Unstoppable

by Scott Hildreth

  “Respect? You’re going to talk to me about respect? I asked if he was Shane Dekkar. What’s disrespectful about that?” Wally’s Fitness asked as he turned to face me.

  “You interrupted us when we were talking. And then you popped off and started talking shit to me,” I said as I started walking around the table.

  “Talking shit?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Talking shit,” I responded.

  “I wasn’t talking shit,” he stated.

  “You’re doing it again now,” I assured him as I tilted my head from side to side and popped my neck.

  “Ripp…” Shane stood from his seat, and now was between where I was standing and Wally’s Fitness.

  “Dekk, he’s being a little prick,” I wiped my hands on my shorts and turned my palms up.

  “I’m not little,” Wally bragged from behind Shane’s back.

  “Well, you sure as fuck aren’t big enough to talk to me the way you are,” I barked over Shane’s shoulder.

  “Obviously I am,” he breathed.

  “Move Dekk,” I demanded.

  Wally peered over Dekk’s shoulder toward me. Dekk, standing facing me, rolled his eyes. Dekk knew this guy just crossed a line I couldn’t allow him to cross. Dekk hesitated, probably hoping I would settle down or change my mind. As I watched Wally prepare his mean-muggin’ face, I tried to remember the last time I was in an actual bar fight. My fights, in recent years, had been limited to Kane’s place and in the ring.

  This poor fucker had no idea of how pissed off I was.

  “Dekk…” I drew the pronunciation of his name out for two or three seconds.

  And with that, Shane Dekkar stepped aside. Now, the only thing between Wally and I was a little bit of time and space. He wasn’t small by any stretch of the imagination, but he thought he was much bigger and much more capable than I saw him as being.

  “You see, there’s a right way and a wrong way to talk to people. Excuse me, gentlemen. I hate to interrupt, but I have a question. That would have been a polite way to interrupt our conversation. Or, maybe wait until we were walking out. But you didn’t. You interrupted. And then you went on to start talking shit. Telling me how big you are. You still think your big now, little man?” I asked as I began to step closer to where he stood.

  “Big enough,” he said as he bobbed his head back and forth in a mocking manner.

  “You got cancer or something? Brain damage? I just can’t see how in the fuck you think you’re gonna make it out of this alright,” I chuckled as I slowly took the last step remaining between us.

  Quickly, he jumped into a martial arts stance and began humming in some weird fashion. As the odd tone came from his mouth, his hands were criss-crossing in front of his face. His knees bent considerably, he had lowered himself about six inches, and now stood about five foot six or so. I guessed he was approximately six foot tall before he started humming and waving his arms.

  Karate bullshit. Not again.

  “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” I asked.

  “No, I’m not. I’m gonna fuck you up,” he bragged as his hands waved in front of his face.

  “That was rhetorical. I didn’t want you to answer. And I have news for ya. You ain’t about to fuck up a damned thing,” I growled as I threw a right jab at his chin.

  His upper body immediately twisted, and his head quickly moved sharply to his right, avoiding my punch entirely.

  Holy shit, this guy’s fast.

  Alright, I’m not going to box this prick. I’m going to fight him.

  To eliminate his legs and feet from the equation, I stepped in as close as I could. A table directly behind him prevented him from going back much further. I threw a quick three punch jab, cross, hook combination and caught him off guard. My last punch, the hook, caught him on the left side of his mid-section, caused him to stumble, and his head to come down a little. I imagine in Karate class, no one had ever actually hit him - at least not that hard.

  As his head came down, I threw another quick right uppercut and caught him on the chin. It wasn’t necessarily a solid punch, but it was good enough. It rang his bell. He shook his head and stared back at me with glassy eyes. His hands continued the windmill of motion they were previously waving. Now, he stood in more of a conventional fighter’s stance – fractionally more erect. Well, except for his hands. His hands and arms looked like he was having an epileptic fit.

  I studied him as he stood there, waiting for him to move and give me an opening. Anything. After a few seconds of nothing, I threw a short, slow jab to lure him into fighting.

  “Tyler, what the fuck!” I heard someone scream.

  And, from behind where Tyler stood, a second, almost identical meat-head was fast approaching. He was sleeveless as well, and could have passed for Tyler’s brother. Same shirt. Same hair. Same ridiculous attitude and annoying voice. I saw Dekk step between Tyler and his savior.

  Over Tyler’s shoulder, I saw the unthinkable. The new comer took a couple of swings at Dekk. Although I didn’t necessarily see what happened next, I certainly heard it. The unmistakable sound of fists hitting someone’s body and face. There’s really not another sound like it. To most, it would be disgusting. To me, it sounded like hitting the jackpot at a casino.

  There’s something about being in the presence of a fight that drives other potential fighters to fight. That’s why a fight, in a bar, turns into a bar fight. It wasn’t my immediate opinion my fighting Tyler made Dekk start to fight, but his fighting started to feed my desire to finish this.

  As Dekk made short work of the new guy, Tyler looked to his right instinctively. That split second, that instant of not paying attention, that small window of opportunity was all I needed. It’s all any boxer needs. We watch for it, we wait for it, and we make use of it.

  The left side of his jaw was open, exposed, and ready. I smiled as I thought about hitting him. I didn’t want to hit him with one punch, although I was sure one would be enough. I wanted him to remember what it was like to be beaten. To be taught a lesson about respect. I threw a deep left cross, and caught him in the chin, followed by a right uppercut which landed under the bottom side of his jaw. The last punch, the one that sent him reeling back onto the table, was the left straight jab which landed perfectly on his nose.

  As he fell backward onto the table, I saw Shane standing up from where the other guy was laying. I had no idea of what happened for sure, but I know the guy took a swing, and Dekk finished what the other guy started.

  Dekk turned and looked at me, his face full of anger. Neither of these two guys were any form of threat, at least not now. Not for about a minute.

  “Well, you ready?” I asked as I stepped away from the table.

  “Yeah. I’m ready. This prick tried to hit me. Glanced one off of my cheek,” he said as he rubbed his cheek with his hand.

  “Yeah, you got a little mouse under your eye. Future heavyweight Champion of the World,” I laughed as I pointed to the guy on the floor.

  “Who? Him?” Dekk asked as he pointed at the guy who began to mumble and roll over.

  “Yeah. My guy’s still out. And he didn’t hit me with shit. Your guy clocked you. Damn Dekk, looks like he got you good,” I joked. The mark under his eyes was clearly a punch that glanced off of his face, or fell short.

  “Got me good, huh?” Dekk asked as I noticed his jaw muscles flex.

  It really wasn’t that good. Just a little red mark.

  “Dekk…” I knew what he was going to do.

  And in one quick thoughtless motion, his boot came back and swung into the stomach of the guy on the floor. Although the table between us hid most of Shane’s leg, a muffled grunt confirmed a good solid kick to his torso. And then, the blur of his leg again. And again. And again. Each swing followed by another muffled grunt.

  “Cocksucker!” Dekk shouted as he continued to kick him.

  “Dekk?” I placed my hands on my hips and smiled.

  Without emotion, as if I had inte
rrupted him from his favorite video game, he cocked his head to face me, and paused from kicking the guy on the floor.

  “What?” he looked as if after I answered him, he was going to start kicking the guy again.

  “You wouldn’t have given that dude the car. You know that, right?” I asked as I pulled my wallet from my pocket and tossed forty dollars on the table.

  “Yeah, I know,” he responded as he stepped back from the table.

  Short of a few pounds of romantic bullshit and a slice of sincerity, Shane Dekkar and I stood before God the same person. Shane just did a good job of keeping his demons at bay. I didn’t want my demons at bay.

  “Oh my God. That was so hot,” I heard the familiar voice of the waitress say.

  I turned to my right to face her as she spoke.

  “We watched from over there. That was awesome. What did they do?” she asked as she motioned toward the exit, where another waitress stood with a smile on her face.

  One good thing about not having a real job, and trying to divide your free time into manageable portions through the course of the day, is you can find bars that aren’t full of a lot of patrons. Most of the bars Dekk and I picked since his touch of fame were bars that were pretty empty during the day. It kept things like this from happening. This bar was no exception. The patio where we had been sitting was empty, less Dekk and I. These two wannabe tough guys were leaving the interior bar and walking through the patio when they noticed Dekk. Other than the two fallen heroes and the waitress, no one else knew we were here.

  “They were disrespectful,” Shane responded.

  “You guys beat the crap out of them,” the waitress acknowledged.

  “Sure did,” I confirmed.

  “So. Wow. That was awesome. Are you guys, like….uhhm, fighters,” she giggled as she covered her mouth with her hands.

  Dekk looked and me and slowly shook his head. I nodded at the waitress and smiled, “Yeah, we’re boxers.”

  “Like real boxers? Like boxers?” she lowered her hands and slapped her knees, clearly incapable of containing her excitement.

  “Yep, professionals,” I answered as Dekk slowly started walking around the table.

  “Oh my God, can it get any better?” she asked.

  “Well,” I paused, looked at Shane, smiled, and turned back to face the waitress.

  Hell, I just as well try.

  “I’ve got a pierced cock,” I smiled.

  She raised her hands to her mouth and squeaked as her knees knocked together.

  Yeah, name’s Mike fucking Ripton.

  And I’m Unstoppable.

  RIPP. Knock out one guy for being a douchebag, and the girl by your side decides you’re not suitable for her to continue any form of a relationship with, including casual sex. Knock out another douchebag in front of some random unknown girl, and she is so turned on she wants to fuck you almost immediately.

  Trying to predict women’s likes, dislikes, desires, turn-ons, or turn-offs was impossible. I decided I was just going to try and fuck them all, and the ones who agreed would be in for a nice little session of pierced cock heaven. Fuck trying to figure them out. That’s impossible. I’ll leave that up to Shane.

  “If we knock this motherfucker over, I’m gonna be mad as hell,” naked, I stood and stared at her as she lay sprawled out over the back of my motorcycle.

  “I’ll make sure it doesn’t tip over,” she smiled.

  “You’re gonna make sure? What do you weigh? A buck ten?” I asked dryly.

  “Huh?” she asked as she nestled into place, her head draped onto the rear fender.

  “What do you weigh?” I asked, not really caring to know the answer.

  “Oh, a hundred and fifteen, why?” she smiled.

  “Just wondering,” I really didn’t give two fucks what she weighed.

  Her smile looked strange with her head halfway upside down. I felt like I was starting to get dizzy from breathing the motorcycle’s exhaust. I blinked my eyes a few times to clear the fumes from my drying out orbs. As her head shook back and forth on the fender, I looked the bike over - to make sure it seemed stable.

  As long as I’ve been riding, I have never fucked anyone on a bike, running or not. The waitress from the bar, after the fight, got onto the back of my bike for a quick ride. Almost instantly, she fell in love with the vibration of the Harley as we rode around downtown. After taking her back to the bar where she worked, she retrieved her car, and had I followed her home.

  After a little persuasion on her part, I agreed to fuck her on my bike, with the engine running, in her garage. She insisted the garage door be closed so the neighbors couldn’t see what we were doing. The small single car garage with a running bike in it was now full of exhaust fumes, two naked people, and a wad of clothes on the floor. She was lying on the bike with her feet on the floor, her back on the seat, and her head slung onto the back fender with her mouth hanging open.

  “So are you dominant?” she asked.

  “Are you fucking serious? Look at me,” I responded as I pointed my index fingers at my chest.

  “I am looking at you,” she giggled over the sound of the exhaust as her head wobbled from the fender vibrating.

  I really wasn’t in the mood for stupidity. I suppose if I pick up some immature waitress from the bar who is willing to fuck me just because I beat the shit out of a dude while she watched, I shouldn’t expect a biochemical engineer.

  Naked, I stood behind the bike in my Chuck’s with my cock in my hand and my eyes watering. I looked at her, rolled my eyes, and started stroking it.

  “No, I meant look at me as a person. My personality. My appearance. I’m two hundred fifty pounds of tattooed muscle,” I stroked my cock as I walked closer, “I knocked out a dude at the bar, remember? I am a boxer.”

  “I knew it. I knew you were a Dom,” she blinked her eyes as stared at my cock.

  Oh that’s what she meant. A Dom.

  Fucking women. I swear.

  “Open your fucking mouth,” I demanded in my best impersonation of a Dom.

  “It is…” she began.

  I interrupted her half way through whatever she intended on saying by shoving my cock in her mouth. Standing behind the bike, knees bent, I began to fuck the waitress’ mouth. I closed my eyes to relieve them of the burning from the exhaust. After four or five good strokes, I opened my eyes and looked down. Something about watching my cock sliding in and out of a woman’s mouth has always satisfied me.

  Her eyes began to water, and her mascara ran from her eyes onto her forehead. I would like to think her eyes watering had been a result of my big cock in her mouth, but it may have very well been from the motorcycle’s exhaust. As I continued to punish her mouth, I reached forward and grabbed her neck in my hands.

  She wants a Dom, I’ll give her one.

  I’m not a Dom, and other than talking to a few friends who dabbled in it, I knew nothing about it. It seemed these days it was what every woman believed she wanted. Shane and I had talked about it and laughed, knowing Kace read a lot of books about dominance and submission. I had joked with him several times, saying Kace was going to require him to one day become her Dom. Master Shane.

  We both believed in the absence of these types of books, there would be far less women attempting to be submissive. It shocked me women couldn’t just be themselves. Additionally, the amount of men who delved into dominance, with little or no knowledge, had become huge. All based on an influx of ridiculous books.

  “Swallow that cock,” I shouted as I forced myself into her throat as far as I could get it to go.

  As I pushed it against the back of her throat, I squeezed her neck in my left hand. Something about this was extremely satisfying. It was like fucking and fighting at the same time. As she began to gag on my cock, I realized I had lost track of what I was doing and had been pushing my cock into her throat for several seconds.

  Well, fuck she didn’t say anything, maybe she likes it.

  I h
ad no intention of hurting her, but I was really beginning to have fun. The bike vibrating caused her head to vibrate. This was something, short of the exhaust fumes, I could learn to love. Slowly, I pulled my cock from her throat and held it in my hand. As soon as it passed her lips, she gasped for a breath. As her chest heaved, for some reason, I slapped her face with my cock.

  “You like that cock in your throat, don’t you?” I asked in a deep stern tone.

  Hell if she likes it, I could do this all night.

  “I fucking love it,” she gasped.

  “You like it when I choke your submissive little throat, don’t you?” I snarled.

  “I love it. Choke me harder,” her chest convulsed as she gasped for her next breath.

  “Shut the fuck up, don’t tell me what to do,” I growled as I slapped her face with my cock again.

  I had no idea where that came from, the slapping of her face with my cock - especially not as hard as I had hit her. I was shocked, actually, that I had done it at all. As soon as my cock bounced off of her cheek, she spoke.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry sir,” she blurted.

  Oh yeah. I could really grow to like this.

  A lot.

  I wiped my burning eyes with the back of my left hand.

  Gripping the base of the shaft in my hand, I raised my cock from her face twelve inches and slapped her as hard as I could with it. Almost immediately, a red cock shaped welt began to rise on her face. Although I haven’t made it a point to look at other dudes cocks, I am not a stupid man. I know my cock is huge. I don’t know what it weighs, but swinging it into her face made me realize that it is heavy. Hell, I wouldn’t want to be hit with it, and I’m a man - a tough man at that.

  “Open,” I hollered.

  Immediately, she opened her mouth. As soon as her lips parted, I forced myself into her throat until I hit an obstruction. Two-thirds of my cock was in her mouth. Actually, she had more of my cock in her mouth than anyone else had ever achieved. Impressed with her determination, I held my cock in this position as I squeezed her neck in my left hand. As her face began to clearly turn a fairly dark shade of red, I released my grasp and pulled myself from her mouth.