Easy money

Steve Willoughby stood nervously in the ring, looking at his muscular opponent. He was beginning to regret having answered the ad. 

 

It had seemed like some easy money -- "Wanted: Men and women willing to fight. Company makes mixed fighting video tapes. Boxing, wrestling, martial arts background a plus, but no experience necessary. Top dollar paid. Bonuses possible. Call AmaFlix at 555-9999". 

 

Steve had been out of work for about three months and really needed some money. He was in fairly good shape -- five-eleven, a hundred and sixty-five pounds -- and jogged several miles each day, so his wind was good. He'd seen some of these tapes, not from AmaFlix, and they consisted of a model-type pitty-pattying around the ring for a few rounds, with the guy eventually falling down. Easy money, he figured. So he called the number and was told to come in at ten-thirty. 

 

When he'd walked in the door of the big warehouse, however, he began to have his doubts about how easy a time he'd have. First of all, there was a huge amount of exercise equipment that took up about half the room. A depressed "pit" held barbells and weight machines. There was a regulation ring in the center of the room, surrounded by about four hundred chairs. There were six cameras around the ring, and one guy with a hand-held walking around outside. Inside the ring a Spanish looking guy in athletic shorts and sneakers was wrestling with a redhaired woman wearing a thong-back pelvic leotard trimmed in lace and white knee-high boots. They were being watched by a brown haired woman in a referee's shirt. The wrestlers looked to be about the same height, but the man -- though he looked very fit -- didn't have the muscle size nor definition possessed by the woman. 

 

As Steve watched, the redhead aggressively drove her shoulder into the man's chest, pushing him back into the ropes. Her muscular thighs rippled as she forced him back. The ropes stretched with the pressure. The referee tapped the woman on the shoulder. and suddenly the woman grabbed one of the guy's arms and pulled him off the rope, throwing him across the ring. The man couldn't stop when he hit the opposite ropes and bounced back towards the center of the ring. The woman wrapped her big arms around his waist and wrenched him off his feet, spinning around and driving him down hard to the mat. When the man hit, Steve could hear the loud SMACK of his back against the canvas, then a WHOOSH as the air was driven out of his lungs. The woman quickly twined her sinewy legs around his in a painful looking hold, then she held his shoulders down to the mat. The referee slapped the mat three times, and a bell rung. 

 

The woman got up and had her hand raised by the ref, who said, "The winner of the fall, with a belly-to-belly suplex into a grapevine body press, Darlene Adams!" Darlene offered her hand to help her victim up as the referee added, "Darlene wins the best of five falls match by a score of three to zero!" The guy couldn't stand up yet, even with Darlene's help, so she shrugged and slid under the ropes, heading for a door at the back of the room. 

 

Steve was startled by a soft, husky voice in his ear asking, "May I help you?" He turned to find a tall blonde woman standing next to him. She was quite lovely, dressed in a long blue robe. 

"Um -- er -- yeah, maybe," he stammered. "I'm here -- uh -- there was this ad in the paper and I called..." 

 

"Of course," the blonde replied. She looked him up and down, appraisingly. She wore what seemed to be wrestling shoes on her feet, and stood about an inch taller than Steve. He looked up into her deep blue eyes and thought, "Wow! Maybe I can wrestle her." 

 

The blonde held out a large hand and said, "My name is Patricia Daniels. I own AmaFlix. You must be Steve, right?" The two shook hands. Steve was surprised by the strength of Patricia's grip. She watched him, appraisingly as he squeezed back. She smiled a little more broadly and released Steve's hand. "As I recall, in our phone conversation, you indicated you didn't have any training, right?" Steve nodded. "Well, that's no problem. We'll run you through some tests to see what you're best suited for." Taking his arm, she led him toward a door marked "Men". "Change in there, Steve, and see me when you come out." 

 

Patricia went over to the wrestling referee, who was just exiting the ring. "Elaine," she said, "there's a new guy who just came in. He doesn't have any fighting skills yet, but he's in pretty good shape -- legs look strong. Put him through the paces, see what he's got, okay?" 

 

"Sure," Elaine replied, a grin on her face. She was about five-five and had a pug nose and freckles. "Mind if I change first?" 

"Go ahead." 

 

Elaine was dressed before Steve, and she went back over to Patricia. "By the way, Pedro might be a problem. He didn't take too well to Darlene beating him." 

 

Patricia smiled. "Well, that's his problem. Darlene can take care of herself -- I know." 

 

Steve came out of the locker room, dressed in black shorts, tee shirt, and white sneakers. His gaze ran across Elaine, thinking, "She's kinda cute." She was in a blue leotard and white tights, with blue wrestling boots. The arms and legs revealed by her costume were packed with firm, hard muscles. She had broad shoulders and a thick chest. Her large breasts sat high and proud on her chest muscles. 

 

Elaine looked Steve up and down, thinking, "He's kinda cute. A little skinny, though." 

 

"This is Elaine," said Patricia. "She's our wrestling coach and head referee." Elaine shook Steve's hand, smiling. "She's going to see if you've got any aptitude for wrestling," went on Patricia. She turned and walked away, tossing a "Good luck" over her shoulder. 

 

Elaine grinned at Steve and asked, "You feel like starting now, Steve?" 

 

"Well, I guess," he said, "but I'd like to loosen up first." 

 

"Sure, take a few minutes and get loose," said Elaine. "The exercise stuff's over there," she added, pointing off to the corner of the room. 

 

Steve spent five minutes stretching, as though he was going for his daily three mile run. Behind him he could hear someone clanking a barbell up and down, grunting from time to time. Turning, he saw Elaine doing barbell curls, lifting the bar with no movement of anything but her arms. Sculptured biceps swelled up and stood out proudly on her arms as she performed a dozen reps while Steve stared, open-mouthed. He was amazed by the enormous girth of her upper arms. Elaine saw him gaping, and smiled a little. With a CLANG, the barbell was dropped to the floor. Elaine flexed her biceps and motioned Steve over. "Sixteen and a half inches," she said with a grin. "Go ahead, feel them if you want." 

 

Steve rested his hand on the mountain that was her right bicep and realized that it was hard as granite. He removed his hand and Elaine started towelling the sweat off her face and arms. He motioned to the barbell and asked, "May I?" She nodded and Steve knelt next to the bar. He saw that Elaine had been curling, for at least twelve reps, ninety-five pounds. Red-faced, he removed fifty pounds from the bar and did ten reps, straining to get the last three done. When he put the bar down, Elaine was watching him with a smile in her eyes. 

 

"You ready now?" she asked with a grin. Steve nodded, and she motioned toward a set of mats against a wall. "We'll use these. They're a little softer than the ring." She led the way. Steve followed, watching the muscles ripple and flex up the backs of her legs. Her muscles were extremely impressive, even through the tights. Steve noticed a small butterfly tattooed on the back of her right shoulder. 

 

Elaine stood on the mat, facing the slender man. "We'll just be doing basic mat wrestling, Steve," she explained. "No drop kicks or anything like that. If I think you've got the ability to step it up, I'll let you know." She tossed the towel aside and crouched down, arms extended toward him. Awkwardly, Steve tried to copy her stance. Elaine moved in quickly, startling him. She reached out before he could react and wrapped her arms around Steve's head. With a quick wrench, she pulled him into a side headlock. Her rock hard bicep ground against one side of Steve's face, while the other side of his face was forced hard against her boob. Steve could feel the steel of her pectoral muscles beneath the softness of her breast as she used her chest to increase the pressure on his trapped skull. 

 

Elaine really knew her business, and she put unbelievable pressure on Steve's trapped head. In seconds, the side of his face went numb, which was more frightening than the pain. He grabbed at her wrists, trying to force her hands apart, but she easily maintained her grip. She moved slightly, thrusting her hip into Steve's side, and he found himself flying through the air. He landed with a SPLAT, flat on his back, Elaine's weight pinning him to the canvas. His face was being crushed into Elaine's chest, making it tough for him to breathe. Her forearm was now across his jaw, and it was just as painful as the bicep had been. 

 

She released his head and spread herself out on top of Steve's body. Her chest pressed into his and she grapevined his legs. Steve found the hold even more painful than it had looked when Darlene had put it on her opponent. Not only was Elaine forcing Steve to do the splits, her legs wrapped around his caused considerable pain in his knees. "You give?" Elaine asked, eyes twinkling. Steve nodded emphatically and she quickly released him and jumped to her feet. She held out a hand and helped me up. "You okay, Steve?" she asked, a little concerned. 

 

"Whew. Yeah, just let me recover for a minute." 

 

"Okay. Let me know when you're ready again." 

 

Steve stretched his legs a bit more to ease the pain in his knees and groin. Rolling his neck around a bit, Steve pronounced himself ready to try again. 

 

"You sure, Steve?" Elaine asked, with a twinkle in her brown eyes. "This is no time to act macho." 

 

He nodded and she came at him again. This time she wrapped those arms he'd admired so much around Steve's waist. He gasped as her brawny limbs squeezed him just under his ribs, forcing the air out of his lungs. Steve couldn't get any breath through the pressure of those arms. With a sudden heave, Elaine flung him to the mat. He desperately sucked air into his burning lungs, while Elaine just stood there, motioning him to get up. Steve slowly got to his feet, winded and shaky. 

 

Her hands flexed menacingly, sending ripples up the sinews of her forearms. Once again she was on Steve before he could react, this time grabbing his right leg and dumping him hard on his back. Steve tried to roll away and get up again, but Elaine leaped on him, her solid shoulder driving into his belly. He scrambled furiously to escape, but she wrapped her huge thighs around his midsection. Her arms imprisoned Steve's head again, pulling his face hard into the valley between her breasts. Incredible pain lanced through his belly as she jolted him with a powerful clench of her legs. Steve gasped in agony as the vise of her legs tightened even more, until he felt as if he were being cut in half. He gasped out a surrender, just barely audible, and Elaine released him immediately. 

 

"Sorry, Steve, I got carried away for a second," she apologized. "Hope I didn't hurt you too badly." Patricia came over. 

 

"Looks like wrestling's not his thing, is it?" she asked. "You looked like you went really easy on him, and you beat him in just about a minute, each time." 

 

"Went easy on me!?" thought Steve. He could hardly believe his ears. If that was Elaine going easy, he didn't ever want to go up against her in a real match. 

 

"Yeah, he's pretty shaky," said Elaine, "but he's got good stamina and decent strength. If you want me to work with him, I could probably have him ready for one of the beginner matches in about two weeks." 

 

"No, not right away. You'll get to work with him in a few days, unless he can't box either." 

 

Elaine looked a little disappointed, but nodded to Patricia and held out her square, strong hand. "See ya later, Steve," she said. "I'm looking forward to working with you again." 

 

Steve was pretty depressed, telling Patricia, "That didn't seem like much of a tryout." 

 

"Don't worry, Steve," she said. "I need to find out fast what you've got the most aptitude for. We need to get some fights on tape, and I can't wait while Elaine trains you as a wrestler. If you can't box, either, then I'll have to make a decision about where you should start. I've found that most guys know a little more about boxing than wrestling, so let's see how you do there." 

 

Patricia led Steve over an area of the big room that had several punching bags, both the big, heavy body bags and the speed bags. Several women were using the bags, and a couple were skipping rope, all under the watchful eyes of a woman with short blonde hair. "Hey, Marge," called Patricia. The blonde came over quickly. 

 

"Marge, this is Steve." Marge nodded at him. "See if he's got any potential." 

 

Marge was about five-seven, and like the other women Steve had seen here today, had broad shoulders and well defined muscles. She was dressed in a black gym leotard. Looking him up and down, Marge said, "You look like a runner. How's your wind?" 

"Pretty good. I run three or four miles a day." 

 

"You smoke?" 

 

"Nope." Marge grunted approvingly at that and prodded at his arms and torso. 

 

"Here," she said, tossing him a pair of well padded gloves, "put these on and meet me over on the mat." 

 

Steve donned the laceless gloves, which had an elastic sleeve to hold them on his wrists. Marge, also gloved, was waiting for me on the mat. Marge called to one of three women playing catch with a medicine ball, "Hey, Cherrise, come over here and be timekeeper." A tall black woman tossed the heavy ball to one of the others and hurried over. Marge gave her a stop watch and told her, "Keep it to two minutes at first, we don't want to tire him out today." 

 

Cherrise started the stopwatch and called "Time!" Marge moved easily across the mat, coming after Steve quickly. Her hands were up, ready to punch or block. 

 

Steve copied her stance, thinking back to the few fights he'd had as a kid. Back then he'd just swung wildly until he connected or the other kid did, not trying to block. Steve thought of the boxing I'd seen on TV, and snapped his left out at her face, jabbing to keep her away. "Move your feet, Steve," ordered Marge as she avoided the jab and tapped him lightly in the ribs. "Stationary targets are easy to hit." 

 

He tried to hit her again, but she moved her head to the side and caught him again, this time with a little more force. "Next time it won't be a love tap, Steve," she warned. He moved awkwardly around the mat, trying to stay away from her punches while throwing some of his own. "That's better," she said after he'd sidestepped her punch and hit her with a jab. 

 

"Time!" called Cherrise. 

 

The second round Steve looked a little more comfortable. He landed a few pretty good punches, and Marge told him to throw a combination, a left then a right. They both landed pretty well, and Marge complimented him. In the third round Steve moved more easily around the mat, dodging left and right as Marge came after him. He gained confidence every second he was out there, though it was obvious that Marge was not going all out. Her big arms caught most of the punches he tried to land, but she really didn't try to hit him that often. 

 

In the fourth round, she began to speed things up a bit, forcing Steve to block a couple of pretty good punches, but Marge got some others through. At the end of the fourth round and starting the fifth, Marge was retreating as Steve aggressively went after her. He was panting a bit as the fifth round went on, and near the end Marge really rocked him with a left hook to his side, making him stagger. Before either of them could throw another punch, though, Cherrise called time. Sweat poured down Steve's body, but Marge wasn't even breathing hard. 

 

Marge tapped his shoulder. "Definite potential to be a boxer," she said. "You're not afraid to take a punch, and you're pretty quick. Good stamina, too." 

 

"Thanks," Steve replied, gasping a little. "And thanks for taking it easy on me." 

 

"No problem," she grinned. "I didn't want to scare you off." 

 

Patricia came over. "He looked pretty good," she said. "What do you think?" 

 

"Well, he's pretty green, but I think he'll be okay." 

 

"Good. I want to use him today. One of the other guys got hurt yesterday and can't make it, so we've got Tommie sitting around with no one to fight. She was supposed to wrestle the guy, but says she doesn't care if she boxes or wrestles." 

 

"Wait a minute," Steve said. "You want me to fight today?" 

 

"Yeah, we need to get a match in before four," said Patricia. "That's when the next fight is scheduled, and I hate to waste two hours with no fights being taped." 

 

Marge looked thoughtful. "Well, I guess he can stand up to a bout with Tommie," she said. "As long as he has some training time before his next fight." 

 

Patricia held out her hand. "Steve, I want to sign you to a contract. You'll get two hundred dollars a fight, at first, and we'll pay you fifty dollars for every day you come in to train. If you win any fight, you'll get paid double." Steve thought of the months he'd been without work and said, "Sure, sounds good to me. Where do I sign?" 

 

Patricia led the way to her office, where she produced a preprinted form. Steve filled in his name and address, she filled the dollar amounts in, and asked him to sign. Steve noticed a clause saying, "If I am injured I will not hold my opponent, Patricia Daniels, AmaFlix Inc. or any of its employees at fault." When he asked about that, Patricia said, "We don't want people suing us if they get hurt. After all, Steve, you're going to be fighting. Someone might hurt you, or you might hurt someone. We don't need a lot of legal hassle." Shrugging mentally, Steve signed. 

 

"Good," the beautiful blonde said. "Now, go see Marge. She'll get you ready. I'd like to start in about five minutes. 

 

Marge, now wearing a striped leotard, gave Steve a mouthpiece and introduced him to Cherrise, the big black woman who'd been the timekeeper for Steve's sparring match. "Cherrise will be your second," said Marge. "I've got to referee." 

 

Cherrise towered over Steve, her wide shoulders like a cliff at the level of his eyes. "Gimme your hand," she ordered, and taped both his wrists. 

 

"Where're the gloves?" asked Steve. 

 

Cherrise laughed. "Gloves are just for sparring," she said. "We just tape up your wrists so ya don't bust 'em when ya hit something hard, like Tommie's head." She dunked the mouthpiece in a bucket of water and put it into Steve's gaping mouth. "Better get in the ring," she said, turning him around. 

 

Steve climbed up the steps to the ring and Cherrise held the ropes open so he could enter more easily. "Anything else you think I should know?" he mumbled. 

 

"Marge'll tell ya the rules," answered Cherrise. 

 

Steve walked slowly to the center of the ring, Cherrise at his back, massaging his shoulders. She was taking her duties seriously. From the opposite corner walked a pony-tailed blonde woman. She wore a white racing swimsuit. Her thick arms and legs were packed with dense muscle. She stood about five-ten, but everything else about her dwarfed Steve. Her wide, wide shoulders, thickly muscled arms and legs, and rippling abdomen put him to shame. 

 

Marge looked at the camera. "We rolling?" Assured that the camera was rolling, she said, "Okay. This barefisted boxing match will consist of ten three minute rounds. There is no three knockdown rule. Punching below the waist, kicking, thumbing, and biting are grounds for disqualification. If I tell you to break, back up two steps and defend yourselves. In the case of a knockdown, move to a neutral corner. If one contender is down for ten seconds, it is a knockout. You cannot be saved by the bell." 

 

During all this time Steve was staring at the blonde opposite him. Her pale green eyes stared coldly back, as if she was trying to hypnotize him. Under the tight tank top, she flexed her chest muscles. First the right, then the left, then right again, causing her boobs to dance in rhythm. She smiled when she saw Steve notice. 

 

Marge consulted a piece of paper, then continued her announcement. "In the red corner, wearing a black tee shirt and black trunks, standing five feet eleven inches tall and weighing one hundred and sixty-six pounds, Steve Willoughby!" Cherrise poked him in the back and he waved at the handheld camera. 

 

"In the blue corner, wearing a white racing swimsuit, standing five feet nine and a half inches tall and weighing one hundred and eighty pounds, Terrific Tommie Taylor!" The blonde waved and flexed her impressive arms. 

 

"Geez," thought Steve, shocked, "she's got almost fifteen pounds on me. And look at those arms." They looked bigger than Elaine's had when she'd flexed. 

 

"Shake hands and come out fighting!" Tommie reached out and gave Steve's hand a quick squeeze. He got really nervous when she slammed her big right fist into her left palm, pointed at him and then down at the mat. He got the message. She was serious about knocking him out. Tommie glared at Steve, then headed to her corner. Steve returned to his and waited for the bell. 

 

So there he was, nervous sweat pouring off him, about to start his first barefisted boxing match. In her corner, Tommie and her second, the redhead I remembered as having wrestled earlier, Darlene, laughed together. Tommie looked at Steve and menacingly clenched her big hands into fists, causing the sinews in her forearms to bunch and twist, rippling under her skin, then laughed at the expression on his face. He watched, fascinated, as she again made her boobs dance under the tank top, then flexed and relaxed her washboard abdominal muscles. 

 

Cherrise whispered to Steve, "Don't let her get to you, man! She's just tryin' ta psyche you out! Tommie's stamina might not be as good as it should be," added the big woman. "Stay away from her in the early rounds, make her come after you. If she gets inside on you, try to clinch. Whatever you do, don't let her get in close and start throwing her belly punches. She's good at that. She'll tear you apart if she gets inside and you can't tie her up." 

 

"One more thing," Cherrise said as the bell rang. "Hitting her in the head is just as likely to bust your hand as knock her out. Remember that!" 

 

Tommie came out of her corner quickly. Steve moved out cautiously, jabbing nervously at her head. She kept both hands up, guarding her face, her green eyes intent. She casually flicked a left at Steve's head, making him flinch and bring his arms up further. She laughed and circled to Steve's left. Her left fist shot out again and he brought up his arms reflexively. This time Tommie moved in quickly, trying to get inside Steve's guard. Her right hand blurred as she drove a punch at his belly, but he sidestepped just in time. Her left grazed Steve's jaw before he could back out of range, but did no damage. 

 

Steve tried a left-right combination. Tommie blocked the left, but he hit her pretty well in her chiseled abdomen with his right. She didn't seem to notice the punch. Steve knocked her right hand aside as she threw another punch at his jaw, then backed quickly away. 

 

Steve retreated right into the ropes. Tommie smiled when she saw that she'd maneuvered Steve into a position where he couldn't back up any further. Cherrise yelled, "Get out of the ropes, Steve! Tie her up!" Tommie moved in on him aggressively, and slammed a piston like punch hard into his belly. 

 

Steve's knees buckled from the force of that single punch from the muscular dynamo. Desperately he tried to grab her arms and hold on, but she was too strong for him. Tommie then drove her left shoulder into Steve's chest to straighten him up and sent another powerful punch into his weakened stomach. Her big fist, driven by the prodigious might of her sinewy arm, felt like it might go all the way through his body and break his spine. Steve would have fallen if her shoulder weren't holding him up. Unthinking, the man desperately wrapped his arms around her, holding on for dear life. 

 

"Break," called Marge. Tommie tried to step back, but Steve didn't let go. Marge got her arms between them, literally pulling Steve off the woman. "I said break, Steve," Marge warned sternly. Steve stepped back a bit and brought his arms up again. His knees were wobbly and there was a fire in his belly. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take, two hundred dollars a fight or not. 

 

Tommie showed her mouthpiece in a grin. "Whatsa matter, big man? Did I hurt ya?" she taunted. She feinted at Steve's belly, laughing when he cringed and tried to get away. "Ooohh, you're not AFRAID of me, are you?" she laughed. 

 

Steve moved sideways until he could get away from the ropes. He was moving slower than he had at the start of the match. Tommie pursued her victim relentlessly, forcing him to keep retreating. She flicked at Steve with both rights and lefts, tapping him lightly in both the jaw and belly, showing what she could do if she put force behind the blows. Steve knew this was a show for the cameras, but he couldn't help flinching at each punch. He was terrified of this girl's power, and he didn't care who knew it. 

The bell rang for the end of round one and Steve staggered to his corner and slumped on his stool. Cherrise put an ice bag on Steve's aching stomach and squirted some water into his mouth. "Spit," she ordered, holding out a bucket. He did, and then took another mouthful of water which he swallowed. "You've gotta keep moving, Steve," Cherrise said. "Don't let her corner you. She loves to bomb to the belly for a while before she knocks guys out. Stick and move, man, like you were doing against Marge." 

 

Steve looked across the ring at his opponent. Tommie was standing in her corner, looking at him and laughing at something Darlene said. She clenched her fists and doubled her arms, showing biceps that resembled nothing less than granite boulders. Steve swallowed hard as Cherrise put his mouthpiece back in and the bell rang for the second round. 

 

Almost before Steve was out of the corner Tommie was on top of him. He frantically moved around the ring, almost running from his laughing tormentress. "I bet this makes a real fine tape," Steve thought. "See the scared man run from the big, bad woman." 

 

Tommie stopped and stood in the center of the ring. She gestured to Steve, saying, "C'mon, mister, is this a fight or a track meet?" Darlene laughed uproariously at that, and even Marge had a grin on her face. "C'mon, take your best shot," she taunted, gesturing at her washboard abdominal muscles. 

 

Steve cautiously approached her, expecting a trick, but she said, "I'll give ya one punch, right there," again pointing at her rippling stomach. He wound up and let her have his best punch, with his legs and back behind it, right in the middle of her belly. 

Tommie absorbed the blow without even blinking. She just smiled around the mouthpiece and asked, "Is that the best you can do? You're in more trouble than I thought." Her left flicked out again at Steve's face, bringing his hands up, and she laughed and danced around him. "C'mon, boy, hit me, I dare ya!" she taunted. Furious, Steve tried to hit her, this time going for the jaw, but Tommie flitted around him like a moth, and he couldn't land any punches. Her left jab now was in Steve's face constantly, tapping at his nose and jaw. It didn't hurt him, it was just annoying. 

 

Steve was so frustrated and angry that he got careless. Stepping in, trying to land a blow to her face, he walked right into a sucker punch. Her right fist crashed into his left side with such force he stumbled sideways for five feet until he hit the ropes. Steve felt dizzy and nauseated, and his eyes wouldn't focus. That punch had done some real damage. 

 

Now that he was trapped against the ropes again, Tommie went to work on Steve's face. Cherrise screamed at him to move, and Darlene hollered at Tommie to finish him off. Tommie's punches came fast and hard, snapping Steve's head back and forth. Her left fist smashed into his cheekbone, and her right caught him over the left eye. He felt his face swelling and his vision blurred still further. Tommie's big, rock-hard fists crashed viciously into Steve's head until his knees buckled again. The brutal blonde held him up with her left hand in his chest, showing him the right hand she was going to use to finish him off when the bell rang, ending the second round. 

 

Tommie disdainfully shoved Steve toward his corner. "Next round, boy," she taunted. "You're going down." She laughed as he staggered, holding on to the ropes, back to where Cherrise waited. 

 

Steve slumped on the stool as Cherrise used the ice bag on his face, trying to stop the swelling caused by Tommie's iron hard weapons. When Steve spat into the bucket, the water was pink with blood from a split lip. "Steve, you're in real trouble," she said gravely. Tell me something I don't know, he thought. "If you can, you've got to stay away from her. If she gets close, get into a clinch. Don't give her room to throw a punch." He nodded weakly that he understood, and Cherrise put the mouthpiece back in his bloody mouth and slapped him on the back as the bell rang for the third round. 

 

Tommie stood in her corner, smiling. "You're mine, boy!" she yelled across the ring. She pantomimed that she was going to knock Steve out in this round, so nobody watching the tape could doubt what she intended to do. His belly and side ached, and his face felt like someone had hit him with a two-by-four. Several times. 

 

Steve stumbled out of the corner to meet Tommie. She giggled as he staggered around, trying to stay out of her range. She flicked a left jab at Steve's eyes and he lurched backwards in terror, causing great hilarity for both Darlene and Tommie. She played with him for a minute or so, making him cower in fear from her feinted punches. Sweat dripped into his eyes, making it tough to see. Marge ordered her to "stop fooling around and fight", and Tommie nodded and moved in to finish Steve off. 

 

There was no stopping her advance this time. Tommie was a muscular juggernaut as she pursued Steve relentlessly, smashing her fists into his body with brutal force. One especially vicious punch lifted him completely off his feet and back into the ropes. He rebounded toward her, only to be met with a wicked right hand straight to his chest. Steve fell backwards into the ropes again, and Tommie came after him, her sledgehammer blows crashing into his defenseless body time after time, destroying any resistance he might offer. Steve vaguely heard Darlene yell, "Finish him off, Tommie," and the brawny blonde said, "Say 'good night, Gracie'." Steve never felt the punch that knocked him out, but looking at the tape later he saw that it was a powerful right hand into the side of his jaw that put him down and out. 

 

Steve came to with Marge, Cherrise, Darlene, and Tommie bending over him. Marge was holding a bottle of smelling salts under his nose. Steve felt as if his body had been run over by a truck. Tommie looked relieved when he opened his eyes, and the other three women helped him to his feet. 

 

Marge and Darlene supported Steve while Cherrise put a stool behind his legs and he sat down. Marge held up her hand in front of Steve's eyes. "How many fingers?" she asked. 

 

"Three," he said woozily. One more pass with the smelling salts and his head cleared a little more. Cherrise handed him an ice pack, and he was torn between holding it to his body or his face. The body won out, and Steve pressed the soothing ice against his aching ribs and belly. 

 

Marge looked at Steve and shook her head. "You really did a job on him, Tommie," she said. "You're definitely too good to box beginners anymore. Next match'll be against someone with more experience." 

 

Tommie squatted down in front of Steve. He saw blood on her knuckles, but she was otherwise undamaged. "No hard feelings, I hope," she said, offering her hand. "It was nothing personal. I just wanted to put on a good show for the tape." 

 

Steve shook the proffered hand weakly and mumbled, "No offense taken. You're a hell of a fighter." 

 

"Thanks," smiled Tommie. "Need help getting him back to the trainer's room?" she asked Marge. 

 

"I think Cherrise and I can manage," Marge replied. "You go and shower." 

 

"Okay," Tommie said. "See ya later, Steve." She and Darlene left, and Marge and Cherrise practically had to carry Steve back to the trainer's room.