Feinting Spells 4-5
from Salt Forged Stories
Early November, That Year
Tensions are high at a gym near Los Angeles, California. Women from the gym and beyond are gathered in the MMA cage looking to make new friends and hash out their differences. In particular, all except for one of them attend the same college nearby. Mary, a hardnosed boxer has just challenged Jamila, one of the visitors and a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu specialist, to a sparring round. Who wins in the classic boxer vs submission grappler matchup?
Mary vs Jamila
Theresa leaned close to her chemistry labmate to listen to Simone as they watched Jamila and Mary trade blows in the middle of the cage. Mary had a height and reach advantage over the curvy grappler, but the few shots Jamila threw landed. All the advice Simone gave her friend seemed to ask her to do more: move around more, throw more jabs, move her head more, attack more. More, more, more.
By contrast, Mary's friends seemed content to cheer her on. All they wanted was more of the same.
Theresa watched Mary back Jamila down and then dig another left hook beneath her arms and into her side, eliciting a grunt. Even a novice like Theresa could see that it was always Mary advancing and Jamila scooting straight back or to the side, out of Mary’s way. The Latina college senior looked indomitable, unstoppable. Theresa wondered if she’d seemed that way to Jennifer when they'd fought earlier that school year.
“Work that kick, Jazz! Work the angles! She’s got nothing but straight lines!” Simone called out from her seat in the corner of the MMA cage. Jamila took that one to heart and promptly took a half step around Theresa’s coach and uncorked a kick into Mary’s side. The stout Filipina slugger recognized it as the same kick Simone had taught her 15 minutes earlier.
It took a few more iterations for Mary to figure out the position and timing and then feed Jamila a sharp right the next time she tried the kick. Jam wobbled for a moment as she backed away. Theresa wondered what she was thinking…
Fuck that noise
The words blared out in Jamila’s head as she backed away. She’d boxed with this girl, traded leather and tried everything Simone had called out. But she felt that last punch through her mouthguard and decided that stand up striking was not a long term viable strategy. Not with this monster.
“Awww, pobrecita! I think you just realized what stepping in the cage with me means, meatball. Not so fun anymore, is it?” Mary taunted as Jamila circled warily. “I’m not like Rebecca or Kelsey; I don't play games; I just hurt people. Well come on, let's see if you even last the whole round. I wanna see if you're as soft as you look!”
Mary dashed toward her with a speed belied by her impressive muscles and fired a heavy punch at the stout grappler. Jamila absorbed it on her arm, mostly, and immediately sought to wrap up the burly boxer. “Aww, what happened to all that fire? Am I too rough for you?” Mary jeered.
“Just keep watching.” Jamila assured her.
Rebecca was strong; that much was certain, but the blonde had also been a willing grappler. She and Jamila clinched almost immediately, each certain they had the advantage. By contrast, Mary seemed to enlist every muscle in her body to detach her body from Jamila’s grasp. She shook herself free and sought to renew her punishing assault but a second effort from Jamila finally brought the fight to the floor.
“So you’re just like those two sluts..” the Latina brawler spat, clearly referring to Rebecca and Kelsey. “So much for you being a warrior.”
“Nothing sexy about it. It’s just Jiu Jitsu” Jam replied through gritted teeth. She had to admit: on the ground Mary fought like a woman who didn't want to be there, and who knew the basics of how to escape and get the fight back standing. Mary tried several different methods to escape. Unfortunately, Jamila rolled through the requisite positions with a practiced efficiency until Mary was face down on the mat, her shoulder bent precariously under the ebony fighter’s leg. Jamila held Mary's trapped wrist as well, and her free hand rested on the waistband of Mary’s plaid skirt.
“This is an Omoplata” Jamila declared loud enough for the whole cage to hear. “Nothing sexy about it. But if you plan to throw any punches with this arm for the next two months, you should tap out now.”
Mary growled audibly, and when her attempt to escape was preempted by the black girl torquing her arm ever so slightly, Mary tapped the mat twice with another audible growl. Jamila held the submission for a moment longer before she untangled herself from Mary, who rose to her feet immediately, rolling her shoulder around gingerly.
“What's wrong, Mary? Am I too rough for you?” Jamila mocked as she massaged her aching side.
“I figured you couldn't keep up without that pattycake shit” Mary shook her head. “I'm a boxer. You all can have all that wrestling shit.”
“Yeah well, I did Brazilian Jiu Jitsu for years before I ever threw a punch, so I guess we're even.” Jam smiled. “I know I’ve got a lot to learn but at least Simone’s nice about it: it feels like you’re actually trying to hurt me…” Her smile turned wary and she brought her hands up as the boxer approached again.
“I think I understand,” Mary smirked, “But Simone’s nice to you because she's soft. Whether it's a training session or a fight, there's no point pulling punches and sugarcoating everything. Fighting is painful. If you don't want that, find a new hobby…”
“You’re one of those, eh?” Jamila grimaced, partially from her words, and partially from the jab she absorbed. “You sound like the assholes at my last gym.” Jamila muttered as she lashed out, fueled by anger at the mention of the school she'd left early the year before. Now it was Mary's turn to grimace as a swift kick slapped against her thigh.
“And you sound like the type to run around until you find someone who’ll treat you with kid gloves and coddle you.” Mary came over the top of Jamila’s guard with a left hook but ate a knee to the gut on her way in.
Jamila tied Mary up again; those fists into her abs hurt. Mary jostled with her and broke free, but not before eating a few more knees into her legs and stomach. “Nah, I just want to train at a place that treats me like a person, not a soldier, not a slab of meat.”
“Whatever, softie.” Mary scoffed as she muscled some daylight between them and rifled yet another hard shot into the stocky wrestler’s breadbasket.
Theresa Bayan could hear them trade opinions and punches from where she sat in the cage. Watching Mary go all out against someone else was fairly terrifying; Mary was unstoppable, menacing, a bully in the ring. Her coach was a problem that Jamila couldn’t quite solve outside of taking Mary off her feet entirely. She was gaining an appreciation for Jen's struggles against her. But Theresa felt her heart rise into her throat as she considered their views: Mary had taught, was teaching her to box, but Jamila’s viewpoint made so much more sense. She’d never considered that there might be an alternative to your coach yelling at you and Mary certainly hit her, hard, during their sessions. The gruff senior had called it “Tough Love” but it felt more like abuse to Theresa. She made a mental note to ask Jamila where she trained…
“Keep talking and I'll take that arm home with me.” Jam threatened, moving from Mary’s front to her side and gripping her shoulder, reminiscent of the earlier submission.
“Don't worry, I’m about to let you have it!” Mary growled. She pushed the black girl off her with a shrug and watched her surprise when Jamila found herself suddenly against the cage. The college senior pinned her there with a shoulder and tenderized her unprotected side with a few heavy shots.
Jennifer McCowan watched in relative horror at the way Mary bullied Simone’s friend all around the cage. The black girl found success here and there and had even made Mary tap out once, but when they were standing it was clear that Mary was doing what she wanted and the other girl was merely doing what she could.
The Seattle native wondered with mild alarm if her and Theresa looked like this when they fought. It was bad enough that her roommate had a clear strength advantage over her, but watching Mary punish a girl who was shorter and weaker than she was just felt like abuse. As Jen nervously tucked her chin into her knees she knew one thing:
She had to find a way to fight, no, beat up, girls who were stronger than she was.
Perhaps Kelsey had noticed her trepidation, because the slender Asian woman leaned over to her and whispered “Wanna know what she’s doing wrong? You wanna know how to shut down girls like Theresa and Mary?”
The English major nodded enthusiastically and listened intently….
The phone alarm they’d been using for a round timer went off and Jamila slowly unwound herself from her training partner. She’d finally relented and brought the action back to the mat again, unwilling to allow Mary more opportunities to rearrange her internal organs. She’d had another simple submission all but secured when the round ended. Now she’d regretted not working that much faster to lock it in when she had the chance…
“Hey meatball” Mary shot.
“It's Jamila. Get it right, ho.” Jamila’s voice carried an uncharacteristic edge as she looked up to the source of the insult.
“Jamila eh? Well I'm Mary. Good shit, bitch; that was fun.” Mary offered a thin smile and an open hand to the still seated Jamila and helped her to her feet. The two exchanged a dap and Mary turned back to her friends while Jamila conferred with her excitable gymmate.
“I want her.” Simone grinned like a buzzsaw.
“What?”
“I want her, Jazz. I’mma take her legs off. I think I’mma actually hurt her. She's acting like those kicks don’t hurt, like her legs are steel. Well you can call me ‘Lil miss blowtorch.’” Simone’s smile was wide and predatory as she gnawed on her mouthguard.
“Oh God, Simone; that joke was Advil. And c'mon; I thought you wanted another crack at the blonde. Now this?” Jamila Hayes knew that the longer they stayed, the more likely tragedy would occur. It was past time to leave as far as she was concerned.
But the Caribbean grappler had learned that dissuading Simone was a fool's errand: when Yolanda’s daughter set her eyes on a fight, it generally happened, whether or not it was ill considered. And talent like hers ensured there weren't enough beatdowns in her past to break her of the habit.
As Simone strode across the cage to pick a fight with the bruiser, Jamila said a short prayer, hoping that leaving here wouldn't entail carrying Simone home in any capacity.
“Hey! You! Boxer chick” Simone called out, her braids bouncing softly.
“Need something, slut?” Mary turned to answer her.
“If she didn't chew up your leg too badly, wanna go a round? I think your style would be fun to fight against.” Simone had a kinetic energy, the heat and warmth and light of an open flame.
“You still want to fight, after the beating I put on your fat friend? Really? Well I guess this way you'll both have matching bruises. Get ready….”
“Simone Waterson” the fighter answered brusquely. “And like I told you: I grew up throwing hands. Boxing, kickboxing, Muay Thai, whatever. I want this. No Mexican style boxers in my gym, so this’ll be fun.”
“Damn, I really don’t care. I don’t want your life story or your hospital bills, slut…” Mary remarked, cracking her knuckles again…
Mary vs Simone
A minute later and the pair were circling warily.
“No takedowns, no wrestling.” Simone announced, pumping a jab into the empty space between them.
“No complaints here, snowflake.” Mary jeered. “But actions speak louder than words. You can try whatever you want: this beatdown is non-negotiable”
“You think you want that smoke. You’re wrong, but it’s cool- wait, you don't mind me trying something? Oh, this is gonna be lit!”
Theresa watched her friend and coach waste very little time measuring each other out. Mary approached much like she had against Jamila, but Simone moved in and out of her way with a fluidity that her stocky gymmate couldn’t match. Theresa also noticed that Simone’s stance looked entirely different than it had against Rebecca or Kelsey: instead of her normal MMA stance she almost faced sideways, though she tucked her chin into her left shoulder and looked at Mary. Simone now kept one glove by her ribs and flicked it out like a whip while her right hand remained by her chin, armed and loaded. The stance looked extreme, made more so by the fact that Simone’s right and left gloves were differently colored. The black sophomore bobbed and weaved around Mary’s red gloves, never allowing Mary to hit her flush and ensuring she gave the college senior plenty to consider as well.
Theresa swore that she heard Jamila next to her mutter about “Shell…” something or “flicker” something in an exasperated tone but didn’t ask her to clarify.
Instead Theresa watched on in awe as the pair clashed: Simone was constantly moving, punches coming in bursts. Her labmate’s left hand was a blur and though Mary kept advancing, Simone never seemed like she was running from her. Rather, Simone seemed to float around the muscly boxer, stinging her. But Mary pursued the sophomore with cruel intent, her punches tight and crisp, never leaning or wobbly or off balance. Mary was a terror in her own right. And she was beginning to win their exchanges. Fewer and fewer of those wihplike jabs and rocket right hands found an undefended home while Mary pounded Simone in the stomach on several occasions
They kept at it, Mary patient and consistent while Simone dodged and responded in violent bursts. The cocky sophomore ducked beneath a sweeping hook from Mary and once again landed two, three solid punches only to get caught flush by a left to the body and a vicious right hand that broke her rhythm and sent her staggering back.
“Damn!” Simone remarked as she recovered and stood upright. “I guess it’s not quite finished yet. I really thought I had you there.”
“Not in a million years, snowflake. All that prissy Philly Shell shit doesn’t matter to a real boxer.” Mary growled.
“A real boxer? Well damn, I'll make sure to be careful if I ever meet one of those, Maria” Simone taunted in response, her smile obstructed by her red and white mouthguard.
“Mary, Snowflake. The name is Mary.”
“Ehh, same ish.”
“Fuck you too, slut.” Mary’s jaw clenched and her fists tightened. Behind Simone Mary watched her two friends fail to stifle their laughter.
“Ahh, come on; lighten up, Martha. Don’t be so boring. I thought we were having fun learning how to punch each other.” The sassy sophomore beamed. “Alright, alright, I tried being a boxer. You’re better than me at that… by a little bit… for now.” Her eyes narrowed. “Ready for me to get serious and start using all my other limbs too?”
“You can try whatever you want, snowflake. It’s not gonna help. You step in the cage or the ring with me, you get hurt. It’s simple. Easy to remember.”
At that, Theresa watched Simone abandon her previous, sideways, boxing stance and resume the familiar one she’d used to get the best of Kelsey earlier that afternoon. Mary just shook her head and approached, guard tight as ever. Simone crossed the distance between them in one step and where Mary expected to duck an incoming punch, the black girl instead leapt towards Theresa’s coach, burying her knee square into Mary’s chest. The force of the blow sent Mary staggering back and she recovered just in time to prevent Simone from slamming her shin into her jaw. Encouraged, Simone spun the other direction, attacking Mary with a spinning backfist. Simone’s red gloved slammed against Mary’s cheek and sent her reeling for… the first time Theresa could remember. She hadn’t even though Mary capable of being stunned: somehow the pro MMA fighter she shared lab notes with was doing it right in front of her. Mary moved in to clinch but Simone evaded her and kicked her in the thigh for good measure
Mary Ramirez was livid. Rebecca could tell that much. Mary hated a lot of things, but ‘showboats’ were near the top of that list, right below ‘getting beaten up by one.’ A lesser girl would have backpedaled to safety or called a timeout to recover her bearings, but Mary was prideful to a fault. She’d try to fight her way out of this like she had everything else, including that ill-fated match in San Francisco. Pride had cost her more than a win against an obnoxious black woman that night and Rebecca was loathe to let history repeat itself, training session or not.
“Fucking Christ, Mary! Back off and reset!” the blonde yelled. She leaned against the cage, waiting for her friend to find some common sense.
Mary watched her pursuer approach. Simone had a height advantage, exaggerated by her frequent kicks, but time spent with Kelsey had taught her a few methods for negating that. Simone was getting comfortable picking at her, swiping at her with low kicks that dug into her calf and thigh. She watched the young girl’s eyes and leapt into action, sending a left hand straight into Simone’s face before the kick could fully land.
Being caught on one leg did wonders for Simone’s balance, but the moment she needed to put her foot down and regain her stance was more than Mary needed to explode another fist into her face and then corral the black youngster into a tight clinch and introduce fist to stomach. Whatever worries she had about the kickboxer replying in the clinch evaporated as Simone sought only to escape. She did, but only after Mary had reintroduced her glove to Simone’s abs a few more times.
The pair continued their vicious dance again, and Mary led as the cocky sophomore contended herself with long jabs and kicks. Her output slowed as the Latina slugger continued to pressure her. Mary waded forward with hard shots and caught Simone with a uppercut that sent the younger girl scrambling back. In return Simone trotted out that familiar low kick once, twice, and paid for it both times with stiff shots to the jaw. Theresa wondered if her friend was running out of ideas.
And then she watched Simone pivot and kick a third time. Except, she didn't, and the kick never happened. Instead, a red MMA glove shot out and over Mary’s jab, nailing the cagey boxer in her jaw. Mary flinched for just a second to process the punch and Simone tried to buzzsaw through her thigh with a ferocious kick. Theresa watched her coach’s knee buckle with the impact before Simone cracked her with a wide left. Mary recovered enough to fire back and the phone alarm blared the end of the round but Mary finished whatever selection of punches she had in mind, clipping Simone as she relaxed and lowered her guard. The undeclared science major nearly spit out her mouthpiece to protest but all Mary said was the same thing she’d told Theresa no less than twice each time they’d met up for training:
“Protect yourself at all times, slut. It's not a suggestion.”
The black girl muttered something unsavory in response and swatted Mary’s outstretched fist away. The boxer shrugged and Theresa swore Mary had a slight limp as she walked back to the wall of the cage they all currently shared.
“I swear that if you were any more stubborn you'd be an actual jackass.” Rebecca chided, rolling her eyes.
“And if you were any more vindictive you'd be an actual fucking movie villain, Rebecca. I mean a Dios mios, surfer princess. Your need to be queen bee all the time is gonna get you, or us, in trouble.” Mary pressed an accusatory finger into Rebecca’s ample chest.
“It already got her choked out once.” Kelsey snickered.
“No one asked you!” Mary and Rebecca yelled almost in unison.
“Just saying… I'm the only one who didn't get submitted by the fat girl..” The slender fighter beamed.
“Nah, her friend just slapped you around for fun..” Someone shot back.
The trio bantered on until Simone’s voice rang out across the cage.
“Hey! Malibu Barbie! I'm not done slapping the taste out of your mouth! Don't tell me you're done already? I'm still hungry!”
Rebecca placed an arm on Kelsey’s shoulder and slid the saucy brunette out of her way without another word. She met the impertinent girl in the center of the cage, emerald eyes ablaze.
“I'm gonna break you. That's all. Stupid fucking Compton bitch…”
“What? I'm not even from Compton. Racist ass…”
“And I’m not even from Malibu, but that hasn't stopped you, has it? You're the real racist, brat.” The buxom blonde spat.
“You’re about 3 seconds from catching these hands, Rebecca. Pick your words carefully.”
“I'm. Going. To. Own. You. Bitch.” Rebecca made sure to enunciate and emphasize each word.
Simone’s hand flashed out almost of its own volition. It was the unconscious, easy, appropriate response. The only thing that kept the yellow glove from splashing across Rebecca’s stupid beach tanned jaw was Jamila’s ebony arms wrapped around her gymmate, dragging Simone away as she kicked at Rebecca. For her part, Rebecca smiled maliciously until Kelsey slid in front of her to keep her from pursuing.
At the very least, this last round would start when the timer went off, not before.
“If you were smart we'd pack up and go home before you pull some dumb shit, and pull me into it.” Jamila remarked as she adjusted her glasses.
“Nope”
“Then keep her off your body at least.” The Caribbean woman said after a long sigh. “She wrestles like Ysela and is just as persistent with those takedowns, so fight her like Ysesla; mind your hips and legs, don’t plant your feet. She’s not gonna trade with you, she’s gonna look for clinches into that headlock takedown, or the double leg. This is stupid, but if you finna do it then tag her, get her desperate. Stay mobile and if she takes you down pull guard and look for an armbar or a triangle. Those are basic ones that still work. Tap her out.”
“Got it.”
“Just…” Jamila Hayes sighed again as she looked up at the young kickboxer.
“Hey Jazz… thanks. For everything. I know I'm being stupid. Thank you.”
“Bitch,” Jamila cooed affectionately. “If you're gonna do this… at least go out there and body her, alright? No ambiguity.”
“That I can do” Simone beamed.
Across the cage, Rebecca and her friends were having much the same conversation.
“She's actually really strong, so watch out for that.” Kelsey suggested.
“Brilliant” Mary snorted derisively.
“Sorry K, I wanna hear Mary on this one.” Rebecca admitted, prompting the slender Asian woman to cross her arms and pout.
“She'll try and setup that right cross.” Mary confided, visions of her round with Simone still fresh in her mind. “Keep your hands up and be smart with your jab.”
“Hmm, I think-“ The voluptuous blonde suggested.
“Then why’d you ask me, Rebecca?” Her surly Latina friend interrupted. “Listen. Push her to the wall and take away her movement. It’s the core of her offense. And she'll be hunting for kicks, to the leg or body, looking to slow you down. Tie her up, put her on back. You're bigger and stronger. Take this slut out.”
Rebecca bit her lip, smiled, and nodded at the advice. She stepped past Mary before her friend put a hand on her tanned shoulder.
“She’s still a kid. Watch out for bullshit. Make her pay for it.”
“I plan to.”
Rebecca vs Simone
The phone went off, somewhere in the distance. It signaled the start of a sparring round in the MMA cage of a Southern California gym.
Neither of the women fighting needed to be told to fight.
A sparring round, intended to instruct, to help fighters learn from each other and practice their timing, reactions, and techniques without the stress or stakes of a real match.
Both of the women had different ideas in mind.
This was personal.
Simone had a head full of new ideas she wanted to try out in real time: a million methods and theorems to break down this blonde wrestler. They all worked flawlessly when she saw them in her mind’s eye. But now she needed proof, a full experiment, a test. This was the heart of the scientific method!
She sprinted across the cage, gathered her stride, and leapt towards Rebecca with a flying knee. The blonde slid out of the way, ducked the blow entirely, and let the black woman sail past.
Rebecca recognized it from Simone’s round with Mary and was intent on dominating this bombastic youngster from pole to post and leaving no doubt about who the best fighter here was.
The way Simone had tapped out nearly as soon as Rebecca had attained full mount and done so with a goofy smile on her face, as if this was all just a game with no stakes. Simone was going to learn her place the hierarchy, preferably repeatedly and painfully, and Rebecca was an eager and willing teacher.
Well, she didn’t let Simone fly past without doing something about it.
The voluptuous wrestler wrapped her arms around Simone’s waist and hoisted the girl up and over her head. The rest of the girls in the cage either gasped or cheered when Rebecca’s suplex brought Simone crashing down on the mat on the back of her neck and head. Rebecca released her grip and let the black 19 year old sprawled out on the mat.
Jamila clutched her face in her hands.
This couldn’t have started worse. A German suplex? That was some pro wrestling nonsense. But Simone had demanded this, and her gymmate intended to let her fighter her way out of this.
Rebecca raced to get on top of the still stunned Simone. She couldn’t tell if the girl had been knocked silly or actually enjoyed the ride, but the striker’s goofy smile infuriated her. Then Simone opened her mouth and confirmed the less desirable option.
“A German suplex! Nice! I totally didn’t account for that. Your wrestling acumen is way more extensive than I thought! I mean, I’m annoyed that you dodged, but this is still awesome!” Simone beamed.
“Goddamn you’re annoying, Simone. I’m gonna wipe that stupid smile off your stupid face, bitch. Where’s that black girl magic now, bitch?”
“Try harder, Rebecca. And please try to enjoy yourself; this shit’s supposed to be fun. Also… Wu Tang.”
Rebecca groaned. “Wait, what? Wu Tang?”
Simone swung her hips suddenly and slid out from beneath Rebecca. In the next moment her leg swung up and onto Rebecca’s shoulder. The excitable fighter caught one of Rebecca’s arms and clamped one leg over the other, trapping Rebecca in one of the few Jiu Jitsu holds Simone could faithfully reproduce, an Arm Triangle.
“Protect Ya Neck!” Simone beamed, squeezing her legs tighter and looking to wring an early submission out of Rebecca. The blonde spat an expletive before deciding to conserve her air and find a way to prevent being choked with her own arm. The other women in the cage reversed their cheering and groans to reflect this reversal of fortunes, all except for Jamila Hayes, who had accompanied Simone from Binary Star gym and still held her clenched fists in front of her mouth. The Triangle wasn’t quite tight enough, Simone hadn’t almost but not quite secured the submission, and she watched in horror as Rebecca gathered Simone up, hoisted the young fighter up into the air, and slammed her onto the mat for the second time this session. Simone landed with a thud but didn’t go limp. She was still conscious, still in the fight. Simone released the hold and lay there on the mat but Rebecca didn’t look much better, kneeling and gasping for air.
“Alright, that slam shit is getting old Rebecca. I get it: you’re one of those corn-fed white girls and you wanna make sure everyone knows how strong you are. You eat your Wheaties before you go surfing or tanning or whatever but-” Simone rolled backwards and stood, clearly shaken but ready to fight.
“Do you actually never get tired of saying stupid shit?” The blonde growled in response. “I mean, Jesus Christ it’s like you’re physically incapable of shutting the fuck up.” Rebecca rose to her feet, eager to silence the cocky knockout artist.
They stood and traded tentatively, Rebecca taking the lead and clogging the air between them with punches. Her intent to draw Simone into a firefight was clear but the Los Angeles native refused to take the bait, offering measured counters instead and never staying in one place for long. She seemed content to let Rebecca miss as she came forward and reward the voluptuous blonde with stinging kicks for her efforts before sliding away back towards the middle of the cage. On and on they went, Rebecca unable to put meaningful leather onto her and helping to demonstrate why the young black fighter’s moniker was “Slick” when Simone ducked and swayed and avoided several shots by the slimmest of margins, frequently tagging Rebecca instead. Her first strategy defused, Rebecca eschewed punches and dashed towards Simone only to get rocked by a waiting left hook. The next approach found a sharp knee jutting into her. The busty beach princess was suddenly a boat unable to make its way past the rocks and onto the shore. When she finally bullied her way in and got a grip of her opponent the slippery striker twisted free and blasted Rebecca with another hook and two chopping kicks, then leapt towards the reeling blonde and detonated a soaring red glove onto her face. The blow sent Rebecca tumbling back towards the cage, senses on full alert.
This was wrong. All of it. She’s not supposed to do this. I’m supposed to beat her… dammit!
Frazzled and furious, Rebecca rose to find the sophomore beckoning her, waving her in to face more punishment. “Damn, you’re still awake. I thought that would put you sleep. Ah well. I’m right here, Barbie,” she taunted. “Come on, get a second serving. I’ll be cooking up ass whoopings as long as you’re hungry!”
“Stop chasing her, Becky.” Mary growled as she leaned against the wall of the cage. “Let it come to you.”
Rebecca Meyers stood, fists clenched, and approached tentatively. Simone picked her shots, an angry orbiting satellite, sending kicks and punches at the busty white fighter. Rebecca endured the abuse until an open handed yellow glove splashed across her face and left her seeing red.
“Got ‘em coach!” Simone yelled to no one in particular.
Getting punched she could accept, but slapped? Fucking disrespected? In her own gym? Maybe Kelsey could find humor in it, but Rebecca Meyers was going to tear this slut limb from limb
Simone’s next kick landed, but when she brought it back there was Rebecca, face full of fury and arms wrapped around her calf.
Dammit; I guess I got careless
Simone pushed down on the wrestler, tried to hop away, but they crashed down onto the canvas for the third time this round, and Rebecca sought to extend her stay. She crawled up the young pro fighter as they wrestled, eventually wrapping her arms around Simone’s head while she pinned her down with her body.
“The headlock and… side control. Yeah…” Kelsey muttered. She’d spent a lot of time wrestling with Rebecca and knew the blonde’s affinity for this position well. More curious was if Rebecca would demonstrate exactly why she loved this particular position so much… There it was
With Simone trapped beneath her and Rebecca on her side facing her, it was just a natural byproduct that Rebecca’s full bosom happened to press against Simone’s face. That was an inescapable fact of gravity and biology. When the busty blonde wrapped an arm behind Simone’s head and pulled her into her ample cleavage, that was intentional.
And certainly not unnoticed by her unwilling victim.
“Get your udders out of my face” Simone groaned.
“Make me” came the haughty reply, punctuated by several fists and knees to Simone’s face and body. Rebecca luxuriated in the feeling of the younger, shorter fighter squirming uncomfortably beneath her, unable to free herself.
This was more like it, more of the domination she imagined, no demanded.
She sought to straddle the girl and rain down leather to bring this short lived rivalry to a close, but Simone was surprisingly persistent about keeping Rebecca from improving her position. She considered a full attempt at choking her out with this current headlock; Simone drowning in Rebecca’s ample cleavage would be a fitting end for the cheeky sophomore. She fed the black girl some leather while she considered her options.
A momentary lapse in her concentration gave a flagging Simone all the space she needed to throw a flailing elbow and force her escape when it connected with Rebecca’s jaw. Jamila always mentioned how wild elbows didn't constitute a legal escape in Jiu Jitsu, but fuck, this wasn’t Jiu Jitsu. A desperate scramble ensued and though she paid the toll in heavy shots, Simone found her way back to her feet, the blonde still clinging to her, leaning on her, abusing her.
“Just get off me.” An exhausted Simone demanded…
“Make me!” Rebecca crowed.
They leaned against the chain linked wall of the cage, an unglamorous tangle of groaning limbs and impotent threats. Jennifer’s phone blared the end of the round but Rebecca didn’t let go, whether due to malice or exhaustion, instead pushing Simone’s face further into the wall of the cage. When her pushing and wriggling didn’t secure her escape, Simone Waterson resorted to insults. Rebecca finally let her go, just in time to catch another flailing elbow in the face.
Now they were both pissed.
If this had been a tense spar before, it quickly devolved into a nasty fight. The two charged at each other, tired, and past the point of dealing with whatever new bullshit the other could come up with. Insults and fists flew, and the former continued even after friends and gymmates intervened to keep the pair from actually maiming each other. Jamila grabbed a hold of Simone while Mary and Kelsey pulled Rebecca away, leaving the two fledgling sophomores staring at each other unsure what to do.
“Nah, let me go!” Simone roared. “I’mma kill her, Jazz. I'll actually catch a body… I swear I'll…”
“Go home, chill the hell out, and hope to God none of this ends up online, cause if your mom finds out what happened we’re actually dead. Corpses…” Jamila shivered at the thought while she walked Simone out of the cage, stopping only to collect their bags and adjust her glasses. “I knew this runback was a bad idea but you went ahead and confirmed it. Nice job…”
“...Damn” Simone acceded. “Damn… Let’s just bail…l… sorry Jamila. I guess I was on one…”
Rebecca was cornered, figuratively and literally, by the two classmates she'd come to know very well over her college career. Now those two were trying to keep her from making any more poor decisions…
“Who the hell does she think she is?” Rebecca raged. “I'm going to rip her head off and-“
“Calmate, Rebecca, calm down, be cool. Just think…” Mary advised.
“Yeah, like, this was fun. They're fun.” Kelsey continued in her characteristically bubbly tone. “Way better than you said they’d be. I mean, Janelle or whatever her name was, she tapped out you and Mary. I think she needs to lighten up, but we'll get there, and Simone’s kind of a beast once she gets going… like… watching you two go at it gave me chills.” The Eurasian brunette gave a lusty smile.
“Yeah, like the airhead said.” Mary shrugged. “They don't totally suck. I could have some fun with either of them.”
The haughty blonde’s fury was only beginning to subside, but she stopped trying to forcibly make her way past her friends; if Mary and Kelsey were in agreement about anything, particularly anyone, that was news unto itself.
“Goddamit… just…” Rebecca pounded her fist into her palm. “Did we at least get it on camera?”
“Oh did we EVER!” Kelsey assured her, her bubbly smile sharpening.
“Why’d Rebecca hold on like that?” Theresa asked aloud.
“Why’d Simone deck her?” Jennifer countered.
“Why do you always stan for Rebecca! Is she your new hero or something?” Theresa asked, her tone angrier than intended.
“The same reason you keep defending your little lab partner even when she’s totally acting like a butt!”
“Nuh-uh!” Theresa protested.
“I said-“
A more important realization dawned on the two rookies in unison.
“I guess we're walking back to campus…”
Later that week, at the Binary Star Gym in Los Angeles, California, the gym’s two co-owners leaned over a phone held between them.
“Where’d you’d find this, ‘Dre?” Yolanda Waterson asked, irritated. The gym’s striking/boxing coach was staring down at the phone watching her daughter getting ragdolled by a blonde white girl before a woman who looked suspiciously like the back of Jamila’s head slid in front of the camera and the video clip came to a close.
“Cameron” Was Andre’s response. Andre Collins was the gym’s instructor for wrestling and mixed martial arts. ‘Cameron’ was his son, and a budding heavyweight boxer with Olympic dreams. “I found it on his… InstaPic account, or whatever the hell it's called.” The old man was exasperated searching for the name of the social media site. “You know the kids and this social media shit, Yola.”
“Yeah Dre, I know… I just… this looks bad… and right when we're negotiating the contract with…”
“Yeah, I know Yolanda. But Simone’s young, and it's not like she went down to one of them semi pro league and fought topless or nothing…” the retired fighter and current coach scratched his neck.
“I think I'd actually prefer that, Dre.” The gym’s matriarch looked up from the phone to stare Andre in his eyes. “Hell, I did topless stuff during my career; that wasn’t the reason I had problems finding fights.” Yolanda chuckled ruefully. “If anything, that sexy, foxy shit made me a few new fans. I get it, it's not for everyone, that's fine. What pisses me off is that she told Jam but didn't tell me. I tried my best to be the kinda mom that my daughter could tell anything. Y'know, did she tell her dad about this? Or anyone else besides Jamila?”
“Damn Yola… that's…”
“That and it looks like she's getting her ass handed to her, but if she can't handle a wrestler that's your fault Dre… you and Ysela and Jonathan and..” Yolanda’s face finally cracked a smile.
“Aw nah, if she's getting trucked by some corn-fed white girl that's on her. I gave her the tools…” They shared a look. “But listen Yola; if you want her to trust you, you gotta trust her.l
“What do you mean?”
“Peep, Yolanda.” Andre checked his phone again. “If she had told you what was going on, would you have tried to stop her?”
“Of course.” Yolanda’s brown eyes narrowed.
“And that's exactly why she didn't tell you. Look, I unno what's up with you and Isaiah, but Simone’s in college; she ain't a kid anymore. You gotta let her make choices and support her.”
“Like you and Cameron?”
“THAT knucklehead…” Andre sighed…”Yeah, like his dumbass haircut and that stupid ass tattoo he wanted to get. I convinced him not to tattoo his face, remember?”
“Yeah…” Yolanda’s voice trailed off. Perhaps trust was a thing she’d yet to offer her daughter…
For now though, there would be consequences and punishment...
#Writing #Series #FeintingSpells #Fiction #Action #Fight #MartialArts
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