UWWX: The Underground Women's Wrestling Xperiment

UWWX: The Underground Women’s Wrestling Xperiment

by Dustin M. Weber

Published by Dustin M. Weber at Smashwords

Cover Art: MyEcoverMaker

Copyright © 2012 Dustin M. Weber

All rights reserved.

NOTE: This book is licensed for personal enjoyment only and may not be resold or given away to anyone else by any means in any form (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, etc.). If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy for each additional reader. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase a copy for yourself. Thank you for respecting this author’s hard work.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, brands, incidents, media, and contact information mentioned are either products of the author’s own imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarities or resemblances to persons either living or deceased and/or brands either active or inactive are purely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to every woman who has ever set foot in any professional wrestling ring and has made an effort to become a credit to the professional wrestling industry. Thank you all for putting your bodies on the line for the sake of inspiring fans like me everywhere and for becoming role models for young women to look up to.

This book is also dedicated to every fellow man who has ever openly and sincerely shown respect to women’s wrestling and who realizes that women do have a spot in professional wrestling aside from at ringside and in the back. Here’s hoping that we all can help women’s wrestling move forward from hereon out, fellas!

Finally, this book is dedicated to my parents for giving me the best life they could with what they had and for putting up with me throughout this whole crazy literary venture of mine. Thank you both for believing in me when the going got tough. You guys are the best!

---Dustin

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

About the Author

Chapter 1

You have got to be kidding me!

I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard come out of the guy’s mouth, and by the guy, I meant the fat, disgusting middle-aged slob in the deep blue Jerry Clower tuxedo—complete with pink cummerbund and bowtie—whom Commissioner Fielding had invited me into her office to meet. I turned my head briefly to the side to see what she herself thought about what her guest had just told me, and from the way she was palming her face, I could tell that she was pretty embarrassed, and rightfully so. Sadly, as I turned back to the man, he showed no signs at all of either shame or guilt at what he had just said, much to my dismay. In fact, he managed to keep a straight face as he dared to repeat that which he had just said.

Actually, Ms. Bradshaw, I’m quite serious, he said. We want you to be a part of our show. It’ll actually be a great opportunity for you, what with us finally getting a television deal and all this year. You’ll finally be able to garner some exposure with the casual wrestling audience—something every wrestler in the independent scene dreams about. Who knows? You might even become a huge star."

Yeah, at the cost of my own dignity and identity, I countered. Forget it, pal. I don’t want anything to do with your precious little comedy fetish smutfest.

The pervert only chuckled and retorted, Why, what’s the matter? Are you afraid we’ll be suiting you up with the worst gimmick we can think of?

"Buddy, knowing you and that braindead sidekick of yours—who, just for the record, hasn’t had an original idea in his thick skull since he last booked Max Diamond’s little hole-in-the-ground promotion ten years ago—you two couldn’t come up with anything close to being good even if you actually tried. I still remember that last project of yours, that corny-as-all-hell Hotties of Wrestling show that you made for the Loads of Laughs network, and all I can say is thank Heaven and Hell both that LOL had the good sense not to showcase that farce on their beloved channel. Honestly, your little project must have been that big of a disgrace if even they wouldn’t air it, especially considering the kind of garbage they’ve hosted before."

Listen, Charlie, I know that this latest project of ours doesn’t sound very promising, but J.V. and I have been assured by this current network that our deal with them I secure.

Yeah, for the first month-and-a-half. Then the ratings will go through the floor thanks to the lack of decent advertising and a crapload of much-deserved negative feedback from the Internet crowd, and the next thing you know, you two ass clowns and each and every self-loathing money whore who’s desperate and stupid enough to sign with your little joke of a company will be back out on the street where you all belong, and those of us who chose to stay true to true to who we are will be laughing our asses off at your stupidity while the promotions we work for—this one included—will stay standing thanks to our loyal fanbases. Granted, Fielding here might take in some of your strumpets and stick them in the job squad out of little more than pity, but you and Hart would sure as all else be out of a job. That anyone can guarantee.

I didn’t bother to redirect my attention to Fielding, but I didn’t need to know that she was nodding her head at my sentiments, regardless of how gruff I was being with our honored guest. Honestly, I could have figured out from the way she had initially called me in and introduced me to the wannabe Hugh Hefner that she, too, hated the bastard every bit as much as I did, if not more so, which would have been saying something in and of itself. Even so, she managed to keep her cool as she at long last had her say about the idiot and the skanky schlockfest he was insisting I become a part of.

You’re only wasting your time with us, Mr. Bellasarus, she informed him. The idea you’re proposing has already been done before back in the 1980s with Wrestling’s Most Glamorous Ladies, which only succeeded for as long as it did because the masses back then didn’t care about whether or not what they were watching was real or not and as such were much more able to sit back and just enjoy pro wrestling for what it was, regardless of how downright phony their favorite product could be.

Bellasarus’s fat ugly mug suddenly twisted into a disdainful scowl. Now, just a moment, Ms. Fielding, he retorted. I don’t appreciate you insulting my promotion the way you are now.

Let me finish, please, Fielding scolded before continuing. I am not intentionally insulting WrestleKittens, but let’s be honest: Not only do you have a program that’s enough of a niche product as it is, being a women’s wrestling show and all, but you have made it into even more of a niche product by elevating the sexuality and taking away your wrestlers’ identities by dolling them up in the raciest costumes the industry has ever seen and having them play cheesy, over-the-top, embarrassing characters that wouldn’t exist in any way, shape or form outside the realm of ‘sports entertainment.’ On top of all that, the network that will be broadcasting your show is virtually unknown to the general public, which basically spells suicide for a product like yours that already lacks appeal and staying power as it is. Be honest with us, now: Do you truly expect today’s wrestling fans, as jaded and as demanding as they are, to buy into such pageantry—especially considering how the majority of them have been yearning for a more serious, sports-oriented wrestling product for years now? Seriously, the only wrestling fans who would dare to watch such a show are those with a morbid enough curiosity to tune in to one episode just to see how campy it is and later make an issue out of it on a forum or even their own blog.

Okay, well…where’s the harm in that? At least we’d still be earning a rating. Who knows? That one person might come to like our show down the road, even if he or she doesn’t initially, and spread the word about how great we are to the point of possibly even getting the rest of the so-called Internet Wrestling Community to check us out-especially when they find out whom we have on the roster.

Yeah, a big bunch of money-grubbing sellouts and a handful of dumb-bunny goofball bimbo model-types who have no business even being near a ring, much less in it, I horned in. Really, who gives a crap whom you’ve managed to weasel onto your payroll if the booking sucks and makes even the talented girls look like bumbling buffoons? I’ve seen what Hart’s booking looks like in action, and believe me when I say that even his best work is so sloppy and poorly thought out that it makes that idiot Sal Struthers look like Antoine D’Amore in comparison. Forget it, Bellasarus. You’re not conning me to join your stupid little Vegas sideshow. I refuse to turn my back on the people who made me who I am, and I definitely refuse to drop a match to any scrawny, braindead, no-talent model twit you might have me try to make look good.

That was when I bolted up out of the chair I had been sitting in and started storming out of Fielding’s office. Before I could so much as open the door, however, Bellasarus thrust his hulk in front of me and blocked me from exiting.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! he blurted out. Hold on a second, would you?

I stood there with my hands on my hips, tapping my foot impatiently for whatever the portly pimp had left to say to me. Seeing me standing in front of him the way I was, he chuckled nervously before daring to continue.

You honestly think I’m going to job you out to any of our homegrown talents? Because if you do, I can readily assure you that such is not the case at all. You may question my business practices, Charlie, but even I know better than to make a woman of your skill and girth forfeit a match to—

"Excuse me?" I interrupted as I grabbed the bastard by the collar and pinned his shoulders up against the nearest wall.

Charlie— Fielding protested as she stepped out from behind her desk and hustled her little keister towards us.

Bellasarus only giggled nervously in my face and swallowed hard. "Um…err…sorry about that. I suppose I should have used the term ‘mass’ instead. You’re clearly not fat by any means…‘buxom,’ perhaps, or even voluptuous, given that you’ve got an all-natural bus that most women would kill to have and a nice tight booty to match. In fact, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, I’d be willing to bet that out little promotion would have several fans—if not, in fact, several hundred fans—who would pay dearly to see you squeeze your sensuously full figure into a bikini—"

CRACK!

Bellasarus’s piss-poor attempts at flattery only warranted a stiff backhand from me that nailed him so hard that his blubbery body fell to the ground with a thud. Luckily for him, he remained conscious, especially of his fat, swollen, crimson cheek that he promptly put his hand on as he struggled to his feet. Naturally, I didn’t bother lending the horny little toad a hand up and instead stood with my arms folded across my buxom chest, glowering menacingly while Fielding tried helping him lift his bulk up off the ground. Eventually, Bellasarus was back on his feet and still holding his swollen cheek in a manner that made him look as if he had a nasty toothache that needed immediate dental attention. Truth be told, I was actually a bit disappointed in the fact that I hadn’t knocked any of his precious pearly whites out of his fat ignorant mouth, but hey, maybe the sting he was feeling was satisfaction enough for me, although his little admission of defeat only made the whole deal sound even sweeter.

Well, he blubbered, drooling all the while as though he had just emerged from his dentist’s office after a very invasive root canal, it seems as though I’ve overstayed my welcome here. I’m terribly sorry, Ms. Bradshaw, that we couldn’t work anything out. If you change your mind, though, please don’t be afraid to drop me an email sometime, and perhaps J.V. and I can write up a contract for you that would be to your liking. Until then, ladies, good day to you both, and good luck.

Hmph! Good luck, huh? With what? Unfortunately, it looked as though I would never get the chance to find that out, seeing as how Fielding managed to lead Bellasarus out of the office and close the door behind him before I could bring myself to ask him. Then again, the whole thing didn’t really matter all that much, especially when I had Fielding shifting her gaze toward me with her own arms folded in front of her to signify how disappointed she was with me at the moment. She was not afraid to give voice to her feelings right then and there, either, and pretty readily gave me a piece of her mind.

You didn’t have to take it that far, she said as she shook her head.

Give me a break, Fielding, I scoffed. "What I did to him was nothing compared to the righteous ass-kicking he really deserves."

"No matter. That still doesn’t give you the right to lay a finger on him. He can very well now turn around and press an assault and battery charge against you, and trust me when I say that I don’t want that to happen to you in the least. After all, if we want people to know that our promotion is the one worth investing in, we can’t afford to draw the slightest bit of heat, even if we do get a few particularly rowdy supporters on our side on account of actions like yours."

"So what are you going to do about it? Let your brother get some sort of partnership with these idiots? You just said yourself that their joke of a product has no staying power, and believe me—it would make me sick to my stomach to see any of our other gals trek on over there for any reason and join the ranks of all the other glorified hookers who’ve given up on what wrestling is supposed to be."

Fielding only sighed and shook her head. I don’t know, she said simply. Believe me, if I had full ownership of this company, I’d do everything in my power to make sure we would never have to deal with the likes of Bellasarus and Hart. How I’d go about it exactly, I’m not sure…try to acquire a respectable television deal of our own, I suppose, or perhaps work out some sort of agreement with the Global Wrestling Corporation whenever they themselves start treating women’s wrestling with respect like they used to instead of putting on the glorified ‘boobs and booty’ show that they’re now putting on with their women. Unfortunately, Colt has convinced himself that this current recession our industry has been going through has affected us even more than it actually has, and he’s desperate enough to try anything to preserve the Ladies’ Wrestling League regardless of the fact that we’re not faring that much worse since the day he and I first founded this humble little promotion.

I take it, then, that you haven’t been able to get it through that knobby little skull of his that he’s full of more crap than an overflowing colostomy bag?

Fielding shot me a look of disapproval. Don’t talk about my brother like that! she scolded. You know just as well as anyone else that Colt means well, no matter how foolish he can be. Granted, even I get exasperated with all the times he has let his ambitions get the better of him and all the flighty notions and harebrained ideas that pop into his head on account of them, but even then, his interests are still for the betterment of the LWL.

I snorted. Whatever, I grumbled. If he ever gets the idea of buddying up with that dirtbag Bellasarus and forking over any of our gals over to him to become live action burlesque cartoon characters, I’ll beat so much snot out of him that he’ll have all the room in the world to finally stuff some sense into him. I don’t care what kind of motive he’d have to pull such a stunt, either. Even he should know by now that pro wrestling is a sport—a worked sport, maybe, but a sport all the same. That’s why I became a wrestler, after all. I wanted to become an athlete, not just an actress.

Point well taken, Charlie, but listen, Fielding insisted as she tried to calm me down. You’re just letting this whole ordeal get to you now. Tell you what, then: Why don’t you relax for the rest of the evening? Just head on back to your hotel room and unwind. We’ll be heading on out for Chicago first thing tomorrow morning, so you’ll definitely need your beauty sleep.

Now had come my turn to shoot Fielding a look. Seriously, though, beauty sleep? Did she really have to use that term with me? Especially considering how much she knew about my personal hatred for such über-girly bullcrap vernacular, which she immediately became reminded of once she caught sight of me giving her the evil eye.

Sorry… she said with a gulp, …but you know what I mean. You just need to cool off, is all I’m saying. Trust me—you’ll be in a much better frame of mind for tomorrow’s show.

I shrugged my shoulders and admitted, Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll take you up on your offer, then.

You promise? Fielding demanded, eyeballing me suspiciously. I don’t want you ‘venting’ over what just went on here and getting yourself in trouble because of it.

"Ha! And you’re telling me that I’m the one who needs to relax. Take it easy already, Fielding. I may be rough and tumble, but even something as flat-out asinine as WrestleKittens isn’t enough to send me flying into a psychotic rage, so don’t expect me right away to be roaming the streets in the middle of the night looking for losers whose skulls I can cave in. Check you later, then."

Having said, that, I sauntered off out of the office and back to the locker room to grab my gear and head back to the hotel. On my way out, I could feel Fielding’s eyes watching me, and without so much as taking the slightest glance back at her, I could guess what she was thinking: Honestly, just what kind of trouble is she going to get into? Of course, I really was in no mood to get into any kind of trouble. Sure, there was a certain someone whom I wanted to stick it to again, right along with all the morons he surrounded himself with, but honestly, I was too tired to do anything about that at the moment. Ah, well…there’s a time for everything, I guess. For the moment, though, all I really wanted to do was take a load off and be fresh for yet another busy day.

Chapter 2

After having showered down and changing into my sleepwear ensemble—namely, a pair of workout shorts and a plain white T-shirt—I flopped my haunches down on the edge of my bed and flipped on the TV to see what was on. Actually, I tuned in to check out the weather first and foremost to see for myself just what kind of scene the others and I would be rolling on into the following day in Chicago. After all, as much as I loved the Windy City and every wrestling fan in it for being so passionate about the sport, I hated riding our tour bus into it during a rain or snow storm, even though I knew all too well that the latter of the two wouldn’t happen, what with it being May and all. Thankfully, we weren’t due to drive into the former, either, which was comfort enough for me to casually flip the channel to something that, to put it politely, I wish I hadn’t. Basically, it was the GWC’s B-show, Slam Time—as corny a title as I had ever heard this side of WrestleKittens—and the match that was going on at the moment was a Women’s Title match between two of the sloppiest wrestlers I had ever seen in any squared circle. That wasn’t to say that I was surprised at all, of course, judging from what the two women were: a pair of pretty petite blondes who couldn’t tell the difference between a wristlock and a wristwatch, which had sadly become the flavor of the year for the good ol’ Global Wrestling Corporation. Yeah…not exactly the kind of thing that anyone in his or her right mind would want to see after having just heard about the existence of a tacky burlesque comedy wrestling promotion like ear sweet gentle Johnny Bellasarus’s very own WrestlieKittens. Granted, the match that was taking place wasn’t quite as bad as the trash that Bellasarus was trying to shovel down my throat earlier that afternoon, but that was only because it was trying to be a serious bout, even though the two Barbie dolls who were having a go at each other were botching their moves left and right to the point where even the marks in the stands gave no indication of caring about what they were doing. It was kind of a shame, really, but then again, the poor minxes were at least putting in some sort of effort, so I continued to keep watching just for S&G, even as my training partner and roommate Vivian bustled into the room and saw what I was watching, only to wrinkle her dainty nose in disgust at the TV screen, then turn to me with a scowl that a repressed husband would expect from his wife if she were to catch him watching porn.

You’re kidding me, right? she wanted to know. "Honestly, are you that bored that you have to tune in to this crap?"

I just shrugged my shoulders and replied, "Just for the lulz, really. If nothing else, it’s still better than the real crap that I was asked to be a part of earlier today."

Oh, really? You mean there’s an even bigger joke of a promoter out there than Shane Vincent? That I’d like to hear about.

I turned the volume down on the TV set and looked her square in the eye. You sure about that? I asked in warning. Because you might want a puke pail after I tell you all about it.

Try me. I’ve yet to be told anything that I couldn’t stomach.

That was true, I told myself. Vivian was, after all, every bit as tough as I was—in spite of being noticeably skinnier in contrast to me—and had taken bumps that even I could only have imagined taking. It was with that in mind that I sighed heavily and turned off the old hotbox so that I could explain the whole situation I had had in Fielding’s office with Bellasarus and his desire to recruit me into his glorified girly show. It didn’t take long, however, for Viv to become downright sickened with what I was telling her—literally, in fact, for sure enough, she ended up making a mad dash for the bathroom and locking the door behind her. Pity, I thought to myself as I heard her wretch vehemently…I hadn’t even gotten to the part where I’d backhanded the fat slob, which I’m sure would have eased her sensitive little tummy in a blink. Then again, as I paid close attention to her heaving, I noticed something: the lack of any splashing upon her vomit spilling into the toilet. Honestly, was she even vomiting at all, or was it all just an act for my own sake? Well, there was only one way for me to find out, I guess, so I rapped my knuckles against the bathroom door and called her name to make sure she was doing alright.

Viv? You okay in there?

I heard nothing from the other side except for Vivian moaning slightly as she hoisted herself up off the bathroom floor, which sounded far more convincing than I dared to imagine. Finding myself startled, I called o0ut to her again, only this time with urgency.

Viv?! What the hell’s going on in there? You’d better not be goofing off.

For a good three seconds, I heard nothing but dead silence. Then suddenly came a mischievous cackle and the unlatching of the lock on the door as she emerged from the bathroom with her head cocked back and a hearty laugh emitting from her throat. I scowled at her as she continued to celebrate her victory over my gullible hide, peeved like nobody else’s business at the fact that she pranked me for the umpteenth time during our little tour. Honestly, I thought I’d known better by that point than to fall for her crap, especially considering how close we were to one another, but there she was again, pushing my buttons like before. Thankfully, she didn’t keep it up for too long and actually took a breath before confessing to the little one-woman gag concert that she’d just put on.

Sorry, gal pal, she said, "but I just had to do that. I’ll tell you this much, though: I wish I really did have to heave. Seriously, that has got to be the most messed up idea for a wrestling promotion that I’ve ever heard."

I licked my lips curtly before answering with, Yeah, well, obviously you’ve forgotten what PLOW was.

Psh! Get real, Charlie! At least WMGL was around back in the ‘80s when wrestling fans didn’t know or care about the business being a work. To bring it all back and dumb it even further down for today’s crowd, though…oh-ho-ho, man!

Yeah, well…what do you expect? This is WMGL’s good ol’ ‘Johnny B’ we’re talking about: too stupid to think outside what little box he’s ever known and too sexist to even try to start doing so. To think, too, that his precious little WrestleKittens company is his second attempt to revive his beloved WMGL—and with girls like us, too! It’s disgusting…absolutely disgusting…

"Hey, now! Just so long as you’re both strong and smart enough to not sign with his little joke of a product, that’s all that should matter. If the other girls are greedy or desperate enough to throw away their dignity and self-respect for nothing more than a few extra bucks and a chance to humiliate themselves on national TV at the whim of some pervert, then guess what: That’s their fault, not yours."

I sighed at Vivian’s words of wisdom and, though I knew she was right, still felt the need to say, "Hey, it’s still our sport he’s making a mockery out of and with our girls—our sisters—at that. If he’d only stuck with the pretty little hookers and strippers that the GWC is so fond of these days, I wouldn’t be so put off, but you just watch. That fatso’s going to be conning gals from our roster by the truckload and turning them into glorified burlesque cosplayers and bikini models left, right, and center, and guess what that’ll do for our business: completely foul it up, that’s what! Hell, most people don’t take our work seriously as it is. Can you imagine, then, what they’ll be thinking of us once they—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa there, partner!" Viv interrupted, trying to get me to settle down. Take it easy, alright? You’re taking this way too personally. Like I said, if any of the other girls are going to sell out to Bellasarus, let them. It’s not a reflection on you; it’s a reflection on them. It’s their stupidity and desperation they’ll be putting on display for the world to see, not yours. You can’t control their fate and destiny, so why bother with them?"

To be brutally honest, I didn’t have an answer to my pal’s question, and all I could really do was stand there like an idiot fuming over that bloated little scumbag Bellasarus possibly luring our girls away with the same promises of fame and fortune that he tried to use on me. In fact, the more I envisioned it, the angrier I got—so angry, that is, that I ended up stripping off my T-shirt and shorts in a fit of rage, much to Vivian’s shock.

Hey! Come on now! she cried. I said cool off. What the hell are you even doing, anyway?

I didn’t bother to answer her at the moment and instead balled up my sleepwear in my big meaty hands and flung them at my corner of the room, then stormed on over in my bra and panties over to the armoire between our beds and swung the doors wide open to reveal our suitcases. I hauled my suitcase out instantly and slammed it onto my bed, then rooted through it as I looked for the proper outfit to put on. As I did, Vivian repeated her question.

Um…hello? Earth to Chainsaw Charlie! What are you up to?

What the hell does it look like I’m up to? I snapped back. I’m looking for some decent streetwear, and unless you want to spend the rest of the evening cooped up here watching Shane Vincent parade a bunch of hussies and musclemen in front of your face, you’d do the same.

By the time I’d said that, I’d managed to dig out a pair of cut-off denim shorts and my studded leather sports bra from one of my wrestling outfits. Viv scoffed at me as I began sliding on the shorts stricken with sheer disbelief at the words that had just come out of my mouth.

You’ve got to be joking! she protested. There’s no way I’m going to parade all over town at night decked out like some sexy piece of eye candy straight out of a fighting game. You’re not even dressed yet, and I can already tell that you’re going to look like a two-bit tramp. You talk about Bellasarus making a joke about women’s wrestling by having the girls on the roster all dolled up in skimpy little fetish outfits, and yet, here you are sliding on into a pair of glorified hot pants and your Viking hootchie top for a night out on the town. You wanna talk about embarrassing yourself? You wanna talk about hypocrisy? You can’t possibly be telling me that the dudes we’ll be brushing up against aren’t going to be looking at you like you’re less than what you are.

Exactly the point, tootsie! I barked as I spun around to face her. And as far as ‘embarrassing’ myself goes, at least I’ll be wearing this ‘Viking hootchie top’ here and not traipsing around town like this…

I then reached around my back as if I were about to unfasten the hooks on the back of my bra, which immediately sent Viv scurrying back into the bathroom in sheer panic, slamming the door behind her for the second time within the past several minutes as she hid from the nonexistent sight of me topless. I shook my head as she cowered within her little safety zone and thought to myself, Geez, what a prude! All the same, that’s not what I actually said. Rather, as I officially started changing into my sports bra, I told her this:

I’ve already dealt with Bellasarus and his disgrace of a product long enough, and if I don’t blow off a little steam now, I’ll never get past it. Besides, who knows? I might get lucky—

"Don’t…even…think…about saying stuff like ‘get lucky’ when you’re three-quarters naked," Viv insisted testily from behind the closed bathroom door.

"Oh, get over it, would you? I’m already dressed now. Besides, it’s not like you haven’t seen me or any of the other girls naked or topless in the locker room before. We’ve all had to shower down after working out or putting on a show, haven’t we? Isn’t that at least partially what locker rooms are for? Trust me, none of us are exactly fully dressed when we hit the showers, and believe me—it ain’t like I’ve got anything anatomy wise that you don’t have."

Viv didn’t bother to answer me, and I could readily picture her looking down at her own average-sized bosom out of shame or inadequacy or some other crap like that after I’d made that last comment. Naturally, then, I sighed as I finished fastening my sports bra and carried on talking to her.

I’m going out on the town tonight, I repeated, "and I’m gonna take my mind off this whole WrestleKittens garbage one way or another. Now, will I cross paths with a wrestling promoter who’ll sign me up on his or her roster or a benefactor for our own humble company? I’ve honestly got no idea, but I do know all too well that if I do, I sure as hell won’t meet anyone like that in this lousy room of ours. Now, if you want a piece of the action, you’re free to come along, but you’d better make up your mind right now as to whether or not you do."

There was a moment of silence as I stood there waiting for an answer, but eventually, the door opened, and Viv emerged into plain sight once again with an expression on her face that clearly showed me just how uneasy she was. In fact, I could’ve sworn I saw her gulp heavily as she came out and gave me the once-over. Eventually, however, she managed to stammer out, Just…just so long as I have to dress like you, okay? I’d rather head on out of here looking a little more…put-together…if you know what I mean.

I shrugged nonchalantly and replied, Fair enough. Just make sure your little number still says ‘tough-but-sexy,’ though, because that’s the image we’ll be going for.

You sure about that?

"Positive. After all…we are wrestlers, aren’t we?"

Before too long, Vivian and I were off to spend a girls’ night out on the town, and damn, were we smokin’ as we made our exit from the hotel! As I’d expected, I managed to get a few fellas’ heads to turn—and, truth be told, some of the ladies—we strutted on past. Then again, how often does anyone get the chance to see a full-figured hottie with a nice, tight tummy walk around with said midriff exposed for all to admire? Of course, Vib wasn’t looking too shabby, either, what with her skintight jeans, biker boots, and crisp white halter top, and with her jet black leather jacket completing the ensemble, all she needed was a big ol’ Harley to ride to fully fit the part that she otherwise looked. Such was how we roamed, the modern-day Amazon and the rowdy Latina biker babe, our heads held high and an air of pride and self-sufficiency around us as we made our way to the nearest pub—the Cage, as it was called, interestingly enough—a block away from where our hotel was. Even right as we entered the place, which was every bit as loud, dingy, and crowded as anyone could expect a pub to be, quite a few of the customers—most of whom were men, of course—couldn’t help but lay eyes on us. As a matter of fact, we even heard a couple of cat calls and wolf whistles as we made our way to the bar, and even the fellas who were standing between us and the bar itself made it a point to clear the way for us. Unfortunately, once we finally arrived, there were no empty seats—until, of course, the powerfully built black woman who was bartending saw us coming and motioned for the two generic beefcakes over whose shoulders she was looking to step up off their barstools so that we could sit there. The muscle heads turned around slowly to see us, and when they did, they each looked us up and down as if to measure us up or, worse yet, mentally undress us. I could certainly tell from the lustful eyes and cocky smirk of the dude who gave me the once-over that he was interested in getting his mitts all over me one way or another, but I stood my ground with him and made sure he knew I was not to be trifled with.

Don’t even think about it, bub! I snapped. I’m a virtuoso at what I do, and I’d like to stay that way.

Hey, don’t sweat it, honey pie, he cooed. I know better than to put my hands on the merchandise.

And with that, he and his friend stood up from their seats and gestured for us to take them, which we gladly did, albeit not without taking our eyes off them out of precaution for what they very well could have done to us. Sadly, they never looked away from us, either, as they slowly stepped away from the bar, and while I technically had little to no right to complain, what with the outfit that I myself had chosen to wear and all, I had no doubt that Viv’s skin was crawling. Truth be told, I wouldn’t have blamed her if that was the case, but at any rate, we at last got to sit down, and as we did, the bartender decided to start up a little bit of small talk with us prior to taking our order.

So… she crooned as she wiped her hands with the barkeep’s rag that she had had draped across her shoulder, …a virtuoso, huh? At what sport? MMA?

Nope, sorry, I responded proudly. Wrestling.

The barkeep chuckled. No need to apologize, honey, she said. I’ve got nothing against wrestling. Pretty brutal sport, actually, from what I’ve heard. You sure look like you can handle yourself in the ring, though.

I looked myself over casually as a means of taking her compliment in stride and said, "Yeah, I guess I do have that look to me. Then again, if you really wanna talk toughness, my pal here ain’t exactly a pushover, either."

The barkeep redirected her attention to Vivian upon me making that comment and decided, "I can see that being the case. Please forgive me for ignoring you there, though, sweetie. It’s just that your friend here…well…let’s just say, she really knows how to stand out. I’m dead serious, too. It ain’t every day when you see a fellow woman with a build like hers showing off her curves like that—and in public, no less."

Viv gave a quick chuckle and replied, Yeah, well…it’s like the old saying goes with her: ‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it.’

Vivian tried not to blush as she said that, but she couldn’t help it in the slightest, which the bartender simply had to laugh at—and quite heartily, too—as she fetched two clean drinking glasses and set them in front of us. You know what? she asked cheerfully. You two are alright. You both deserve a little bit of our ‘Athlete’s Special,’ on the house. Just you wait right here. I’ll go mix some up right now.

As she left to mix us what I could guess was the pub’s non-alcoholic signature cocktail, I playfully slapped Vivian on the arm and said, See? What did I tell you? Aren’t you glad we stepped on out after all?

Well, I’ll give you this much: At least we’re not cooped up in that lousy hotel room watching bimbos bumble all over themselves, she confessed. She then took a good look around her and noted, "You know, I shouldn’t be all that surprised, but holy hell, are there a lot of people here! Can’t say I recognize any of these shmoes, though. In fact, I’m not so sure this is exactly the hotspot for wresters—probably not even a hotspot for wrestlers, period."

Yeah, well, don’t be too sure about that. You just heard what kind of drink we’re being served, didn’t you? The ‘Athlete’s Special.’ That might tell you something about what kind of a clientele this place gets.

Viv snorted in disbelief. "Yeah, right. Seriously, Charlie, are you that naïve?"

"What? You’ve never heard of a bar, pub, tavern, whatever serving non-alcoholic beverages? Those kinds of drink specials do exist in such places, Viv. Do some research and learn to think outside the box. Not only that, but who’s to say that this place isn’t big among wrestlers, or at least athletes in general? How would you know that? Have you ever been here before?"

It was at that moment that the barkeep came back with a pitcher full of what looked to be run-of-the-mill vegetable juice. I watched her closely as she poured the thick, oozing concoction into my glass first, and before she could even fill the thing even half full, I asked her, Just out of curiosity, what exactly do you put in this stuff?

The bartender grinned and replied, You mean besides a healthy dose of TLC? Simple, really…just a bunch of different fruits, vegetables, and herbs…nothing too different from what you’d find in a glassful of fruit or veggie juice or even a nice tall glass of herbal tea. If you’re asking for the full recipe in any way, though, sorry, but you’re out of luck. I don’t give out such information on house specials.

Viv laughed at this last comment. Yeah, I can understand that. That’d be like Colonel Sanders himself rising from the dead and handing out the original recipe for Kentucky Fried—

I whacked Vivian hard on the arm as the words came pouring out of her mouth. Wincing, she held her hand on the spot where I’d nailed her and gave me the nastiest look of pain and protest I’d ever seen on her pretty little mug.

What? That wasn’t meant to be a racist remark! she protested. Why? Because she’s black? I’d have said the same thing if she were white or Asian or—

I waved her off as I lifted my glass to my lips and took a swig of what our hostess had just poured me. As I did, the bartender broke out into a short fit of laughter, apparently unfazed by my pal’s poor choice of words.

Well, I’ll tell you this, at least: she stated. You may both sleep easily tonight knowing that there’s no alcohol of any kind in this drink, hence the name ‘Athlete’s Special.’

I’d taken a nice, long swig of my drink as she was giving us this explanation, and I could taste for myself that she was right. Really, there was no spike of any kind to it at all. Instead, all I tasted was the smooth creaminess of liquefied tomatoes, carrots, grapes, and pineapple amongst other fruits and veggies along with just a hint of ginseng and maybe—just maybe—an even tinier hint of cinnamon. The stuff was actually pretty tasty, I had to admit—so much so, as a matter of fact, that I downed my entire glass even as our hostess continued to give us the history of the delicious concoction.

You see, she started off with, "back in the day, when your sport was the thing and this place was better known as the Squared Circle, we used to have wrestlers like you come in here night after night ordering drinks like nobody else’s business and getting all too hammered because of it. Next thing we knew, fights would break out, stuff would break, the cops would come to lock fellas up—you get the idea. Granted, I ain’t saying that the wrestlers were the only ones who would do such a thing, but they were the most likely."

Yeah, I can see that, I confessed as I wiped my mouth with my forearm. Don’t get me wrong, of course; being on the road three-hundred days a year and having to damn near kill yourself in front of an audience up to four days a week is no excuse for anyone to start a brawl with anyone, but it’s still as stressful as hell.

Oh, I wouldn’t doubt it. Needless to say, though, in order to put the brakes on the whole deal, I decided to whip up the very recipe you ladies are enjoying right now and introduce it to the menu as one of our signature drinks. Needless to say, it’s been quite a hit ever since, even with patrons of ours who’ve probably never seen the inside of a gym since high school.

By this time, Viv had taken a whiff of her drink and, once she decided that it wasn’t poison, sipped a bit of it. As I turned to get a glimpse of her face, I snickered upon seeing her hold that swig in her mush and her face contort into one of the most comical expressions I had ever seen. It was only when she came to realize that what she was drinking poison that her face reverted back to normal, and when it did, she gave a slight shrug to indicate that, guess what: The stuff was alright after all. I would’ve made a point to tell her just that, too, if not for the fact that the barkeep was still discussing the beverage’s history—and the pub’s, too, at that.

Even with the wrestling scene having gone down to what it has, we still get our fair share of customers who happen to be wrestlers, just like you. However, most of the athletes who’ve come around here over the years have been more from the ‘legit’ sports—you know, baseball, football, basketball, and all them. More than ever, though, have we become a hotspot for MMA fighters, and not just because the sport’s bigger now than it has ever been, either. Just look at this place, and you might be able to tell why.

Vivian looked around the place to see for herself what the gal was talking about and readily drew her conclusion. Oh, yeah, I see what you’re talking about. You’ve got this joint decked out in MMA posters.

I decided to take a gander around me as well to see what she was talking about, and lo and behold, she was right. Funny that I hadn’t noticed it before, but there they were: various photographs and paintings of some of the greatest, most respected mixed martial arts masters and mistresses of the time lining the walls of the pub like fine works of art. Hell, I even managed to spot one that was autographed by fighter Tanya Minkovski—the one gal whom I’d come to respect more than any other in the industry—and featured her chinging glasses with the same barkeep who was serving us at the moment. Hmm…interesting…although there was plenty more MMA memorabilia that made the whole scene even more interesting, such as the replica of the Female Martial Arts Federation’s championship belt sitting proudly on the mantle above the bar and the number of bobbleheads that lined the bar itself. Obviously, this place was all dressed up to appeal to the MMA crowd, which was fine for the owner and staff, I suppose, in that it helped bring them the business they needed to stay afloat, but deep inside, I could feel my heart begin to sink a little bit. Really, now, it was bad enough that I had to have been made aware of that stupid promotion WrestleKittens existing and bringing on further humiliation down upon the sport I’d ironically enough come to love. To be reminded, on the other hand, of how MMA was strongly and steadily replacing wrestling as the top draw among combat sports—that was to say, of course, if it hadn’t replaced pro wrestling already—actually hit me kinda hard, and more than I ever would have thought, on top of that. No wonder so many wrestlers stayed away from this Of course, I was in no mood to start up a pity party for myself, so I instead decided to keep my mouth shut as the barkeep carried on with her narrative.

Exactly, she responded to Viv’s observation. "We basically had to turn this into a haven for MMA fans to appeal to the growing