Encounter, Incentive, Part 3: Nikki's story.
By Raxx



Search miscellaneous stories for "Encounter, Incentive," Parts 1 and 2.
Questions and comments always welcomed at: kraxxll@yahoo.com

The most beautiful and dangerous woman I've ever met is telling me a story.
We've just made love in a hotel room, after engaging in a wrestling match I
had no hope of winning. My gambit to change the rules of her game paid off. If
it hadn't, I would have been sent away in shame and humiliation, or worse --
beaten senseless. Only in this calm of our post-coital embrace do I dare to
ask the question that's been haunting me for well over a year, when Nikki
first approached me in this very hotel: Why?

"Why do I invite strangers up to a room to wrestle me?" Nikki repeats my
question as if I've asked 'why do humans need to eat to survive?'.

"Come on, Nikki. You promised you'd tell me what's going on here. I have to
know. You approach men you've never met, promising them a night of sex with
you on the condition that they can beat you in a wrestling match. You defeat
them all, denying them and yourself something you obviously want. Why? What's
behind all this?"

"Do you believe in redemption, Jack? Or atoning for sins?"

"That depends. I'm not a religious fellow by nature."

"I'm not talking about religion. Earthly sins you pay for right here on Earth.
Things you may have done that hurt another person -- maybe even someone you
loved."

"We all have regrets, Nikki..."

She rolls out from under my arm and gets out of bed to stand by the window.
I'm looking at her svelte, statuesque and subtly muscled body in the
half-light of the room. I marvel again how I could possibly have been to bed
with this gorgeous creature... almost six feet in height, long, silky dark
hair reaching in a tantalizing tangle down to her shoulder blades. Her legs
that reach ever higher from the floor, almost disappearing up into her
shoulders... a never-ending enticement that epitomizes at once female beauty
and strength. And she is so lovely -- heart-stoppingly so. Those emerald-green
almond shaped-eyes, centered in a flawless face, anchored by soft, slightly
pouting lips. Who is she? And why is she having these bizarre contests with
strangers? She turns from the window and looks at me with that flash of
anger I saw when she threw me effortlessly to the floor during our truncated
wrestling match.

"Don't pretend you know me, Jack. And don't spout cliches at me. 'We all have
regrets.' No kidding, genius. I'm starting to regret telling you anything
about me at all."

The afterglow of our love-making clearly fading, she's retreating to her
steely self... the one that looks upon men as weaklings to be dominated, to be
taught a lesson about under-estimating women as "the weaker sex." I need to
bring her back, or I'll never uncover the mystery. I get out of bed and
approach her, lightly grabbing her by the shoulders.

"Alright, hey... please take it easy. I'm not trying to patronize you, and I
don't want to rush you if you're not ready. We've got all night, right? Let's
start with something else. What do you do that allows you to pay for these
luxury hotel suites in different cities? Are you one of those trust fund
babies Daddy set up for a life of fun on his dime?"

Another gambit. I'm hoping she sees I'm trying to bait her with this comment,
and take some of the tension out of the conversation. A little devil of a
smile crosses her face and I feel I've made the right move. Until she makes a
move of her own. Nikki grabs me quickly under the shoulder -- so fast I
couldn't say I saw her arm move -- and in an instant she's twisted herself
around to throw my naked body over her back... fortunately, she's launched me
onto the bed instead of the floor. I sit up but don't even have time to turn
around before I feel a pressure against my throat. Nikki has leaped onto the
bed behind me and has her forearm firmly around my neck. She's holding the
choke lock in place with her free hand gripping her wrist. How can a slender,
sexy woman be this strong? I'm already finding it hard to breathe and a feeble
attempt to release her grip with my own hands elicits a chuckle from Nikki.

"Come on, Jack," she whispers in my ear. "Remember that arm wrestle we had in
the hotel bar earlier tonight? How long did it take me to slam your wrist down
-- 3 seconds? Five at most? You're not getting out of this hold unless I say
so."

I can barely squeak out the words, but I manage to say:
"Finish....story....promised..."

"OK Jack" she says, and sweet air comes back into my lungs as she takes her
forearm from my throat. "I'd just watch the snarky comments if I were you."

Nikki allows me to recover my breath, if not my dignity. I'm caressing my
throat while she walks to the closet and drapes a silk bathrobe around her and
comes back to the bed. She's also holding a thick magazine in her hand, and
for a moment I fear she's going to roll it up and smack me on the nose with
it like I'm a disobedient dog. I can't stop myself from wincing at the
thought and Nikki notices.

"Two for flinching, Jack," and she hits me twice on the shoulder, playfully,
as I manage a weak, embarrassed smile in response. She takes the magazine and
tosses it in front of me. "Second and third pages in, Jack."

It's last month's "Vogue," a publication I notice fleetingly on the
newsstands but never bother to actually buy or read. I open to page two and
staring back at me, with her long hair done up in a 1940's style femme-fatale
coif, is the very same lethal beauty who moments ago could have choked the
life out of me. Her lips are painted a garish, deep ruby red, and her emerald
green eyes peer out from under the brim of a dark black veil. On the page
following is Nikki in a 40's-style trench coat, a tantalizing glimpse of her
impossibly long legs peeking out from underneath, and -- appropriately I think
-- a still-smoking .38 special gripped in her left hand. A small bottle of
perfume is shown in the lower right hand corner with the tag line "Fatal
Beauty -- The Killer Fragrance". 

"It's no different than the same shit they bottle called "Sweet Blossom
Mornings," but that's not what makes the stuff sell anyway," she says. "If
you're interested, you can also find me in "Cosmo," "Vanity Fair," and
"Glamour," but they've got me looking different in each one."

Nikki the high fashion model. Turns out she's one of the most photographed
women in the world, but no one outside the industry knows her name, which is
how she apparently likes it. "You'd be amazed how much money I make just
playing dress-up for a few hours and posing for photos. Not to mention the
V.I.P travel perks and expenses paid for fancy digs like this. So to answer
your question, Jack -- no, my Daddy doesn't pay my way. And anyway, he died
years ago while I was away at college."

"I'm sorry, Nikki," I say, and mean it. "I was just horsing around... I didn't
mean anything by it."

"It's alright, Jack. If I thought you did, you'd be unconscious right now
instead of still talking to me."

I try again for the rest of the story. "Am I risking another choke hold if I
ask you to tell me why you spend your free time wrestling men you've never
met?"

Nikki smiles and says: "OK, Jack. You've earned it, and I'll tell you the
tale. But I think I need a stiff drink first. Want to raid the mini-bar with
me?"

"Absolutely," I say, and realize I could use a shot or two myself.

A little while later Nikki, having gone shot for shot with me on half a bottle
of Vodka, has turned melancholy, but talkative. She starts by telling me about
her father, a reserved career military man who raised Nikki by himself.

"My mother died shortly after I was born," she says. "I know her from a couple
of old pictures Dad kept around. She was an actress... a beautiful woman."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"She had just been cast in what would have been her breakthrough role... a
Steve McQueen picture -- he was big in the 60's apparently."

"I know that, Nikki... thanks for making me feel even older than I am."

"Shut up and let me tell the story, Jack. She was flying back on a small
puddle-jumper to surprise my Dad with the news that she got the part when her
plane went down in a storm."

"Your Dad must have been devastated. I'm sorry."

"I'm sure he was devastated, but when he talked about it -- which was almost
never -- he didn't show much emotion. That was just Dad. We moved around a
lot when I was growing up. He trained soldiers all over the country and my
teenage years were a blur of home tutors and military bases. My Dad was
shielding me from the outside world without me really knowing it. I didn't
know about boys, except for crushes I had on the ones I saw on TV and in the
few magazines Dad let me buy. He was a fitness nut -- ran 6 miles a day,
lifted weights, all that stuff. He wanted me to know how to defend myself so I
had to go to these self-defense/ hand-to-hand combat courses for families of
military that they had at the various bases."

"So that's where you learned your fighting techniques."

"No, actually, that came later. I hated the classes, hated getting thrown
around by asshole drill instructors. I was 16 and becoming a woman and wanted
to nurture my feminine side, not to mention rebel against my Dad. I was at
that age -- lashing out at whatever he wanted... so I put very little into
those classes, and just went through the motions. It was frustrating for my
Dad because the instructors all told him I was a natural -- that if I applied
myself I could be a master at almost any fighting form I studied... but at the
time, I couldn't have cared less. I did, though, apply myself academically. 
I was a straight A student, and scored through the roof on advanced placement
tests. By the time I was18, I had scholarship offers from a bunch of colleges
and chose the one that was furthest from my Dad at the time. I was itching to
get out on my own and be out from under his thumb."

Nikki almost sheds a tear at this memory, but holds it back. "What I didn't
know -- because he never told me -- was that he had a terminal illness... a
rare kind of blood disease... and he died my Sophomore year."

"So the wrestling -- the Judo you learned, and the Jiu Jitsu -- was that a way
of trying to make amends to your father after he was gone?"

"It's not nearly that simple, Jack. I don't have an 'Electra' complex, and I'm
not trying to please Daddy by beating up men. Something happened while I was
at college. It actually started before my Dad died. It started with a boy...
well, someone I always thought of as a boy... but he was more of a man than
anyone I've ever met since."

Now she does shed a tear. In fact, Nikki's face is twisted in sorrow, so much
so that it almost overshadows her perfect loveliness. I don't dare interrupt
her in this state, and have to wait several minutes while she composes herself
and continues.

"His name was James, and he was a photographer. The first time I met him I
almost beat him up, actually" (and at this she chuckles to herself)
"...because I thought he was a pervert... taking pictures of me while I
wasn't looking. I said I was clueless about men at the time, and that's
true... I had never had a serious boyfriend, but I was more and more aware of
how men were starting to look at me. And I was pretty full of myself. I was
already a fox and I knew it, but I had a diva attitude to go along with my
good looks that was really a kind of mask for my insecurity and ignorance
about sex. Anyway, I was walking along campus on a hot day... I had on these
cut-off jean shorts and a halter top and these kind of high-heeled sandal
pumps. The heat was making me irritable. I also had this odd sensation of
being watched, but couldn't place it. Finally, I pretended to adjust my sandal
as if it had come loose, and as I bent over I shielded my eyes with my books
but looked out and around from under them... that's when I saw this skinny guy
in black jeans and a black T-shirt taking pictures of me from behind a tree
about 20 feet away. I stood up and started walking off but then doubled back
fast like I'd forgotten something. I pretended I didn't see him but was
watching him out the corner of my eye. I was about to walk right past him when
I veered to the side and marched straight up to his hiding spot behind the
tree. I thought he'd be scared or at least embarrassed but he was totally
stoic, which made me even angrier. 'You taking pictures of me?' I said, trying
to look as tough as I could. He was about my height, but skinny as a rail. He
had dark hair that swept across his head and partially covered his eyes,
which, when I finally noticed them, were ice-blue and beautiful. 'No, I wasn't
taking pictures of you', he said. His voice -- I'll never forget it -- was so
deep and calm. I expected a high-pitched nervous sound to come from him. He
didn't seem intimidated at all by my anger. 'You're a liar', I said. 'I saw
you while I was bent over just now. You were snapping away with that thing
pointed at me. I don't like people taking pictures of me without my
permission.' 'Yes you do', he said. 'But I wasn't doing that.' Now I was
really annoyed. I put down my books and moved closer to him. 'You wouldn't
think it look at me', I said, 'But I could kick your ass right here and now if
I wanted to. Unless you want that camera shoved down your throat -- and
everyone on campus to see you beaten up by a girl -- I'd come clean and tell
the truth...right now.' 'I am telling the truth', he said. 'But if you don't
believe me, why don't you let me show you the pictures so you can see for
yourself.'

"These were the pre-digital camera days, so if I wanted to see these pictures
I'd have to come with him to his dark room where he developed them. It was
probably stupid for me to go, seeing as how this guy could have been a psycho
for all I knew, but I was confident that if he tried anything I could take him
down with little difficulty, just based on the simple combat techniques I'd
learned growing up, and the fact that he looked like he didn't weigh much more
than I did.

"He had a small apartment off campus, lived alone, and the dark room took up
most of his space. The chemical smell weirded me out, but the black and white
photos on the walls intrigued me. They were mostly shots of the wasted-out
parts of town, far from the ivied confines of the campus. He also had photos
of grizzled old people who looked like they'd gone 15 rounds with life and
spent most of the time on the canvas. The pictures were ugly but fascinating
at the same time. They made you want to look at them in a way that was hard to
explain. He didn't speak to me as he developed the pictures he took on campus,
but when they were dried and finished, I realized he had been telling me the
truth.

"I was in the frame, but was clearly not the subject. In the picture of me
leaning over to adjust my sandal, I was an almost blurred image in the
foreground. What James' camera caught instead was two guys standing about 10
feet away from me, leering at me from behind. One of them was miming taking me
from behind, his hips thrust forward, hands on either side, while the other
one laughed. There were more like this. In each picture, I was there, but you
couldn't tell it was me -- that was the point -- my facial features were
hidden or out of focus, but clear images of men (or more often boys) were
shown either ogling my body or -- for the more subtle ones -- stealing a
glance when they knew I couldn't see them. The only picture that clearly
showed me was the one that upset me the most. In it, I'm striding along on the
campus quad near the student library steps, my head raised and a look of utter
self-satisfaction on my face. Of course, I'm not smiling... instead, I have a
look of complete haughtiness, looking neither left nor right, as if the people
around me are my royal subjects to be ignored. On the library steps are two
girls, one pointing at me while whispering something into the ear of her
friend, who's stifling a giggle. If I had to write a caption to the picture,
it would have had the whispering girl saying 'Look -- It's Her-Majesty...
Queen Stick-Up-The-Ass.'

"Seeing those pictures was like walking into a brick wall, and having the
impact alter the way I saw the world -- especially myself. I was speechless,
but now James spoke up, explaining why he shot the images.

'Your beauty is too obvious to photograph,' he said. 'What's more interesting
is the way men and women react to your image -- not just the physical part of
you, but the projection of it you put forth. I'm sorry if it's disturbing.'

'I... I didn't know this is the way the world sees me,' I said defensively.

'Part of you did know,' he said. 'Part of you wants to be put on a pedestal,
even if it means you'll be objectified by men and hated by women. But I
believe there is another, better part of you that rejects that image... you
just don't know how -- or you're afraid -- to let it out. Believe me, I can
sympathize with that.'

'Oh really? How?'

'I don't know how to be in the world either,' he said. 'Why do you think I
hide behind a camera all the time?'

"You've probably guessed by now that James and I became lovers. We needed each
other in so many different ways. I lost my virginity to him, and I still
consider that the most fortunate thing that ever happened to me, especially
after what happened later."

At this Nikki's face darkens and she pauses. But I wait for her to continue.

"He was so gentle and, as inexperienced as I was, there was a lot of
awkwardness at first. But we trusted each other because we knew shared a lot
of the same vulnerabilities. But being with James changed me for the better. I
opened up to people... actually made real friends, and stopped walking around
campus like I owned the place. It was harder to draw James out of his shell.
He was painfully shy with other people. I tried to get him to share his
passion for photography--he wouldn't even submit photos to the school paper --
and to get out more. But, in addition to his shyness he also suffered from
terrible migraine headaches. Attacks would come at the worst times. They left
him angry and depressed, and social anxiety often brought them on, so we
mostly spent time together, just the two of us. We'd go to movies, or make
dinner in his apartment and look at the photos he'd taken during the week. I
was happy, but I was also restless. I didn't like having to decline
invitations from my new friends to go to parties on campus, or go out dancing
at a local club. But on occasion when I did go, I would inevitably wish James
was there, so it was a no-win situation.

"Also, now that I was liberated sexually, I started noticing other guys on
campus. My libido was growing stronger, and hungrier. James was a wonderful
lover, but there were a lot guys on campus who had more of a traditional macho
build than James did, and were hot in the male kind of equivalent to my own
female foxiness. They noticed me, too, and now that much of my
'don't-even-bother-to-talk-to-me' vibe was gone, I was getting approached more
and more, and resisting was becoming tougher to do.

"Then one afternoon I was absorbed in a text for some class, just minding my
own, reading and taking notes under my favorite tree, when a shadow appeared
over me and then a flyer dropped onto the open page of my book. It was
advertising an annual fraternity blow-out that was well-known all over the
school as the ultimate all-night rager, complete with a live band and enough
alcohol to give everyone a hangover that would last til the following year. I
had never gone before, but looking up at the guy who dropped the flyer onto my
book, I had more than a passing desire to do so now. He was just a classic,
buff, frat-boy type... he was well over6 feet tall, had surfer-dude blond
hair and killer blue eyes and a smile that was all pearly-whites. I should
have thought of that Bobby Darrin song about the shark when I saw those teeth,
but I didn't. All I saw was a hunk who had his shirt off in the hot sun,
cradling a football in one hand, showing off his biceps and pecs and giving me
a look of total confidence.

'Hey,' he said, 'I'd be real disappointed if you don't come. I'm Steve.'

'Nikki,' I said, reaching up to shake his hand, surprised to find myself
feeling nervous and giddy at the same time.

'There's gonna be a ton of people there, even though it's invite only... so if
you do come, look for me on the 2nd floor. I live in the house and I can give
you a quick tour... and show you where the good beer kegs are instead of the
ones we keep downstairs.'

'Well, I appreciate that, Steve. Maybe I will see you there.'

'Like I said,' he erpeated as he trotted back to his frat buddies to toss the
ball around, 'I'd be real disappointed if you didn't.' And he added a wink
that was loaded with innuendo.

"But now I had a dilemma. I really wanted to go, and knew some of my friends
were planning to be there as well, but it was a given James would be against
it. James had a special loathing for the fraternity guys on campus, who he
referred to as "rich-kid-apes" and the "future fascists of America." I saw
his point but I also just wanted to have some cut-loose fun for a change. Get
drunk and rowdy, and, I admitted only to myself, maybe get my legs wrapped
around that hard-body who gave me the "let's get it on" look. What I figured
was I would tell James I'm going -- he would say fine, but don't expect me to
come along -- and then I'd see what kind of guy this Steve really was. Maybe
James was wrong about his "type" and he was as sweet as he was hot. If that
was the case, then I'd be looking at possibly breaking James' heart, but he
wasn't exactly a "traditionalist" when it came to our relationship anyway. He
always said he never wanted to hold me back if I wanted to "play the field"...
he just hoped it would be with someone who had "integrity."

"I was shocked by James' reaction, then, when I told him I wanted to go to the
party. It's not so much that he was angry, but that he almost seemed scared--
for me.

'Nikki,' he said 'I haven't asked much of you since we started going out, but
I am now. Please do not go to this party. Those guys are animals, and you
won't be safe there. I've heard things about this party -- this is the one
these assholes plan for all year -- and it's all about getting as many girls
drunk and into their beds as they can... they don't even care if they're
totally passed out..."

'James, come on,' I said. 'Do you really think I can't take care of myself? If
anybody tries anything fishy...'

"And as I said this I grabbed James' wrist and twisted his arm behind his
back...taking care not to hurt him, but just showing off a basic self- defense
maneuver... then I playfully got behind him and pushed my knee into the back
of his leg, forcing him to his knees. I leaned down into his ear while still
holding his arm behind his back and said, 'See? None of those frat boys would
stand a chance against me. You're worrying over nothing.' I let his arm go and
hoped he would see my point.

"He got up, rubbing his arm and said, 'This is serious, Nikki. You won't be
safe there. I don't want you to go.'

"I was annoyed and insulted that he didn't think I could defend myself against
a bunch of drunken frat boys, and told him so. I also said he was acting like
an over-protective father, and stormed out. The party was the following night
and we didn't talk at all the next day. I was upset that we'd fought but
pushed the thought aside as I got ready for the party. I took a little extra
time with my make-up and chose a pair of my sexiest jeans that showed off my
ass and legs, and wore a low-cut blouse to complete the look. I felt only a
little embarrassed that I was doing all this with the hopes of impressing
Steve.

"I arrived at the party fashionably late with two of my friends. Inside, the
music from the band was deafening and you had to shout into the person's ear
you were with to hear anything they were saying. People were already hammered.
Bottles of Jim Beam and Jack Daniels were being passed down from person to
person like an assembly line and there were kegs of beer everywhere. I took a
swig from a bottle of Jack someone handed me and tried to yell to my friends
that I was going upstairs to look for someone but they couldn't understand
what I was saying, and they were moving off anyway to get their beer cups
filled. I weaved through the crowd and made my way up the stairs to a crowded
hallway filled with more drunken people, shouts, and laughter. I managed to
ask one guy where Steve's room was and after giving me the once-over and a
long, crude whistle he said '3rd door on the left... Damn! Steve always gets
the hotties!' Then he ran off to do a shot with a group of guys who were
chanting like apes before throwing their glasses to the floor. I tried to
ignore what James had said about "rich-kid-apes" and found the door to Steve's
room.

"Inside Steve was holding court - literally it seemed -- with a fake crown on
his head that was taped over with a marker reading "Shot King" and a shot
glass in one hand. There were 3 other guys and couple of very drunk looking
girls in the room. Steve saw me and said 'Hey! Reading girl from the quad! You
made it!'

"I tried to shout to remind him that my name was Nikki, but the band had
gotten even louder, so much so that the bass was making the floor shake, and
no one heard me. Some guy grabbed my arm and said 'Everyone who enters has to
do a shot! Rules of the shot king!' and he handed me a glass filled with what
I hoped was Vodka and not pure grain alcohol. I downed it (it was Vodka) and a
cheer went up from the room. I started to feel that warm rush hard booze gives
you when you drink it fast. I hadn't had much to eat before coming and I was
already light-headed, but starting to feel like this could be fun.

"I noticed Steve whisper something into one of his friend's ears, and a
second later the guy was gathering up the rest of the people in the room to go
downstairs. They were gone in a flash and Steve immediately closed the door
behind them. A second later there was a huge commotion. It wasn't the normal
laughter I heard before. There were shouts and they sounded angry. Steve said
to me 'Hang on, wait here,' and left the room It was hard. to make out just
what was going on over the music, but I could hear more shouting and then a
kind of thud, followed by cheers and then more thuds, a quick series. I was
just about to come out and look for myself when Steve came back in and shut
the door behind him. Also, I noticed, locking it.

'Hey,' he said when he turned back to me.

'What was all that about?'

'Oh, that? Pffffff....happens ev'ry year. Shome asshole (he was slurring his
words, already 3 sheets to the wind) triesh ta get in without a
invitation...he was yellin' and tryin' to bust his way in here, so I clocked
him inna face and the guys chucked him downa shtairs.'

'Is he alright?'

'Oh, yeah, he's fine... he was just one of those mean drunks, ya know? And you
gotta get rough with those guys sometimes... anyway, I didn't want him gettin'
near you... I'm here to protect lovely ladies like you!'

"I almost told him I was perfectly capable of protecting myself but decided to
change the subject.

'This is an amazing party you guys put together. Hey, how about that tour you
promised me?'

"He moved straight toward me and put his hands on my shoulders. I caught a
full blast of beer mixed with the sting of harder alcohol from his breath.
His blue eyes were bloodshot. I looked around and took in the room. Empty beer
bottles were lined up on a high wooden shelf that wrapped all the way around.
Posters of half-naked and totally naked women straddling hot rods hung from
the walls. The smell of stale beer mixed with an acrid haze of marijuana
smoke. I suddenly felt like I had made a huge mistake.

'No time for tour, babe, he slurred. 'I gotta judge th' wet t-shirt contest
in like, 15 minutes ... so let's get down to biz-nesh.'

"He leaned in to kiss me and I lightly pushed him away. 'Whoa there, cowboy.'
I tried to sound light-hearted, but knew I sounded nervous instead. 'Let's
take it a little slower than that at first, what do you say?'

He smiled and said, 'OK, shorry. Here, just siddown with me for a minute on
the couch and I'll getcha nuther shot.'

'That's more like it,' I said. He reached for a bottle of Beam and held it out
to me. I wanted to show him I wasn't a total prude and took a long, hard swig
that had me come up gagging when I was finished. It also made the room spin
when I tried to re-focus my eyes. 'Awesome!' he said, and took the bottle from
my hands.

"Then I felt his body weight shift. His leg came across my body and he turned
me onto my back with his full weight on top of me. He must have weighed at
least 210 pounds and from the looks of him that day I saw him on campus with
his shirt off, it was all muscle. At 125 lbs. myself I knew I wouldn't be able
to force him off me based on muscle alone. He started grinding against me,
trying to kiss me with an open mouth. He also had my wrists pinned back
against the far end of the couch.

'Hey, come on, Steve,' I said. 'We're taking it slow, remember?'

"His tone sounded much darker when he spoke now. 'How about you jush shut up
now, 'K? Let me do th' work.'

"A sudden bolt of fear shot through me then. He couldn't be serious... could
he? The grinding continued, and I started to think of exit strategies... any
opening I could get to free myself, but the alcohol was muddying my thinking,
and panic was keeping me from thinking straight. When I think back on it now,
I know I did have a chance to strike back and get out from under him, but I
missed it at the time. He had both my wrists pinned, like I said, but he still
had to undo my jeans. He had reached down to do that with his right hand,
still holding my left wrist, but for a brief moment my right hand had been
released from his grip as he tore down the buttons of my jeans. It was only a
second but I should have taken my open hand and slammed it against his ear. I
know it would have given me the instant I needed to get free, but I was
instead put in a state of drunken incompetence. I remember thinking 'did he
just rip my jeans?' and by the time I realized I had missed my opening to
counter-attack, he had re-gripped my right wrist, holding it fast. It wouldn't
surprise me if he had done this sort of thing before, either... because even
in HIS drunken state, he had been able to not only rip open my pants, but
slide down my underwear as well. He had me now, and even though I tried to
buck him off me, his weight and strength were too much. I kept saying
'Please...stop...stop...' but all he did was grunt in response. I tried to
scream for help, but my voice was constricted by the force of his body, my
breathlessness from being drunk and light-headed, and I doubt anyone would
have heard with the band in full throttle downstairs in any case. I tried to
think of James, stared at the ceiling, and waited for the inevitable.

"It was over in less than a minute.

"The son of a bitch heaved himself off me, actually said "thanks," as if I had
allowed him to rape me, and zipped himself up. 'I really gotta go,' he said.
'See ya around.' And he left.

"I started to shake and then felt a kind of paralysis set in. I don't know how
long I lay there staring at the ceiling, but when I finally got up I felt
instantly sick and staggered out to the hall, looking for the bathroom. I
found it in the nick of time and started retching into the sink, the sound of
heavy metal rock blaring from the floor beneath. When I was done I put my head
down, fought through the crowd and ran out the front door of the house,
sobbing. I could have gone back, tried to find the bastard, and start yelling
that he raped me, but at that moment all I wanted to do was hide from the
world... from everyone but James. He had been right, and I was an idiot not to
listen to him. I also promised myself if he would forgive me that I'd never
leave him... never even think about being with another man over something as
vain and stupid as a set of pecs and abs. I was heading off to look for a cab
(my friends had driven me, but I couldn't bear to go back in that house to
look for them), when I heard my friend Stacey yelling my name.

"She ran up to me, a pained expression on her face, and as bad as my night had
been, I had a feeling it was about to get worse.

'Nikki -- where have you been? I've been trying to find you all night!' She
stopped and looked at me, noticed my tears and smeared mascara. 'Nikki, what's
wrong? Why are you crying?'

'Never mind,' I said. 'What is it?'

'It's James... they had to take him to the hospital. I thought maybe you saw
what happened and went with him, but Donna said they took him off alone...'

'What? Stacey, what are you talking about?'

'James was looking for you at the party... he was running around calling your
name, and at first no one noticed, but then he went upstairs and some guys
tried to stop him... I didn't see what happened but someone told me he got
punched in the face and then they threw him down the stairs... I don't know
how bad he was hurt but I think he was unconscious and they called an
ambulance."

'Is he alright? Where is he??'

"She named the hospital and I told her to drive me there. We went and found
her car and took off.

'Why didn't anyone call the cops?' I said on the way, my anger rising by the
minute.

'I don't know, Nikki. I think they convinced the EMT's that James was a party
crasher... they said he didn't have an invitation, and that he was
threatening some girls when they threw him down the stairs. I'm so sorry -- I
only heard about it afterwards. ... '

"I didn't say anything else until we got to the hospital, but all I was
thinking was if I hadn't been such a stupid, selfish bitch I might have left
Steve's room a second or two earlier and stopped him from injuring my
boyfriend. I wasn't even thinking about what Steve did to me anymore... I just
wanted James to be alright.

"When we got to the hospital, we found out James was being held overnight for
observation. He had suffered a mild concussion, they said, but would be
alright. He hadn't broken any bones falling down the stairs. He got some
stitches for his lip where Steve's fist had connected. I asked to see him, and
what they told me made me feel like I'd been punched in the face myself.

'He doesn't want any visitors,' the nurse told me. 'But I'm his girlfriend.'
'I'm sorry, but he was very adamant that he didn't want to see anyone and,
unless you're a relative I can't let you in.' "I was devastated, but still
floundering for some foothold. 'Hasn't anyone called the cops? He was
assaulted! And I know who did it!' 'He wouldn't tell us anything about what
happened to him. We tried, believe me. But without his cooperation, there's
nothing we can do but treat him. He'll be released tomorrow, and you can talk
to him then. But for now, I'm afraid you'll have to leave.'

"Stacey and I drove home in silence. I crawled into my bed without even
bothering to change out of my clothes, even though I felt like burning them
after what happened. I kept them on to remind me, and what became a year-long
campaign of self-loathing and punishment began that night as I cried myself to
sleep."

***

Nikki had been talking for almost an hour, but it seemed like no time had
passed at all. Only when she got up to stretch and work out some kinks in her
back did I recognize my own weariness. The Vodka we drank had made my mouth
feel dry and sticky, and after the story she told about the party, I felt
vaguely guilty for indulging with her. I wanted to say something to make her
feel better, but didn't know what would work.

"At least James wasn't hurt too badly," I said. "And you eventually told the
police what Steve did to both of you, right?"

Nikki gave a short, cyncial laugh.

"No on both counts, Jack," she said. "James was hurt far worse than either of
us knew, and I never told the cops what Steve did."

"Why the hell not? The bastard should have paid for what he did!"

"He did, Jack, he did. Although I still don't think the punishment fit the
crime. James and I had a lot in common, and neither of us felt like being ID'd
as victims. When he finally agreed to see me, it was to tell me: 1) he felt it
would be best not to see each other any more and, 2) he would dispute any
story I told the cops about him being assaulted by Steve. He said it was his
choice to go to the party and try to rescue me, and he knew full well he would
be walking into the lion's den. He said he would live with it, which turned
out not to be true at all."

Nikki started to tear up again, and I thought she might not continue. Then she
caught herself and went on.

"That 'mild concussion' he had received made his migraine condition even worse
than it was. Over the next few months he kept having more frequent attacks. (I
had kept close with a mutual friend who promised to report on how James was
doing.) He was sick all the time, often depressed, and had a hard

time even going out when the sun was shining. He missed so many classes he
eventually had to drop out of school. He also became even more withdrawn than
he already was, and even the friend I asked to keep tabs on him eventually
lost track of James when he abruptly moved out of his apartment. During all
this time I also withdrew from many of my friends I had made over the past
year. I never reported the rape to the cops because, like James, I also didn't
want to be treated as a victim. And I had a plan of my own for dealing with
Steve.

"I hunkered down at school during this time, but by far the class I was most
absorbed with was Judo. I dedicated myself to the sport with the fierceness my
Dad had wished I had when I took those self-defense courses at the army bases.
By the end of the first semester of classes I was no longer practicing with
the girls -- they were too easy for me to pummel. And soon, none of the boys
in class wanted anything to do with me in sparring. I saw all of them as
versions of Steve and took extra pleasure defeating the biggest ones in class.
Some of those matches got out of hand -- the guys didn't like getting shown up
by a 125 pound girl, and fights almost broke out. One day before class my
Sensei pulled me aside.

'I must ask you to leave this class,' he said. 'What? You can't do that! I'm
paying for these classes...' (Not technically true since I was there on
scholarship, but I was determined to stay.) My Sensei was a good man. All of
5-foot-nothing but tougher than an alligator's hide. He was a Korean War vet
and reminded me a little of my father in his stoicism.

'I will teach you on my own instead,' he said. 'Whenever you want. Your inner
rage I do not know if I can do anything about, but I must stop it from taking
away from the other students' experience here. You are a disruption. Besides,
within the confines of this class there is nothing more I can teach you. If I
tutor you personally, you will become a master Judoka. But you cannot continue
here. The decision is yours.'

"It was an easy choice. For the rest of that year I studied in private with my
sensei. I was unable to beat him, but I sometimes came close, and took
satisfaction that I always made him sweat. The private instruction helped
channel some of my anger, and over the course of the year I actually started
to feel some of it recede. I was starting to feel calmer, and even toyed with
the idea of dropping my plan regarding Steve. But then something happened that
put the plan immediately into motion.

"During this time I tried desperately to reconcile with James, and he was
never far from my thoughts. It took me a long time to track down where he'd
moved, but he still wouldn't talk to me any more than to say he wanted to be
left alone. It sounded like he was in pain, and he was. The headaches were
more frequent (as I found later when I spoke with a doctor who saw him once),
and he was increasingly depressed.

"One morning before meeting with my sensei for a lesson, I glanced at an item
in the local newspaper:

Young Photographer Found Dead of Apparent Suicide (AP) A 21-year old aspiring
photographer was found dead in his apartment in the city's warehouse district
over the weekend. James Gantner apparently hanged himself in the makeshift
darkroom where he developed his mostly black-and-white photos of the city's
most destitute areas. A neighbor who knew the man only from occasionally
seeing him taking photos said he was a quiet and reserved person who seemed
uncomfortable shooting on any day with bright sunlight. "He always seemed to
be wincing and holding his head," said the neighbor, who didn't want to be
identified. "When I asked him if he was OK, he said he had migraines but
didn't say anymore that that." Gantner worked freelance and sold some of his
pictures to local newspapers.

His first professional exhibition was set to debut at The Ricker Museum next
month. Curator John Myerson says Gantner's photo exhibit will still be
presented. "James was an extremelytalented young photographer," said Myerson
when told

the news. "It's a great loss for the artistic community. He will be missed."
Police say an investigation into the apparent suicide is ongoing but said
Gantner did not appear to leave any suicide note. He is survived by his mother
and a younger brother, both of whom live in Buffalo, NY. Funeral arrangements
have yet to be announced.

"I read the item 3 times over, my hands shaking violently, tears staining the
newsprint. I was barely able to call the dojo to tell my sensei I would be
missing our lesson, and didn't expect to be back for any future ones. He
didn't even ask why, or express any shock. It was as if he knew something
irrevocable had occurred. He only wished for whatever void was within me to be
filled. I said I didn't know if that was possible, but thanked him for
everything he'd done for me, and hung up.

"I went home and sobbed for hours, tearing my apartment to pieces. When I was
done, I noticed one sheet of paper lying face up amid the debris, a piece of
paper that had been handed to me a week earlier after a strategic flirtation
with some bozo who was driving around campus in his Daddy's BMW. It was an
invitation to an annual event I knew well: a certain fraternity party that was
being held the following night.

"I threw away most of what I owned, kept enough clothes to travel lightly
with, and packed everything else I would need into the trunk and back of my
car. I told my landlord I would be terminating my lease, but would pay the
penalty and the last two months rent. Then I got as much sleep as my frenzied
brain would allow to get ready for the big party.

"I saved a special outfit for the occasion, and I took my time getting ready,
with just the right amount of mascara and eye shadow, nothing too trampy --
but definitely enough to catch the eye. I took extra care to get my long hair
ready, applying highlights to bring out the auburn-chestnut sheen. I had let
it grow out in a thick rich mane that reached well past my shoulders, but for
the past year I had mostly been wearing it conservatively, tied back in a long
ponytail or bun when I practiced judo. On this night, I let it loose.

"I slipped on a black leather mini-skirt that left very little to the
imagination. My long legs came pouring out of it, and I matched the skirt with
a pair of knee-length black-leather boots with a square heel that added
another 2 1/2 inches to my 5'11" frame. I wore a tight, sleeveless white
T-shirt to accentuate the black leather ensemble, and went out to have my fun.

"I arrived about the same time I had a year earlier, knowing most of the
partiers would already be heavily drunk. I didn't want a lot of people
remembering who I was and even though there were plenty of scantily-clad girls
there, not many -- if any -- could hold a candle to me, and I drew a lot of
stares the minute I stepped inside. The band was even louder this year -- a
thrash-metal-grunge outfit intent on covering up their lack of talent with
extra volume. That suited me just fine. I made my way straight up to the 2nd
floor of the house, this time without having to stop and ask for directions. I
opened the door to Steve's room slowly, poking my head inside first, letting
my long hair drop into the door-frame by way of introduction.

'Hi, guys,' I said, employing a come-hither, little-girl voice. Then I slowly
slinked the rest of my body into the room, letting the boys drink it all in.
It was all boys this time; about 5 of them including Steve, passing a bottle
and a bong around a tight circle. The room went silent as they all checked me
out at once. None of them were subtle in their assessment:

'Whoa.' 'Holy shit.' 'Oh, Mama.' 'Gawd-damn!'

"I feigned a little "aw-shucks" humility and did a little flip-wave with my
hair. 'Ummm... is Steve here?'

Steve was staring at me along with his ape-brothers. But he was the only one
who hadn't said anything. He was looking at me like he was trying to recall
where he'd seen me before. I was wondering about this, but as his face
struggled to find recognition, it eventually gave up, and he said 'I'm Steve,
honey ... and pay no attention to these morons, they obviously don't have any
manners. Come on in.'

"I sauntered into the room. Just like the year before, one of the lackeys
piped up with 'Everyone who enters...' and I cut him off. 'Oh, I know...
everyone who enters must do a shot -- orders of the shot king,' and I winked
at Steve as I said it, and downed my shot of JD.

'Hey, you've done this before,' Steve said, and I tried to look hurt. 'Of
course I have,' I said. 'Don't you remember me?' Steve was a terrible liar.
'Yeah, yeah, baby, of course I do. Who could forget someone like you?' Then he
got up and this time didn't even bother whispering in his buddy's ear. 'Why
don't you guys clear out for a while so me and this lovely lady can get
re-acquainted?' he said.

"His gang of apes grumbled a bit but it was clear who the Alpha Ape was --
what Steve wanted, Steve would get, and that was that. They left the room,
each one stealing once last glance at me on the way out.

'I hope I wasn't interrupting anything,' I said, still as coquettish as I
could be. 'Aw, no, 'course not, babe. I'm glad you came to see me.'

"He wasn't nearly as drunk this time, but he wasn't cold sober either. 'So,' I
said, 'it's great to see you again, Steve.' I said his name with the clear
expectation that he should say mine back.

"He stammered a little and said 'Well, it's great to see you, too, ummm... oh,
shit, babe, help me out here...'

"I made a show of putting my hands over my eyes and squealed, 'Oh no! I KNEW
you wouldn't remember me.. I'm so embarrassed... I should just go. ... ' and I
reached for the door.

"Steve couldn't get there fast enough. 'No, no no no, babe... I'm sorry..
.listen, it's just that -- I gotta be honest, a lot of girls come up here, and
I don't always remember everyone's name... I know you look familiar -- I can't
believe I would forget a stone cold babe like you, but I just need some help
to jog my memory....'

"I turned around and said, 'Well, I was here for last year's party.' 'Oh, well
that explains it,' he said. 'I was so hammered at last year's bash I could
barely remember my own name! I bet we had fun, though, right?' 'Oh, you
definitely had fun with me,' I said, returning to the girlish innuedo. 'And to
be honest, I was kind of hoping I could have some fun tonight.'

"Big smile. Steve's eyes got real wide, real fast. 'Sounds like an amazing
idea,' he said. 'Let me just lock this door so we don't get disturbed.' 'Great
idea, Steve. Great... idea.'

"Steve started walking toward me, lips parting for a face-suck, but I stepped
back and put a finger to his chest. 'Um, do you mind if we play a little
game?' I said. 'Yeah, babe, whatever you want.' 'Well,' and I shuffled my
boots a little...'last year you did something I'd like you to try and do
again... I'm kind of shy to ask, but...' 'Go ahead, babe -- whatever you
want.' 'Well, you pinned me down before we did it last time, and,' (I added a
girlish giggle) '...I'd kinda like you to try it again.' Steve's grin grew
even wider. 'Abso-fuckin-lutely,' he said, and moved ahead to grab me.

"I reached out and took his wrist in both my hands and whipped him around in
one sharp motion so that his back struck hard against the wall behind me. He
first registered a look of pure shock, and then bust out laughing. 'Wow! OK,
babe... um, you like it a little rough, I guess?'

"I kept up the little girl voice and the 'aw shucks' shrug and said: 'I said I
wanted you to TRY to pin me. I didn't say I was going to let you.'

"Steve shook off the knock into the wall and said, 'OK, if that's how you want
it.' He came at me again and this time I let him get in close and when he
grabbed my shoulders I put my leg around the back of his knee and locked it
there -- I think you know this move, Jack (did I ever), and shoved hard on his
shoulder, pulling back my leg at the same time. Steve went down hard on his
back. I stood back and put a finger to my bottom lip, pouting. 'Um, do you
think you CAN pin me, Steve? I'm starting to wonder if you're up to this.'
Still, the little-girl voice.

"Steve got slowly to his feet... still smiling, but looking a little confused
as well. 'Ok, Ok,' he said. 'I guess I have to get a little rougher with you
than I wanted to.' 'That's the spirit!' I said, and hopped up and down like a
cheerleader. Steve gave an uncertain smile and rushed me a little quicker this
time. I let him get close then leaned myself far back, catching the front of
his shirt with my left hand, I guided his momentum through as I side-stepped
his charge. I took my right hand and pushed on the back of his neck as I threw
him forward, and stuck out my boot, tripping his lead foot as he came through.
He hit the floor chest first like Pete Rose diving into second base, bounced
once, and came to a stop. When he turned back to look up at me he wasn't
smiling anymore.

"I crossed my arms and stamped one boot on the floor, still using my
little-girl voice to express my disappointment. 'Jesus Christ, Steve! Are you
going to pin me or not? I don't have all night, you know!!'

"Steve got up very slowly and rubbed his chin, trying to figure out what was
going on. He was about 6'4" and north of 200 pounds and, to this point, hadn't
even come close to getting this 125 pound beauty under his control. He circled
me this time, looking for an opening, not wanting to rush any attack. I stood
with my arms by my side, not bothering to even get into a defensive

position. When I feigned an exaggerated yawn, he got mad and made a grab for
my arm. In a flash I took hold of his wrist in both my hands, twisted it up
above my head, ducked under his raised arm, then brought it down and back up
again in a sharp, fast motion that lifted him off his feet and onto his back.
A body that big makes a hell of a sound when it hits the floor that hard but
the band downstairs was rumbling the floor already with bass bombs and I knew
no one would know I just sent the "shot king" to the floor with a perfectly
timed wrist throw. No one except Steve.

"When he got up this time (rubbing his back) any trace of amusement had
vanished. He looked a combination of baffled and furious. 'What the FUCK??'
he yelled.

"And for the first time since I entered the room I dropped any pretense of
the silly little girl I had pretended to be. My voice dropped into its normal
husky tone and I looked at him hard, my eyes boring into his.

'You really don't remember me, do you... you piece of shit?'

"Steve's ape-brain was churning, and I reveled in the look that suddenly
crossed his face -- it was the look of fear.  

'It doesn't matter, Steve. I know a brain like yours can't contain that much
information anyway. But I remember you, and that's what counts.'

"Steve stole a look at the locked door, wondering if he should make a run for
it.

'Go ahead, Steve. You want to run for it? I'd love to hear the reaction when
you tell your buddies you need help because you're getting the shit kicked out
of you by a 125 pound girl. But you're missing the big picture here. My offer
still stands, and I'll honor it. If you can pin me, I'll fuck you. It's that
simple. I'll fuck you silly, in any position you want, and for as long as you
want. Although, as I remember it, you don't last more than half a minute or
so. You don't know much about what pleases a woman, do you, Steve-O?'

"Steve started breathing hard through his mouth. I'm pretty sure no woman had
ever dared to talk to him like that, and having already been thrown to the
floor three times by a member of "the weaker sex," he didn't much care for
having his sexual manhood exposed as a fraud as well. Steve tried to muster up
as much macho bravado as he had left.

'I will fuck you tonight,' he said. 'But first I'm going to fuck you up.'

"He came at me again, and I knew what he'd try this time. No attempt to grab
me here, Steve reared back his fist and tried to hit me as hard as he could in
the face. But the blow was so telegraphed I could have filed my nails and
still had time to fend it off when it came. Plus, even if he wasn't as
stink-drunk as he was a year ago, his reflexes and movements were still
slowed by the alcohol he'd already consumed. I dipped my head back and out of
the way of his fist, let the arm swing through, and then grabbed under his
shoulder as his forward progress brought him across my body. From there it was
a simple twist of my hips and a tight two-armed grip on his now captured arm
as I slung him effortlessly over my back and onto the floor. Another loud bang
as Steve met the floor was muffled by the throbbing bass and drums of the band
downstairs.

'Oh, Steve,' I said. 'Who taught you how to fight -- your Mommy?' Steve let
out a growl of outrage tinged with humiliation and struggled to get to his
feet. But the beating his body had already taken was starting to take its
toll. He was lucky to be at least moderately drunk, which likely shielded some
of the pain. But no amount of alcohol would mask the hurt he was about to
experience. I stood before him with my hands on the hips of my leather
mini-skirt, looking at him with utter contempt. He was sweating heavily and
gathered himself into an animal-like crouch, ready to spring. I thought of
him cradling the football in his arm a year back when he first invited me to
his little rape party. 'Football,' I thought. 'How fucking typical. Here it
comes.'

"And sure enough Steve tried the only thing left he could think of to take me
down -- a full rush spring-and-leap from his football stance, his arms
spread wide, an attempt to sack the QB. I was more than ready for this... in
fact, was hoping he'd try it. I leaned my body all the way back until I was on
my back on the floor. I caught his arms just above the wrist in either hand
and let his body come to me, and then brought my right leg up, my boot
nestling perfectly into the center of his stomach, and I guided his body on
through, pushing with my powerful leg to speed the process. In Judo it's

called a "toemenage," but the layman's term is "stomach throw," and it sent

Steve hurtling through the air well over my body, where he ultimately crashed
upside-down into the far wall of the room. His row of empty collected beer
bottles began to topple, several striking him on the head where he lay
sprawled and

twisted on the very couch where he'd violated me a year earlier. One of the
bottles had opened a cut on his forehead and blood streaked down the middle
of his face. He let out a prolonged groan of pain and I saw tears begin to
form in his eyes.

"I walked calmly over to the couch and grabbed Steve by the hair, pulling him
from the couch over to his futon bed. I threw him down on his back. 'OK,
Steve,' I said. 'Let's have a little talk.' Eveyrthing up til now was
appetizer. I was about to feast on the entree.

"While Steve struggled to sit up, I arched my back and brought both my legs up
and over to either side of his head. I clamped his head between my legs, and
slowly stretched them out straight until his head was in a tight vice grip
between my thighs, and I rested my chin on my open palm, watching his face
turn slowly from pink to red to purple as I applied more and more pressure.

"He was barely able to speak, but squeaked out: 'Please...please...stop.....'

'You know, Steve, that is so funny -- that's exactly what I said to you a year
ago when you were raping me. I said 'please, please stop', but you wouldn't
stop. Why exactly shouldn't I go ahead and pop your head like a pimple right
now?'

"Steve was now beyond any response. All he could do was suck for any air he
could find. Drool was pouring out from his twisted lips as he made wheezing
sounds. I released my legs, and he gasped and coughed, slowly regaining his
color. Tears were now streaming out from his eyes, and his chest heaved for
air. In between sobs I heard him say 'You...you...f-f-f-fucking b-bitch....'

'Wow, Steve. Really? That's what you want to say to the girl who just beat the
stuffing out of you and isn't sure if she's done yet? I don't know where you
were when brains were passed out, but I'm pretty sure you ended up with one
of the cheaper models.'

"He tried to lift himself up on the bed but I got on his chest, straddling
him on either side with my thighs. I grabbed his wrists and slammed them hard
down behind his head. On a normal day my arms would be no match for his, but
by now he had no strength left at all. I took his arms and thrust them under
my legs, clamping down hard. He made one pathetic attempt to buck me off him,
but it was no more than a hiccup.

"I laughed and said 'Steve, I gotta be honest. For a big guy you really are a
fucking pussy.' Then I looked to the side of the bed and saw the bong on his
nightstand next to a lighter and an open bag of weed. I reached over and
packed myself a hit, lit the bowl, and took it in while he lay paralyzed in
my school-girl pin. I let the smoke out slowly over his head.

'I will say this for you, Steve-O. You do have good taste in weed. This is
some nice smoke. You know what, though? You really should clean out your bong
water more often. This is filthy. Here, let me help you with that.'

"Steve's eyes went wide with horror when he realized what I was about to do. I
pinched his nose shut with my left hand and waited for him to open his mouth
to get air. He held out as long as he could and then when his mouth gaped
open, I poured the bong juice right down his throat. I chucked the bong aside
and clamped his mouth shut with my right hand before he could spit it out, and
waited til he was forced to swallow. Then I silently thanked my sensei for
making me practice my judo rolls a thousand times because I was able to now do
a lightning fast roll off of Steve to avoid what happened next.

"Steve gasped and shot up from the bed with an enormous hacking sound as he
threw a projectile vomit half way across the room. His eyes bugged out of his
head and veins were popping out everyhwere on his neck. He kept puking until
he keeled over in a fetal position and started to shake all over.

"I came around the bed, avoided the vomit, and again grabbed Steve by his
hair.

'Gross, Steve,' I said. 'Really nasty. No way am I cleaning that up.'

"I dragged him by his hair over to the largest pool of the mess and threw him
face first into it, grinding his head down with the heel of my boot until he
was plastered with his own filth. He was full on crying now, sobbing and
gasping. He may have even called out for his Mommy. It was hard to tell.

'OK, Steve, let's review and summarize, shall we? But, just to make sure I
have your full attention...'

"I took hold of his limp left arm and pulled him away from the vomit, then got
down on the floor next to him. I sat up and wrapped my legs around his arm,
gaining control of his wrist, bending it slightly backward towards my chest.
He let out a small whimper of pain.

'Standard arm bar, Stevie. Just so you don't go anywhere til you hear what I
have to say. I'll make this quick, though, because frankly, it's starting to
stink in here, and it never smelled very good to begin with.

'First -- remember that tonight you lost a fight to a girl. You lost pretty
badly, Steve... no way around it -- you got your ass handed to you by a female
-- and a 'stone cold babe' --isn't that what you called me? -- to boot. Not
sure how you'll explain that to your tough-guy friends, I mean... how do you
put a spin on that exactly? 'I just couldn't pin her no matter how hard I
tried? She tricked me? She sucker punched me? I forgot to eat my Wheaties
today and she just over-powered me?' I dunno.. .you'll think of something.
Second -- and here's the one bit of good news you've got: you won't be seeing
me after tonight, although I'll be seeing you. After I leave here, Steve, I'm
a home run -- I'm gone. But I'll be keeping tabs on you, be sure of that. And
if I find out that you ever try to rape or sexually assault another girl in
any way... OR sucker-punch some guy who's smaller than you and can't fight
back because you've got your goon squad on hand, I'll be back...and what I did
to you tonight will seem like a Swedish massage. Third and last, Steve... and
then I really must be going... you probably think the pain you're experiencing
right now is totally unjustified. After all, you don't even remember me and
what you did -- although I pretty much explained it, and it's not any
different than what scumbags like you the world over do to women every day...
but you also hurt the man I loved, Steve... maybe the only man I ever loved...
and even though on that count I'm more to blame than you are, I can't help
thinking he might still be alive today if you and your friends hadn't done
what they did. That kinda makes me mad all over again.'

"I started to increase the pressure on the arm bar hold. Steve winced and let
out another yelp of pain. 

'Steve, did you know that in Judo tournaments when one player has the other in
an arm bar like this she's allowed to break the arm if the other guy doesn't
tap out to end the match? True fact. Ninety-nine percent of the time, of
course, that tap comes right away. But some guys... well, they just can't
stand to lose, and they'll actually try and struggle their way out rather than
tap and admit defeat. Are you that tough, Steve, that you'd rather have me
break your arm than admit you got beaten by a girl? Let's find out.'

"I bent his wrist some more and Steve immediately started slapping his free
hand on the floor, five, six, seven times. 'First smart thing you've done all
night, Steve,' I said. 'There's just one small problem....'

"I got up and kept control of his wrist, lifting his arm, straightening it
out with the back of his elbow pointed up.

"I raised my right leg and said, 'We're not in a Judo tournament.' Then I
brought by boot down hard on his elbow joint.

There was a sickening snapping sound like a piece of kindling wood being
broken over someone's knee and Steve let out a howl of pure pain before
passing out, as I knew he would. I checked his pulse, made sure he was still
breathing, and spat on the back of his head for good measure. Then I carefully
made my way around the vomit and wreckage of his room, unlocked the door, and
went downstairs.

"The party was still in full swing, the band driving hard. I was almost out
the door when one of the goons who had been ushered out of Steve's room caught
my eye. He had to shout for me to hear him, even though he was only a couple
of feet away. He was looking me up and down, wishing he had been the one to
get me alone. If only he knew.

"With unmasked envy for Steve in his voice, he asked, 'How was it?' I shrugged
my shoulders and turned my palms upward in a "what can I say?" gesture and
shouted back: 'Pretty shitty, actually -- he couldn't get it up!!!!'

"The guy looked stunned for a moment and then reared his head back and started
laughing. He called over a bunch of other guys and started yelling, 'Steve
couldn't get it up!!' over and over and the laughter spread around the room.
That was a bonus I wasn't expecting, and I had a big smile on my face as I
left.

"My car was waiting around the block. I got in, knowing everything I had in
this world was in there with me. The thought didn't scare me. In fact, I felt
a rush of freedom and possibility. I had mailed a note to my academic
supervisor informing him that I was dropping out of school to "pursue other
interests." I had signed my name at the bottom and added a p.s.: "Thanks for
the education." I drove off, and can still remember turning on the radio and
finally getting to hear some good music. It was the Rolling Stones doing
"Bitch." It made me laugh harder than I had in years, even as I sang along."

***

I'm not usually at a loss for words, but Nikki's story left me speechless. I
was at once proud and terrified of her. When I finally thought of what to say
it sounded trite. "He deserved it, Nikki. You were totally justified, and I
hope you found some sense of closure from it."

Nikki stared at me, and I hoped I hadn't said the wrong thing. We were both
tired, hadn't slept all night, and now the sun was just starting to come up.

"No, Jack, that's just it. I'm not at all sorry for what I did to him. I'd do
it again. But the satisfaction I felt that night didn't last. I moved from
city to city for a while, taking waitressing jobs and such before moving on.
There were men, even some good ones, but I left them all, usually after just a
few weeks. I was growing restless and didn't know exactly why. I finally
landed in Los Angeles and started my modeling career. I thought maybe if I was
around a lot of photographers, I would meet someone like James, but the guys
who take pictures of women like me are nothing like he was. Most of them were
jerks, and the men I started meeting were the same. I realized I still hadn't
forgiven myself for what happened to James, and I started picking up strangers
for wrestling challenges as a way to punish myself. If one of them could beat
me, I'd sleep with them -- a kind of self-punishment for how I treated James
and took him for granted. If I beat them -- which is always what happened -- I
could re-live to some extent my revenge fantasy over Steve. Over time, the
pattern became an obsession. And so, now you know."

"It explains everything, Nikki... except for me."

Nikki looked at me with a puzzled expression, surprised to see me looking
hurt. And I was.

"You said if you lost a match and slept with the man who beat you it would be
a kind of self-punishment. Is that how you feel about us... about me? I am a
form of self-punishment to you?"

"Oh, Jack," she said, and came over to me, kissing me deeply before speaking
again. "You don't understand. You really are different. You remember that very
first night we met, and wrestled? How I beat you twice but allowed you a third
chance to win?"

"Of course, but..." A realization came to me. "You let me win that third
match, didn't you?"

"Yes, Jack. And I was being disingenuous this time around when I acted so
angry about you not being able to beat me. I knew you couldn't. I knew it
from the beginning. But Jack, since the moment I laid eyes on you, I was
reminded of James. More than anyone I've met since he died. You have his kind
eyes, and you're a gentle soul like he was. And I guess I was hoping that
maybe... you could help me break this obsession, and help me live a normal
life again. That's the real reason I wanted to see you again, even though I
used the pretense of a wrestling re-match to get you here."

I felt a surge of joy and took Nikki in my arms. "I can help you, Nikki... I
know I can... all you need to do is give me a chance."

Nikki smiled but broke from my embrace. "Let me think about it, Jack. I'm
exhausted right now, and I have to fly to Milan tomorrow for a photo shoot.
Give some time to think, and I promise we'll talk."

We gathered our things and said our goodbyes.

I made my way down to the hotel garage to get my car in a sweet haze of hope.
I found my car and opened the door when a shadow came into view. I turned
around and said "Nik...?" just as a fist struck me square across the jaw. I
stumbled back and felt another blow, and looked up to see a huge figure of a
man standing over me. Before I could recover, he turned me around and put my
hands behind my back. Then he wrapped duct tape around my wrists and forced
me into the back seat. He fished my keys out of my pocket and started the car.
I was still woozy but saw in the rear view mirror a shock of blond hair and
cold steel blue eyes.

"What's your name, asshole?" he said. He asked me again in an angrier tone and
I mumbled "I'm Jack."

"Hey, Jack," he said. "I'm Steve. You and me are going to take a little ride.
And that bitch you spent the night with? You're going to tell me where she is,
or you're going to die."

It was all too much. From the exhaustion of the night before, and the blows to
my face, I passed out in the back seat, my last thought a vision of Nikki's
perfect and beautiful face.

***

Author's note: If you want Nikki and Jack's adventures to continue, let me
know. You can send thoughts on this story and the series to: kraxxll@yahoo.com