Love for the Luchador (A Modern Romance)
by Mallory Sterling
Published by Mallory Sterling, 2013.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
LOVE FOR THE LUCHADOR (A MODERN ROMANCE)
First edition. January 25, 2013.
Copyright © 2013 Mallory Sterling.
Written by Mallory Sterling.
The masked técnico struggles beneath the weight of his opponent, sweating and grunting. His eyes are fierce, but the rudo mounting him shows no mercy.
It can't end like this.
"ONE!"
The pinned man's eyes go steely through the mask as his breathing steadies and muscles stretch tanned skin taut.
"TWO!"
With the grace of a dancer and the strength of a beast, he moves. Art in motion, balance and power flowing through his movements.
The resounding crack sounds like the report of a gunshot as his opponent's shoulder slams into the mat.
He is on the rudo in a heartbeat, grappling with him as the crowd roars. Arms find the soft flesh of a neck and lock in place. Veins bulge and tears swell as the rudo frantically slams his hand down again and again.
DING! DING! DING!
The bell pierces the sound of the audience, sharp against the shouted praises and curses.
Leaping to his feet, the victor throws his arms into the air. He turns to face the crowd before bending down to help his opponent. He is always a gentleman immediately after the bell, no matter how vicious the fight had been.
The tuxedoed announcer enters the ring and raises the victor's hand while shouting into the microphone, "Señors and Señoritas! I am proud to present, by way of submission, VALIENTE LUCHADOR!" The masked figure throws his powerful arms in the air as the camera zooms to his face. All signs of emotion are hidden behind his elaborately patterned green mask, the metallic blue swirls glinting in the light.
María paused the video, holding that image on the computer screen, and she knew. The mask changed, the name changed, but those calm brown eyes always betrayed him. No matter the battle, those eyes always showed a sense of peace.
Who is this man? She wondered for the hundredth time. She bookmarked the page in her browser under the misterio luchador folder. Subfolder Green. Subfolder Matches. Subfolder 2003. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes, surveying the organized chaos that covered her desk. She ran search after search while drinking her coffee amid the photos, articles, newspaper clippings, printed web articles, and even a few old VHS tapes.
Headlines and notes riddled the pages. "Luchador Saves Drowning Man," "Masked Figure Seen Saving Child from Fire," "Epic Victory at Lucha Libre Match," "Mystery Man Helps Police," "Masked Robbers Foiled by Masked Hero,"a community piece she had written "Unknown Luchador Rescues Cat from Tree," and a dozen others.
None of it answered the question she had been asking since that one night, still fresh in her mind as if it had happened yesterday.
It was a pleasant December night in Cuernavaca. The traditional Nochebuena feast at her parents' house was in full swing even at midnight. Ponche Navideño flowed freely, spicing the air with the aroma of fruit, raw sugar cane, cinnamon, nutmeg, and brandy as they celebrated the eve of the birth of Jesus Christo. Family rules meant no heels and no suits. Tonight was for comfort and family, New Year's Eve was for dressing to impress and going out on the town.
Midnight came and went, another year where the festivities went into the late hours of the night. Another year skipping Misa de Gallo, midnight mass, despite their best intentions. Her 24th Christmas Eve.
At the end of the night, she had rejected her mother's offer to sleep in her old room. She had also rejected her brother's offer to call a cab. She would see all of them soon enough, when the family gathered on January 6th to celebrate the end of the holiday season. The night was beautiful, she was feeling good, and she wanted nothing more than to end the night with a walk through the city, even if it was just the few kilometers to her apartment.
She had walked this route a hundred times before. She cut through the decoration-covered zócalo, appreciating the poinsettias that turned the central plaza into a brilliant display of holiday cheer.
She had grown up here, had gone to college and graduated with a degree in Journalism at the local University. She had even gotten a job with the local paper writing community pieces, and had insisted – despite her parents wishes – on moving into her own small apartment. She loved it here, and while her career could be moving faster and her dating options left much to be desired, life was good.
She passed through the mixture of poor and rich, dressed in fine suits and in secondhand jeans. She walked through slums and new construction, all connected by the passageways, roads, and markets that tied the city together. Midnight Mass was over and parties were winding down, and a few couples and families could be seen making their way home through streets of houses with empty soda bottles sitting on the front steps. There were few people out compared to the crowds during the day, but the energy of the city on nights like this still reminded her how much she loved this place, how much she loved the holidays.
She even passed a young man dressed in a gaudy Santa Claus hat and a huge, fake white beard. She couldn't help but chuckle when he said, "Feliz Navidad! Ho! Ho! Ho!" The laugh caught in her throat when she felt the gun in her back and the hand at her neck. "Walk into that alley, puta! Do not make a fucking sound!"
Her mind screamed at her. DO SOMETHING! RUN! FIGHT! SCREAM!
She had never been robbed before, she had never felt the jab of a cold barrel in her back before. María tried to will herself into action, any kind of action, but she couldn't. A sense of helplessness washed over her, her heart pounding in her chest and her skin growing clammy. A tear traced a path down her cheek as she slowly and silently walked into the unlit alley.
"Purse," the bandito demanded. She handed it over without resistance. He dug through it, leafing through a fold of bills. "You live close to here, bitch?"
She nodded, blood and adrenaline pumping hard through her body, making her motions jerky. "Well, we're going to go to your house for the rest of it, and your jewelry. Then we will see what else I want to do with you."
Suddenly a clear voice rang out, powerful and true. "Let the señorita go, amigo."
The mugger turned to face the figure standing in the alley entrance. He stood nearly two meters in height, a wall of muscle in a casual linen suit. He would have been an imposing figure even without the intricate green and red mask covering his face, but with it he looked like a giant, hellish imp.
The criminal didn't have the luchador's size, but he leveled his gun at the masked man without hesitation. "What are you? Some type of fucking ugly freak? Get the fuck out of here!"
The luchador began walking forward, almost casually closing the distance. "Unfortunately for you, my friend, I cannot do that."
With the grace of the wind, he leapt forward. María shrieked and covered her head when the gun went off, momentarily deafening her. When she opened her eyes, she saw that her savior had the mugger's arm locked tightly against him. With a twist, the pistol clattered to the ground and the mugger's arm flailed impotently. There was a sickening pop and the bandito screamed in pain as his shoulder was wrenched out of socket.
The luchador held the blubbering man upright, ignoring the tears and curses while he investigated the criminal's pockets. He pulled out a wallet and dropped the criminal to the ground where he crumpled into a heap.
He turned to María. "Señorita, are you okay?"
She nodded, still shocked, an
d stammered, "I... I think so."
"Then I beg you, give me one moment," he said as he dug through the thief's wallet, pulling out an identification card.
The luchador turned back to the thug. "Miguel Rodrigo Hernandez De La Vega," he started, "I know where you live. You will apologize and you will go confess your sins. You will turn your life around. If you tell anyone but God about this, or return to a life of crime, I will not be as merciful as He." The luchador bent down, looking the sobbing man in the eyes. "Now apologize to this woman and never been seen like this again."
The young man lay on the ground, sniveling like a child, cradling his shoulder as the luchador picked up the dropped pistol. What looked so large and intimidating only moments earlier, now looked like no more than a child's day, dwarfed by the luchador's giant hand. He put the gun in his jacket pocket and leaned close to the bandito. "I SAID APOLOGIZE!"
Between sobs, the young thief whimpered, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I didn't... I had to..."
"Do not make excuses, Miguel Rodrigo Hernandez De La Vega! Remember this night. Your body will heal, but only living a life of righteousness will heal your soul... and save you from me. There is no other way."
Finally, he turned back to the frightened young woman.
"Señorita, I apologize for the state of this city. It is not right. Are you injured?"
She was still trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened. "No... thanks to you, no... I... I don't know what would have happened..."
"If it is acceptable to you," he said, reaching out a hand, "I will escort you home."
It felt like a dream as they walked hand in hand through the city. It did not take much longer to reach her door, but in her daze it felt like an eternity. His voice soothed her nerves, and while they walked he made one-sided small talk about the holidays, the news, and how much he loves Mexico despite its problems.
She still felt as if in a dream when they arrived at her humble apartment. "Thank you. Can I do anything to repay you...Luchador?"
"That will not be necessary, but it has been an exciting night. I would be most grateful for a glass of water to quench my thirst."
"It would be my pleasure. Please, come in for a moment," she said as she opened the door and led him inside her small apartment. "You will have to excuse me, I was not expecting company. Please, sit on the couch."
When she had returned from the kitchen with the glass of water, she saw her cat curled up on the man's lap. "Ah, I see you have met Pepito."
"Yes, he is quite sweet." He smiled as he took the glass, raising it to the mouth slit of his mask and drinking deeply.
"Señor, you can take your mask off."
"I am sorry, but I cannot," he said, pausing to finish off his drink. "And now, I must go."
He gently shooed Pepito away and went to the door, ready to walk out of her life as mysteriously as he walked into it.
"Wait," she blurted. Her mind raced with possibilities. She didn't want him to leave, and while she was by no means a virginal flower, she would never normally do something like this. Not so soon, not with a stranger, but tonight..."You...you can stay here, with me."
He stepped close to her and took her hands in his, his large figure throwing a shadow over her. She didn't feel the least bit threatened. In fact, she had never felt as safe as she did in that moment, so close to this gentle, powerful man. She looked deep into compassionate brown eyes. She would never forget those eyes, and she saw a wistfulness in them when he said, "Alas, I am sorry to turn down such a beautiful woman, but I cannot stay. It would not be right." He raised one hand and gently stroked her face, then placed a light kiss upon her forehead before turning to leave. "Stay safe, señorita."
"María."
He paused and turned.
"My name is María. María Peña."
His lips formed a smile, barely visible through the mask, and he nodded. "Stay safe, María Peña."
Then he walked out her door and into the night.
She couldn't sleep that night. Her head was still spinning and her emotions still swirling, with one question she couldn't get out of her mind. "Who is he?"
Who is that brave man, willing to charge a drawn gun to save a stranger? A man whose muscled arms defeated the threat with ease. A man with manners and grace from another time, who led her home like a knight escorting a princess.
Suddenly, another question occurred to her. What if he hadn't said no?
She thought of this often, especially on nights like tonight when she couldn't sleep. She would think of that fateful Christmas Eve while she undressed and lay in her bed, thoughts of him drifting through her mind.
"You can stay here, with me."
"I am sorry señorita, but I cannot."
"And I cannot let you go."
She closed her eyes and touched her lips, kissing him in her mind's eye. Her slender fingers lingered just a moment before running down the curve of her face and down her bosom, grazing a hardening nipple. She caressed herself, lightly rubbing at her nipples while cupping her breasts as she gave herself over to fantasy.
She thought of the strong, muscled, brave man holding her in his arms. His chest pressed against hers, both of them breathing as one as their lips met in a passionate kiss. She gently twisted her nipple, sending an exclamation of sharp pleasure through her chest.
She knew with his confidence and chivalry he would respect her, know her limits, and know what to do when she let him in. Her body stretched and she let out a low moan in reaction to her teasing as she ran her hands ever lower, towards the warm dull ache between her legs that yearned to be touched. Guilt ran through her as she first grazed her vulva. It was not too late to stop, to have another sinless, sleepless night. But she was only human, and quashed her guilt as she ran her fingers over her mound and between her lips, slowly working herself as her mind filled with carnal desire.
He would hold her and kiss her as she urged him on, strong hands slipping off her clothes with lust tempered by care. His mighty rod would press against her, rock hard and desirous as it strained against his linen pants.
She dipped two fingers into the slickness between her folds and rubbed them over her clit. Her breath deepened as she rubbed in hard, fast circles before dipping her fingers back down into her womanhood.
He would not turn her down, would not say no to her. His need for her would be as great as her need for him. He would not fight as she pulled off his pants to reveal his throbbing, swollen member. He would rub it against her steaming groin, ensuring she was ready as she wrapped her arms around him and nibbled his neck.
Her body temperature ran hot as her fingers teased between her flushed labia, trying to imagine what he would feel like. Biting her lip and holding her breath, she imagined opening to him, enveloping his hot, swollen head as he slowly slid his eager cock into her. Her breath escaped in a moan as she began to work her slickened fingers into her body while she rubbed her clit with her other hand.
The feeling in her pussy was growing heavy, the muscles between her legs clenching against her wet fingers. He would know her body, know how to touch her, how to kiss her as he plunged into her silken depths again and again.
She felt her body shiver and knew she was getting close. In her fantasy, she looked deeply into his eyes and saw them filled with love and desire. She would clench around him and dig her nails into his toned muscles, eagerly pulling him into her. Her fingers rubbed her clit in a frenzy as her other hand curled fingers into her. Her breath caught as with a final flick she felt her body fall into the abyss of orgasm. A throaty moan escaped her as she spasmed again and again, imagining him coming with her, arms holding her shaking body in the throes of ecstasy.
She lay there tired but satisfied, catching her breath, and soon drifted into sleep.
"You look tired, Mary," Sofia said, gesturing with her fork. "If you don't wake up soon, your huevos rancheros will get cold."
"Huh? Oh, I'm sorry." María replied, covering her mouth as
she yawned and looked around the small cafe.
"Were you up all night again with your 'research'? Look, we talked about this. You are acting a little stalkerish," she said with a trace of annoyance.
"He is just difficult to find, Sofi, it takes real effort to find such a man," she replied, poking at her eggs.
"If what you say is true, maybe he doesn't want to be found," Sofia stated flatly. "Besides, what type of ugly man must he be to always hide his face?"
"What, would you rather I just date one of the man-children in this city? Like your boyfriend?"
"Hey, Fernando has nice hair, a nice car, and bought me these earrings. What more could I want?"
"You told me Fernando once squealed and ran from your kitchen, leaving you to deal with an oh-so-scary cucaracha."
Sofia burst into laughter. "Just remember to never let him know I shared that with you. Look, you want an honest, brave man, fine. But honest and brave men in this country end up poor or dead, just think about that. Is that what you want?"
María didn't have a good response. She knew her friend was right, those qualities tended to get a person pushed down or killed in this country. Successful men tended to be more careful, lining brave men up in front of them like a shield.
María sighed. "I don't know."
"Look, Fernando's friend Pablo would love to have a hottie like you. Why don't I hook you two up?"
"Pablo!? He's horrible! Don't try to pawn Fernando's friends off on me, I don't need a dating service."
"What you need is to get a man, any man. We aren't getting any younger, Mary. Half of our friends are married now, and you don't want to be single forever. Life moves quickly, don't let it pass you by."
María considered this for a moment before looking at her watch. "Speaking of moving quickly, I have to get going. I promised my editor that I would have a few stories done before press time, so I need to go live the exciting life of a community reporter and run down children and housewives to interview about local events."
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