread and prevent the wrong people from finding out. It’s anyone’s guess how many will actually show up, but they’re prepared for anything. Judging by the growing murmurs, tonight will be a good night.

  Eli’s behind me massaging my shoulders as if I’m Rocky and he’s my trainer. He seems too excited and into it for me to shrug him off. Excitement is clear in his voice, “This guy is undefeated so far,” he says talking about my opponent Hank. “If you beat him, there’s no limit to how many fights they’ll set up for you if you want them. It will rain dollar bills, man.”

  Not responding, I check out my opponent. He’s easy to pick out considering he hasn’t removed his eyes from me. He’s surrounded by people, but they’re all talking around him, not to him. He’s clearly too busy trying to look intimidating than to pay them any attention.

  “No doubt given his record, most bets will be placed against you tonight,” Eli informs me. “No one knows you yet. So, when you beat him, seeing everyone’s reactions will be fucking awesome.”

  “Well then, I guess it’s time to make some new fans.”

  “Fuck yes it is. I hear this guy is a sack grabber. People gave him the nickname Hank the Handler for it, so watch out for the low blows.”

  “Got it.”

  Hearing Jeffrey, the money guy, tell everyone he’s closing the bets in two minutes, I make my way to the center of the crowd that has gradually formed themselves into a large broken circle. Standing silently, arms crossed, I wait for the fight to begin. As people start to notice me standing here, groups quit socializing and break up their huddles. They assume the position; surrounding the fighters, making the large circle complete.

  As my opponent stands opposite me, Jeffrey does his shtick. “Alright motherfuckers, gather round. As always, the fight lasts until someone taps out, or one of you is no longer fighting back. Everyone, keep the circle, no interfering. Tyson and Hank, are you ready?” We each nod. “Alright, on my signal.” Standing, fists clenched and at my sides, on the balls of my feet, I’m ready. Jeffrey waves his hand signaling that the fight should begin.

  We begin circling each other. My eyes don’t move from Hank, and he gives me an evil grin. He moves in, and true to Eli’s warning, he tries to land a kick to my balls. I block it, and shake my head at him silently giving him a warning. We circle each other and the small percentage of humidity in the air is enough to make it feel sticky as hell. A sheen of sweat already covers me and I can feel it pour down my back. A drop falls into my eye making it sting, but I do my best to ignore it continuing to keep my eyes on my opponent.

  Once again, he kicks out with his right foot trying to land a shot to my junk. I’m not quick enough to block it entirely, and it lands on my chest instead. It makes me suck in a breath and breathing through it is painful, but I react with instinct and grab his leg, taking him to the ground.

  Rolling around on the ground, each of us wrestle for position. I finally dominate and nail him a good one in the face making blood spurt. I feel a moment of satisfaction, but he’s quick. Doing my best to keep him on the ground as we’re once again grappling, I feel him try to go for my nuts again. I’m full on pissed off now. It’s clear how he wins his fights, and as anger rolls through me in a wave of burning fire, I become more determined than ever to fuck him up. I don’t know if this asshole just enjoys copping a feel or what the fuck his deal is, but he’s not going to touch me again. Needing to end this now, I maneuver myself into a good position for a guillotine choke. As I apply pressure, he desperately tries to grab at my midsection. He’s like a skanky girl that resorts to bending fingers back and pulling hair to win a fight. Applying more pressure, I squeeze hard until he finally passes out and then I throw him off me.

  Eli appears immediately and pulls me to a standing position, raising my arm
in victory and yelling in excitement. “At least you didn’t beat your opponent to a bloody pulp this time.”

  “Only because I got tired of playing his fucking game. Did you see how many times he went for my cock? Prick.”

  Eli and I make a beeline to his truck as the crowd around me immediately moves out of my way to let me pass. A couple people dare to pat me on the back in congratulations but more than a few give me hesitant semi-scared smiles. I ignore them all, ready to collect my winnings and leave.

  Eli hands me a bottle of water and while I’m taking a drink I hear, “What the fuck, Tyson?”

  I nearly choke and stiffen, recognizing the voice immediately. Turning around slowly, I face the pissed off look on Ryder’s face.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Blowing air through my nose like a taunted bull, I scratch my chin and tilt my head to the side, “How do you want me to answer that question?”

  “Who the fuck is this?” Eli asks defensively.

  “This is my friend, Ryder. Calm down.” I put a hand on Eli’s chest when he threatens to move toward Ryder, likely wanting to get in his face. Turning to Ryder, I consider the question, uncertainty and confusion on his face and in his eyes. “Follow me.”

  I turn and walk away. Hearing the crunch of the earth beneath feet makes me know that Ryder’s following. Turning to face him, I take a deep breath before I look him in the eye. When I do, he doesn’t even give me a chance to speak first.

  “Tyson.” He sighs and looks to the side before looking back at me. “What are you doing? You’ve been training for the MMA. You’ve told Jax that you’re ready to get into the octagon, and he’s actively enrolling you in the next card. You know this isn’t smart, right?”

  “I know it isn’t ideal, but-”

  “Isn’t ideal? Are you fucking kidding me? You’re MMA, man. Not street fighter. One wrong punch or hell, one fight where you’re in over your head and everything you’ve been working toward is done. You’ve become my friend, yeah, but dude, Jax is my friend too, and what you’re doing isn’t cool.”

  “You can’t tell him. I’m serious, man. You can’t.” Ryder looks away and runs his hand through his hair. “Look. I can’t really explain why this works for me. Yes, I make some fast cash, but it also helps me…” I hesitate.

  “What? Helps you what?”

  “It helps me work out some demons, alright? The last thing I want is for you to be in the middle of this, and I’m sorry for that, but please. Don’t tell Jax. Just let me figure this out.”

  “Fine. I won’t. But the clock is ticking. And you need to work through whatever the fuck is going on like soon. Got me?”

  “Yeah. Believe me. I got you.”

  “Alright.” Suddenly a big grin crosses his face. “All that shit aside, you fucking kicked that dudes ass.”

  I’m in over my head. Between working, worrying about and trying to be available for Sammy, and the college class load this semester, I’m drowning. Why do I always do this to myself?

  I’ve been attending school off and on for the last three years. This back and forth college stuff isn’t ideal, but it’s the best I can do. I go through stages of being down on myself about it, but the fact is I can’t afford to take a full time course load.

  And as for Sammy, well, after the horror of Sammy’s new reality, it took me a long time to deal, and to let go of all of our well laid plans. I had to put college on hold, found myself suddenly alone mentally and physically and had to figure out how to move forward. Picking myself up off the floor was not easy. But Sammy needed me, he needed us, if he was going to get better.

  There’s no way I can work full time, attend college full time, and take care of Sammy too. At times I’m still astounded by the toll my new life can take. I’m exhausted. A lot. And Rena says I don’t laugh as easily as I used to. The thing is, I don’t have a whole lot to laugh about these days. My life has become a daily grind of getting through one day at a time and then confronting the next.

  Sometimes, I consider dropping out of college for good. And certainly, I have a brain – and other abilities – and I want to use them. So I have to keep going. Besides, the thought of my career never moving beyond erotic dancing, or let’s just say it – stripping - makes me want to throw up. Aside from the financial benefits, one of which is owning my own place, there isn’t really a future in that. Once I’m over a certain age and my body starts to change – and it will - I’m done. Not that I really want my future to be in stripping anyway. And the truth is that while I tell myself I’m not ashamed with what I do, that’s not entirely true. If it were I wouldn’t be so closed-mouthed about telling people what I do. I certainly can’t picture me proudly holding up a sign and advertising it or wanting to recruit and mentor others to this line of work. It’s not exactly a take your daughter to work day type of career. No, when that age old question of ‘what do you do’ comes up in conversation, the explanation is definitely is not an easy one. And sometimes I lie. How does one explain that stripping – this dancing I do - is only supposed to be temporary, just until I get through college and find a different job? Would people really understand that? Or believe that? Would they draw unfavorable conclusions about me – stereotype me - because of what I do? Of course they would. And, so far, temporary is a lot longer that I thought it would be. Sometimes it’s downright depressing. Ok I mean, it’s allowing me to pay the bills, save a bit of money and handle all my responsibilities, including taking care of Sammy, but isn’t there another way? Conversely, what do I care what anyone thinks? If someone doesn’t like it or can’t respect my choice and explanation then they can go fuck themselves. I don’t owe them anything.

  Frustrated with my wandering thoughts and aware of how often I wrestle with this dilemma, I toss my pen onto my notebook and heave a heavy sigh. Overcome with my extreme tiredness, stifling a yawn, I lift my arms over my head and stretch. I’ve been here for so long, I’m not even sure what time it is. I start to rifle through my bag to find my phone and maybe a snack if I have one, but am startled when I feel the table shake and the presence of someone across from me.

  Looking up, I’m immediately met with a cocky smirk, twinkling eyes, and a deadly as sin body belonging to Tyson. Again. This is seriously becoming kind of strange, he’s always showing up.

  “You sure look like you’re thinking awfully hard. And I don’t think it’s because of the books in front of you.”

  He places items on the table, then sits down without being invited and I feel a mixture of disbelief and happiness at seeing him. “How is it that you keep showing up here?”

  “How do you think? I’m stalking you.” He laughs and I find that I like the sound and automatically smile in response. He crosses his arms over his chest and grins. The move makes his muscles bulge and I can’t keep myself from staring. Yum.

  “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or creeped out,” I tease.

  He shrugs, “I can’t help it. You’ve been on my mind. I thought I’d stop by and see if I would be lucky enough to find you studying again.”

  Choosing to avoid his comment about being on his mind, I gesture to the items he sat on the table, “I guess you’re hungry?” He’s brought muffins, croissants, even a yogurt with fruit and a couple of waters.

  “Well, when I saw it was once again my lucky day and you were here, I thought maybe you might need some sustenance. How long have you been here anyway?”

  “Ugh, I don’t even know.” It looks like he bought one of everything at the coffee shop in the store. “This is really thoughtful.” I grab a muffin and take a bite, “Thanks,” I tell him knowing I should care about my mouth being full, but I don’t.

  He nods and smiles, taking a bite of another muffin. “I’m glad you’re not one of those chicks that acts like they’re too shy to eat in front of guys. It’s stupid. We know they aren’t some alien life form that doesn’t require food to survive.”

  “That’s definitely not me. I didn’t r
ealize how hungry I am,” I murmur. I lick my lips and his eyes track the movement. When he looks back into my eyes again, we stare at each other for a moment. I have a daydream of myself leaping over the table, straddling his lap and grinding into him while I taste his mouth with my own. Snapping out of my thoughts, I stumble over my words while trying to simultaneously shake the image from my mind. “Um… so… you don’t have to work?”

  “What?” His brow furrows and he seems confused. I can’t help but wonder if he had a daydream of his own.

  “Work. I guess I’m assuming you have a job?” Shit. Maybe that was rude of me to assume. I don’t know. Hell. “I mean, I guess I don’t really know, but I guess I figured that’s probably what you do during the day.” Smooth. I am so fucking smooth it’s like an art form.

  “Ah,” he leans back in his chair and smiles, “so you’re saying you think about me.”

  “No. That’s not what I said.” I take a drink of water to cover my smile at his words.

  “I have the day off.”

  “Huh?” Did he say something? Seriously, his arms are huge. I wonder how often he works out. Is it stupid to ask him how much he bench presses? Why do I even want to know? I wonder if his whole body is as… well defined as his arms? I flush from just thinking about that a little too hard. Mmm, hard. Wait! He said something. When my eyes meet his, he winks. Awesome. My humiliation is complete.

  “Work. You were asking me about work. Yes, I have a job. I’m a mechanic. I also rebuild classic cars on the side. Anyway, I have the day off today, and I should be in the gym, but I’ll go there later.”

  Is it wrong that I wish I could go observe his gym time? Yes. Yes it is. Focus. “Ah well, your day off is my good fortune,” I smile gesturing to the food, which he continues to dig into. My good fortune? What am I even saying? I watch his jaw move as he chews his bite. He has a healthy appetite. I wonder if his appetite is big for more than just food. Oh my god, again? What the hell is wrong with me?