Grunts shot from his lungs with each stroke while he continued to fuck me. I moaned into the dense fabric, embracing the combination of pain and pleasure as one.
His hands released my ass yet his thick shaft continued to stretch me to new limits. In anticipation of where his hands would land next, I opened my eyes and attempted to catch a glimpse of him, only to realize doing so was impossible with his size 13 foot smashed into my skull.
Then, his fingertip found my clit.
He rubbed my sensitive nub feverishly while continuing to remind me just how much I enjoyed being filled with his massive girth.
All of the feelings of pleasure began to merge, and quickly came together as one. My entire body began to tingle. His finger circled my clit, his foot pressed against my head, and his cock pounded my soaking wet pussy.
I cried out into the room.
“Oooohhhh Fuuuuccckkkk!”
An orgasm of newfound proportion rushed from within me, somehow escaping through every ounce of my existence at once.
My vision blurred. My ears began to ring. My legs gave out.
And, miraculously, I was transported – body, mind, and spirit – to a place I had never known.
***
I looked around me. I was in my bathroom, in the tub with water running over me, and Ethan was peering down at me with a sudsy loofah in his hand.
“You came really hard. Kind of passed out,” he said. “I carried you in here.”
I felt terrible. “Did you come?” I asked.
He grinned. “Oh yeah. That’s part of the reason you’re in here. I uhhm. I pulled out and shot it all over your ass. And your back. A little in your hair, too.”
“Good,” I said. “As long as I satisfied you.”
He rubbed the soapy sponge over my shoulder. “You’re worried whether or not you satisfied me?”
I relaxed into the warm tub of water and nodded. “Yeah.”
“You letting me be part of your life satisfies me, Jaz. Completely. All the rest? Everything we do? The sex, the goofing around, the meals, and the fighting? That makes each day with you seem like Christmas.”
He didn’t speak often, but when he did, it seemed to always make me happy. I splashed some water onto my face and smiled as my pre-period emotions got the best of me.
And I thanked God that Ethan was a part of my life.
EIGHTEEN
Jaz
Day fifty-three.
Running through the thoughts in my mind, I searched a handful of distant memories, most of which were faded, but recollections of my past nonetheless. I came up with nothing that could compare. Granted, my childhood wasn’t a typical one, but despite my father’s abusive hand, I wouldn’t call it dreadful either.
“I think I like this place,” I said, turning to look in each direction. “A lot.”
It was morning, a few minutes after sunrise. The oranges and pinks from the rising sun – but not the rays themselves – peeked out through the branches of the trees, giving them an eerie glow. Technically, it may have been a few minutes before sunrise, I wasn’t sure. I was certain of one thing, I had never seen anything so beautiful in all of my life.
After walking down a stone staircase for half of a mile along the edge of a rock formation, we stood at the base of a large pool of water. Surrounding us were thirty-foot high sheer stone cliffs that rose up to another elevation.
From that upper elevation, water cascaded down off of the cliffs, freefalling into the pool of water at our feet.
A natural waterfall, dependent upon rain and the river above, which just so happened to be full. In a 180-degree arc, the waterfall rushed, creating a sound unlike anything I could ever remember hearing.
According to Ethan, Hamilton Pool was one of Austin’s main attractions, and would become quite busy with sightseers after mid-morning.
At least for the moment, it was ours.
“After I moved here, I used to come here and just sit and stare at it,” he said.
I wanted to respond, but my mouth had gone dry. Almost overcome with emotion from witnessing the beauty of not only what was before me, but of Ethan’s willingness to share something so special, I fought against my tightening – and increasingly becoming dry – throat.
It was hopeless. With the sun’s rays now shining beyond the bases of the trees and illuminating the cascading water, I was on the verge of tears.
And I didn’t show emotion.
At least not until I met Ethan.
I turned to him and nodded. I couldn’t offer much more. He returned a grin. I scanned the horizon, attempting to comprehend the passage of time having created the magnificent sight, but all I could do was absorb its beauty and gawk in awe of it all.
It was providing me what I had always hoped the beach would.
Proof of God’s existence. A place to dream. A location where none of the earth’s ugly existed.
Natural beauty, defined.
I turned toward Ethan, hesitated for long enough to adsorb his image, and turned back toward the waterfall. Beneath the soles of my sandals, sand. I kicked off my shoes, and pressed my feet deep into the cool grains. I felt his hand grip mine, and I grinned, squeezing his in return.
Different than anyone else I had ever met, Ethan wasn’t with me simply for sex. He was with me because he felt that I offered him something worth obtaining. He was right. I was valuable, and I knew it. I may not have had riches, or any material things, but I had me.
As far as I was concerned, no one on earth could compare to me. All I ever needed was to have someone open their eyes wide enough – and for long enough – to recognize my beauty.
I watched the water rush over the edge of the cliff and separate into countless droplets as it fell through the space between the rock cliff above and the water below. The suspended droplets reflected the sun’s rays, making each and every one of them look like precious jewels.
I squeezed his hand in mine. My eyes welled with tears. “This is beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” he said.
As I watched the priceless gems of water rain down over the edge of the stone formation, I realized I wasn’t the most beautiful person on earth.
But I was holding the hand of who was.
NINETEEN
Jaz
Day fifty-five.
I stood at the door with a knot in my stomach and a frog in my throat. While I considered turning around and walking into the gym, the door yanked open, scaring me half to death.
I jumped back and screeched. “Holy shit.”
He gasped in shock. “What in the fuck are you doing, Spaz?”
I swallowed heavily. “Have you got a minute?”
He exhaled loudly and gave me a stern glare. “For what?”
I swallowed again. “To talk?”
“I’ve got a gym full of future millionaires. Each fuckin’ one of them sure they’re going to win the next championship. All they need is a god damned chance. No, I don’t know if you’re ever going to make it. No, I don’t think you’re the best I’ve ever seen. Yes, I think you can be beat, and if you don’t remember what I told you, I think it’ll come sooner than you think. I think you need to work out less, eat more, and listen to everything you hear.”
He took a breath, pressed his hands into his hips and sighed. “Did I answer it?”
“No, Sir.”
He turned around and walked toward his desk. “Five minutes.”
The office was almost as large as my living room. Pictures of boxers, some in black and white, and some in color, adorned the walls from wall to wall. Most of the pictures included Kelsey, and his age range from what I expected to be the oldest photo to the most recent spanned about forty years or so.
Behind his desk, and larger than any of the others, a color photo – obviously a professional shot – of a fighter’s punch impacting the jaw of his opponent. The photograph was taken at the instant the punch – a left hook – made contact. The jaw of the opponent wa
s distorted and twisted. Kelsey stood at the side of the ring in the background, his eyes as wide as saucers, and his hands reaching for the sky.
I followed him toward his desk and studied the gold inlay in the lower matting of the framed print as soon as I was close enough to read it.
Dekkar vs. Brock
WBC Heavyweight Championship
The Knockout Punch
It was the guy everyone talked about. The one who owned the gym, Shane Dekkar. Obviously one of his championship fights, and considering the position of the photo in Kelsey’s office, probably the first one he won.
“I like that picture,” I said, tilting my head toward the print.
He sat down in his chair and sighed heavily. “Something you’ll never get to experience. Winning a championship.”
You rude old fucker.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Brawler’s don’t win. Brawler’s get beat. You need to learn to take a punch, because one of these days, somebody’s gonna nail you with one, and you won’t know how to react. Hell, I could go on and on, but I won’t. Why’d you darken my door, Spaz?”
I sat in the chair in front of his desk and sighed. “I don’t have family,” I said. “My mom died giving birth and my dad abused me, so I left as soon as I graduated high school.”
He remained without expression, his eyes fixed on mine. I suppose he’d heard it all, and my sob story was just another version of every other boxer’s tale who’d been in and out of his life over the years.
“So, I really don’t have anyone to ask questions,” I said with a shrug. “There’s a girl at work, and then there’s Ripp, but I can’t ask those two everything. So, I’m here for some advice because I know you won’t go blabbing to everyone.”
He leaned away from the desk folded his arms in front of his chest. “Boxing advice?”
“No, Sir. About life.”
“I’m all fuckin’ ears,” he grunted.
Despite his attitude, I found it just as easy to talk to him as it was to talk to Freddy when I was young. “What do you know about love?” I asked.
His eyes glistened a little and he grinned. He instantly fought against the smile, pursing his lips until his stern appearance returned. He gazed beyond me and nodded his head slightly. “Close the door.”
I got up and closed the door, grinning as I walked toward it. When I turned around, I wiped the smile from my face and sat down.
“What do you want to know?” he asked, still emotionless for the most part.
“First, I’m not in love. I know that much. But how do I know who’s the right one? I used to think I was in love with a guy from a few years back, but now? Looking back on it, I’m not so sure. Not anymore.”
He unfolded his arms and raised his right hand to his chin. “Prospective lovers are like hamburgers.”
The comparison seemed ridiculous. My forehead wrinkled. “Hamburgers?”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “You gonna let me talk, Spaz?”
My eyes fell to his desk. “Sorry, Sir.”
“Yes, hamburgers. You know, I used to get a burger over at 4th and Madison when I was a kid. At Stoney’s. Best fuckin’ burger in the world. I was sure of it. Lived my life until I was about twenty thinkin’ that burger was the best. Hell, people used to ask me. They’d say ‘Kelsey, where’s a man get a good burger?’ I’d tell ‘em. ‘Get your ass over to Stoney’s at 4th and Madison. Best burger in the world.’”
He paused and shook his head. “When I was twenty-one, right before I fought that Irish kid from Philly, I got a burger at this joint in Atlanta. Name of the place was Fat Freddy’s. Wasn’t expectin’ much, having had the best burger on the planet already, but I went in anyhow. It was some time ago, but I was pretty shocked at the price. Thirty-five cents for a burger was a hell of a lot back then, especially considerin’ Stoney’s were a quarter. I paid the price and waited while the guy cooked it right in front of me on one of them grills that runs the length of the counter. He was wearin’ one of them little white hats like they used to wear. He handed me the burger, and I grunted him a ‘thanks’, pissed about the thirty-five cents. Anyway. I sat down at the bar with my malt and that 35 cent burger, wondering just how tough that Irish kid was gonna be. About the time I decided it didn’t matter, I bit onto that burger. Well. Spaz, guess what?”
I shrugged, still confused about the comparison between hamburgers and love. “No good?”
“It was divine. I was in hamburger heaven. All that time, I was thinkin’ Stoney’s was the best burger in the world, and it wasn’t. Fat Freddy’s was. Hell, up until 1974, I used to drive from Austin to Atlanta just to get one of them burgers. That’s the damned truth.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just acknowledged his story with a “Huh.”
“Well, 1975 rolled around, and I was workin’ as a trainer at the time. Kid by the name of Joe Jackson asked me if I liked burgers. I told him I did, and I invited him to ride with me to Atlanta someday. He laughed at me right then and there. Said to me, ‘why ride to Atlanta when the best burger in the world is at Dan’s Hamburgers over on Lamar?’”
He shrugged and shook his head. “So, me and Joe took a ride to Dan’s. I ordered the #2 – a double burger with grilled onions, mustard, and cheese. Waited fifteen minutes, them bein’ as busy as they was. Well, the burger finally came, and it was wrapped in the paper that turns see-through when it gets greasy. That was the first sign. Same damned paper that Fat Freddy’s used. I bit into that burger with a biased mind, Spaz. You know, with me bein’ sure fat Freddy’s was the best burger in the world. Well, one bite into it, and my mind was changed. All this time, I was thinkin’ it was Stoney’s only to learn it was Fat Freddy’s, and then the year before the bicentennial, I find out the best burger in the world is right down the street, under my fuckin’ nose, at Joe’s.”
“My point’s this: searchin’ for the perfect love is like searchin’ for the perfect burger. You just need to realize that there’s always somethin’ out there – somewhere – that’ll rival what you got. Hell, maybe it’ll beat it. But if it was good enough to gather your attention in the first place, it ought to be good enough for the long haul. You just got to be smart enough to realize that different isn’t always better.”
He nodded his head and crossed his arms, obviously convinced he’d made his point. It was a good story, and it was well thought out, but it wasn’t exactly what I was wanting to hear.
“How do I know the burger I’m eating is the right burger? The one for me?” I asked.
“Can you eat it for the rest of your life without eatin’ another burger?”
It didn’t take me long to answer. “I don’t know.”
“Well, find some time to go without it for a while. See if your mind tells ya to go grab another burger, or if you have a hunger for that burger you’ve already got. If you crave the one you have now, it’s the burger for you. When you reach that point, you just got to understand, stop lookin’ for somethin’ better.”
I grinned and nodded. “Okay.”
He stood up. “Anything else?”
I shook my head and stood. “Nope.”
“Big fight comin’ up, you know,” he said. “Girl’s got one hell of a record. Beatin’ her would be a ticket to the show.”
“Me?”
“No,” he grunted. “The other boxer in the room. Yes, you, Spaz. You listen to what that dummy tells you, you hear me?”
I guessed the dummy was Ripp, but asked anyway. “Ripp?”
“No, the other dummy trainin’ ya,” he growled. He lowered the tone of his voice. “He’s a good kid, pay attention to him.”
“I do.”
“You better,” he grunted. He pointed toward the door. “Shut the door behind ya.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said.
I considered what he said about the hamburgers as I walked toward the gym, and decided he was probably right. As far as I was concerned, there wasn’t a better tasting burger on earth
than the one I was eating. I guessed I just needed to decide if I was comfortable eating it for the rest of my life.
And, although I loved how it tasted, I wasn’t completely convinced yet.
TWENTY
Jaz
Day fifty-nine.
It was the day before the fight. I’d been in the ring for almost an hour, and I was exhausted. I was barely able to lift my arms, and my legs felt like rubber. I knew what Ripp was trying to do, he was attempting to break me, preparing me for the fight of my career from what he said.
The problem, his problem, was that I’d keep going even if I had to hit the mitts while standing on my knees. I might have been a lot of things, but one thing I wasn’t was a quitter.
“Right to the head.”
I swung my right into the mitt.
“Left to the body.”
I swung a left hook.
“Right,” he barked. “Again. Again. Again.”
I pounded the mitt, wondering if at some point I’d just collapse. Soaked in sweat, and bouncing on my toes in a puddle of sweat, I felt like I’d lost ten pounds, and I didn’t have ten pounds to lose. Maybe Kelsey was right. Maybe I worked out too much and ate too little.
“Again,” he snapped.
I pounded it again.
“Left, right, right.”
I pummeled the mitts as hard as I could.
“Stop!” he shouted.
He lowered the mitts. “God damn, Jaz. You’ve got stamina.” He glanced at his watch. “Hour fifteen straight. Most men would have quit thirty minutes ago. Maybe sooner.”
I braced my gloves against my knees and tried to catch my breath, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to continue for at least a few more minutes. “Drink, Boss?”
“Hell yeah, my bad,” he said, reaching for the water bottle at the edge of the ring. He squirted a drink into my mouth. “So this girl’s fought damned near a hundred and fifty times in seven fuckin’ years. That’s damned near one every two weeks straight for seven years. Her total record is 112 wins and 34 losses. Most of her losses are early, and with the trainer she’s got now, she ain’t lost one fuckin’ bout. Seventy wins in a row.”
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