JENNA IN TONYA Part 3 
by Avida Dolor
More of Jenna in the women's prison


Copyright 1997 Avida Dolor (avidadolor@aol.com)


So it's a few days later, Michelle From Hell is out on the street, and I'm 
on pins and needles. I'm on pot and Valium, actually, I've never seen any 
needle drugs in here, and no one play wrestles with me, I'm too good, so 
forget the pins. But never mind that. I hate to say it, but I've got a 
thing for this Hell girl way worse than what I had for the late lamented 
Paula. Paula had a better rack, but Michelle From Hell is hardwired like a 
robochick. I spent Michelle's last four days in Tonya with her, I worked 
out with her in her room (what a fucking pump you get with this girl!), I 
showered with her and I showered *on* her, she turns out to be a latent 
water sports freak, her meeting with Missy brought her out. I slept in her 
fucking room. I can hardly believe it myself, but it's true. I mean, this 
girl is dangerous, she almost killed her parents, she's been in solitary 
for the better part of three years.
 Never mind, she was real sweet to me, I'm just her type. Tanned, cute, 
real good bod, big muscles but not as big as her. Michelle likes to be a 
top. Well, OK, she's not playing at being a top, she really is one. Anatomy 
is destiny, baby. That first toss with her, by the way, was rectal-
thermonuclear, it was as good a toss as I ever got from anyone in here, 
Michelle's got a tongue that's as big and as strong as her forearm, for 
Chrissakes. We tossed every day after that, but now I'm tossing and turning 
back in the room with Missy, and this chick is a story unto herself.
Now she's got a date in the ring of judgment with Go Blow Glo. Three days 
from now. She's been weight training and sparring with Bonnie, though I 
don't see the need for all this work, she's gonna obliterate Glo, that 
pipsqueak. I don't know quite what's going on between Missy and Glo; the 
story is still that Glo gave her the black eye (now pretty much healed), 
but I can't get at the truth of what their beef was really about, no one's 
talking. Stef suspects that Glo is in phone contact with Brooke, and Glo 
was taunting Missy about Paula somehow, but Missy isn't talking and Glo 
talks to no one. We can't get to Glo's roomie, she hasn't got one, she's 
another Nance who lives alone. Stef thinks Missy is trying to protect Paula 
somehow, based on false info she got from Glo; obviously she doesn't know 
Paula's dead. Assuming she really is.
 Oh, it's too fucked up. And now we're waiting for a phone call from 
Michelle. She's supposed to do the same thing, work out at Chucho High, but 
this time she's gonna abduct Brooke right from the gym, Mrs. Becker has 
been tipped off by Warden Marlow that this will be cool, there's something 
going on that requires a little foul play on school grounds, not to worry. 
Becker and Marlow are tight somehow, maybe they were once lovers. Anyway, 
that's the plan. 
Then we get another tape in the mail. It's too soon for anything to have 
happened to Michelle, thank Tonya herself. This must be the end of Wilma. 
This doesn't bother me so much, I'm kind of expecting it and Wilma just 
doesn't capture my imagination that much. Yeah, I know it's 'cause she's 
not that cute and that, like, is really some sort of dumbshit way to care 
whether someone lives or dies, but you might say NoCal girls trust in 
appearances bigtime and so do Hards, for sure. Looks are just about 
everything out here, and after looks comes *technique.* Anyway, it's been a 
while and the snuff films seem like a dream. But they're not, they're an 
ongoing nightmare. The note from Toosmart: "Hi, grapple goddess. Bet you're 
wondering what happened to that big black Wilma, huh? Get some cookies and 
have a party. Wilma'll bring the milk. Till it curdles." 
That curdle bit doesn't sound too good. The Hards convene in the lounge, 
and the TV ritual starts again. Same basement, same mats, same lighting, 
but a different scene. It's Wilma and Mary, naked, rolling around on the 
floor together, kissing and hugging, then Mary starts sucking on Wilma's 
big tits. This is not a continuation of the other tape, Wilma is not 
cuffed, her face wasn't just maced, she doesn't even look deranged, neither 
of them do, they just seem sweet and loving. This goes on for a full ten 
minutes, they eat each other, first in a face to fleece interlock, then 
they take turns doing doggie style chews and a little tossing, then Wilma 
squirts breast milk all over Mary's face, then Mary gets on her back and 
pulls her massive legs almost behind her head so Wilma can deep tongue her, 
then they kiss some more . . . we're getting itchy and there are frequent 
suggestions that it's time to fast forward. Then the tape abruptly ends as 
Wilma is handling Mary's heavy tits like she's massaging big, tight slabs 
of muscle. Well, she is, Mary has industrial pecworks, I'd shit to own pecs 
like this.
 It was a pretty fucking intense turnon actually, this sex stuff, Mary 
really gets my blood going, I bet her bush smells like the surf out around 
Santa Chewla at low tide, but now we're all standing there like a bunch of 
fucking idiots looking at a snowy screen, the tape is still running, and I 
know what we're all feeling, we're all feeling *disappointed*--no one got 
killed. Specifically, Wilma. We'd *all* written her off in our minds. "What 
the hell was that all about?" Lee Ann asks.
"Now she's making sex tapes?" wonders Tiff.
"We don't know when that was shot," says Stef. "That could've been shot 
before the cuffs and mace business."
"You notice the way they didn't look insane?" I go. 
"They didn't act insane either," says Stef. "They were making love, not 
war."
"So what are we supposed to make of all this?" says Lee Ann.
"We can't really make anything of it," says Stef. "We don't know whether 
Wilma's alive, or if Mary is alive, for that matter. Hey, at least we 
didn't get another snuff tape."
"It seems like Brooke is telling us Wilma is alive," I say. "The note asked 
if we were wondering what happened to her, and this is like, the answer. 
For now, at least, till the `curdle' part comes."
"It's not really an answer, though," says Tiff. "It doesn't tell us 
anything meaningful. It's no proof that Wilma's alive. We have proof of 
nothing, not even that Paula and Nicki are dead."
Then the tape suddenly comes back to life, no one had hit Stop yet. It's a 
different scene, a different moment in the same scene, I guess, but the 
lovefest is over. Now Mary has Wilma in a crushing scissors, she's got her 
immense thighs wrapped around Wilma's head, Mary is standing facing the 
camera, Wilma is on her knees, her head in this thigh vise, and she's 
bellowing in pain, and I can see by the way Mary's legworks are popping--
the atomic teardrop quads bulging way over the knee and running in a 
swollen mass of poured concrete right up to her hip--she's applying this 
hold with all her might. "This could be the `curdle' part," I mutter.
"Oh, shit," says Lee Ann, "look at the flare in those thighs, she's gonna 
pop that girl's head like it was a melon."
"Don't kill another one, Mary," pleads Bon. 
But Mary can't hear her. She's in insane mode now. You can see it in her 
face, and she's making those animal grunts again, and she's bouncing up and 
down a little, trying to make Wilma's brains come out her ears, posing 
coyly with her hands behind her head, flashing those sweaty black-tufted 
pits at us, making her big tits jump with pec jerks, and the camera zooms 
in a little and there's blood coming out of Wilma's eyes, or is her head 
cut, is blood dripping into her eyes? No time to tell, Mary has stepped 
back out of the scissors and slipped Wilma neatly into a sleeper, jerked 
her to her feet, the big arms wrapped around her neck blocking most of her 
face and she holds that for half a minute, Wilma slapping hopelessly at the 
hairy iron forearms, but then Mary lets that go and deftly drops her arms 
down to grab Wilma in a rear bear hug. She lifts her right off the mat in 
this hold and she must really be crushing the girl, 'cause Wilma is 
bellowing in pain again, her legs kicking like she was a tyke in a kiddie 
pool, maybe she broke some ribs earlier or something. But Mary is tired of 
the hug, she powers Wilma up onto her shoulder and now she slams her to the 
mat, stomps on her arms and legs a half dozen times, trying to crush 
whatever limb is sticking out to make an easy target, then she plops her 
own ass onto the mat, raises and curls her left leg so we see the hamstring 
bulge, and she slips the iron ball of her calf around Wilma's neck and 
pulls down on the top of her foot with both hands. Her leg is a nutcracker, 
the 18-inch-plus calf is bulging into Wilma's throat, and this hold is for 
real, she's not letting go.
 She stays like that, inching around on her ass so Wilma's contorted face 
is aimed at the camera, and now she's killing Wilma for real, the girl's 
neck is squeezed so tight her blood-rimmed eyes look like they're gonna 
shoot out of her head, and Wilma just starts pounding the mat spastically 
with her feet and fists, she can't make a sound anymore, it's just Mary 
who's grunting, and now Wilma is arcing a stream of pee into the air, her 
bulging pinkish-yellow eyes are staring into some choking abyss, and I can 
feel my breath coming in short gasps and my stomach muscles are knotting up 
in a nauseous clump. Mary keeps the leg hold on for almost three minutes 
before rolling off the now apparently dead Wilma. We look at her carefully, 
there seems to be no breathing, no chest heaving, she's lifeless, her eyes 
gaped and staring blind.
 Then Mary, who's stood up and worked out the kinks in her death leg, doing 
some toe raises that make her calves bulge insanely, steps out of the shot 
and comes back in with a chair, a deep chair that you can sit someone in 
without having them fall out, and she grabs Wilma under the armpits, drops 
her into the chair, kneels in front of her--they're angled a bit sidewise 
so we can get a good view--and she starts tweaking the thick chocolate 
brown nipples, getting a shower of milk in her face, then she fastens her 
mouth on a nipple and starts sucking hard, her cheeks working like a 
bellows, like she wants to draw blood. 
"Oh, fuck my ass," says Tiff, "she's nursing on a corpse."
Mary pulls her vacuum maw off the tit, starts tweaking the other nip until 
she gets another milk spray, then starts suckling that teat for all she's 
worth. Then she gets up on the chair on her knees, balancing her huge bulk 
on the arms somehow, thrusting her pelvis over Wilma's chest, and she 
starts diddling her clit--it's so big it actually sticks out of the hairy 
bush--with one of Wilma's thick distended nipples, and she keeps this up 
for about two minutes, moaning and grunting like a rutting sow, and then 
she comes, I guess, she's bellowing ecstatically and hunching her hips in a 
fast fuck rhythm, the heavy muscles of her hairy-cracked ass jerking and 
fluttering, she's got the nipple rammed in past her pussy lips, then the 
tape cuts to snow again. No one says a word, you can hear all our heavy 
breathing and we're all sweating like pigs. We let it run on the snow for 
about 30 seconds, then we shuttle forward to make sure there's nothing 
else. There isn't. That was plenty. "Jesus H. Christ," groans Lee Ann, "the 
femoral firepower on that fucking Mary! Did she make blood come out Wilma's 
eyes with her thighs, or what?" Then comes the flurry of comments all at 
once, like we all just got off the world's greatest roller coaster. 
Fuck it. We're not gonna start scrutinizing the tape now to see if Wilma 
bled from her eyes, that's too fucking morbid, even for us. We go smoke 
dope and work out. We have Michelle in the field, we can't do anything else 
now. We've gotta copy the tape, of course. Later we hear from Michelle, 
who's staying with my old friend Karla. Brooke is not showing at Chucho 
High. I tell Michelle to be careful. Like, *real* careful, and mention 
something about rumors in town that she may have killed someone else. 
Michelle is blissfully ignorant of what's really going on, and she makes 
kissy sounds to me over the phone that make my sphincter tremble.
The next afternoon, after lunch, I'm lying on the bed in a sort of a reefer 
daze when the phone rings. It's Warden Marlow. I've got two visitors. 
"What? Who?" Courtney and Cindy from Chucho High. I stand there like, 
flabbergasted. I'm alone in the room, Missy is pumping iron with Bon. 
Courtney and Cindy are the drama queens I beat the crap out of the better 
part of a year ago. I had a run-in with them in the weight room, and I 
ended up making Cindy punch the shit out of Courtney on pain of a badly 
busted face. Neither of them ever spoke to me after that, they avoided me 
like the plague. They were both seniors then, and they graduated. What in 
the holy fuck would they be coming up to Tonya to see me for? So I head for 
the visitor's lounge. 
Marlow gives me a room to myself, and there are Courtney and Cindy sitting 
at the table in tiny cutoffs and baby tees, looking good enough to eat, 
none the worse for their gym-nasty beating. They didn't get anything 
broken, and I'm thankful for that 'cause they are way too cute to have 
their faces rearranged. But they're sitting there looking not just foxy but 
*pumped.* Like, these are no drama arms they're sporting. Court and Cin 
always worked out and were in good shape, but sort of like advanced 
beginner fitness shape. Now they're looking kinda big and ripped, 
especially Cin, the bigger of the two by far, she's 5-11 and ran close to 
170 when I fought her, and she must be heavier now, she's got this shoulder 
spread on her that looks positively barn-door delectable. Court is a 5-8, 
120ish whippet, or at least she was, but now she's all vascular and sinewy 
up the sharply etched biceps now, with lickable vein-coiled forearms. I sit 
down across the table from them and try to fathom why they'd be here. Did 
Brooke send them? "What a sweet sight you two are," I go. "Why the hell 
would you want to visit *me*?"
"You're a pretty sweet sight yourself," says Cin. I'm in typical Hard wear-
-a tank top with a beautifully silkscreened picture of Tonya on the ice, 
big arms raised in victory, massive thighs bulging beneath her tiny girlie 
tutu, we do these ourselves in the laundry room. And the usual butt-hugging 
spandex bike shorts, the gluteal muscle-wrap lifting and separating my buns 
so it looks like I'm wearing a toss-your-heart bra. "Look, we're not mad at 
you," Cin continues. "Not anymore. There was a time when we hated you, but 
that time is past. We've changed."
"I can see *that*. You two are packing some serious size. How'd you get so 
big in less than a year?"
"We train like motherfuckers, under the supervision of this Mexican chick, 
Chili?" says Courtney. "The former Miss Baja Blowup Doll, heavyweight 
division? She also placed second at the Vanessa Del Rio Invitational in 
Vegas?"
"Tijuana Ass, we call her," says Cin. "She can crack walnuts with her butt 
cheeks."
"Awesome," I go, racking my brains to place a Chili, and I can't, though I 
could've sworn I once joyously jerked off to a Sinfully Sinew layout on the 
Baja Blowup.
"And we're taking a drug," adds Courtney.
"A drug? What drug? You girls can't really be on 'roids!"
"Not steroids, shit no," says Cin. "Way, way better. A new synthetic growth 
hormone, it's on the black market, it's called Largesse, has no bad side 
effects. Supposedly. We haven't experienced any. We owe it to you that 
we're on it. It's after the beating that we decided to get big."
"How long you been on it?" 
"Only five months," says Court, "and the results are phenomenal. Look at 
this." She pulls the tiny sleeve of her baby tee up onto her shoulder and 
gives me a hard-cocked right bicep that's got the kind of definition you 
see in New Jersey arm freak videos. The heads are knotted together and 
peaked up into an angled farm fresh Grade A egg shape that sits on a thick 
ridge of muscle, the whole slashed across the bulging top by a thick blue 
vein running crosswise like it was baling wire trying to keep a bundle of 
heavy-duty sinew fastened. "Fourteen and a half inches cold," says Court 
with pride. 
I can feel that deep intestinal buzz that makes my ass quiver, and I'm 
shifting my hard butt on the hard wooden chair, thinking about the last 
time Michelle From Hell put that plumber's helper called her tongue up my 
southern funhole. 
"What do you weigh these days?"
"I'm up to 137," says Court. 
"And that's with about two ounces of bodyfat on her whole body," says Cin. 
"The Largesse just melted away the little fat she had, it's amazing. Show 
Jenna your abs, Court."
Courtney stands up for the first time and it strikes me right away that she 
looks taller, and I peek under the table to check out her shoes. She's 
wearing thin-soled sandals. "And I'm an inch and a half taller," says 
Court, as she pulls up her tee even higher and tightens her gut. Her abs 
pop into fist-busting relief as her bellybutton, which has a silver ring in 
it, is almost lost in humps of knurled muscle. 
"Get out. You grew an inch and a half?"
"No shit," says Cin. "She's over 5-9 and growing. And strong as a bitch, 
she can do 15 fucking chins, real reps, no cheating."
"Very impressive," I go, as Courtney stands there with her hands on her 
hips looking at me with a twisted grin like she wants to make me real bad. 
"And what about you, Cin?"
"I picked up the same amount, I'm up to 6-1-1/2."
"Stand up," says Court. Cin stands up next to Court and puts her arm around 
her. The girl is towering, and she's wearing Keds. "Look at the size of 
her," says Court, looking Cin up and down while licking her lips 
suggestively. Isn't she something?"
"You Betties are the bomb," I go. "What do you weigh, Cin?"
"Uh, I gained a lot of weight. Largesse doesn't burn fat off me like it 
does with Court. I have a different metabolism."
"Well, what do you weigh? You obviously aren't fat." Cin's gut, while not 
ultrasectionalized six-pack style, looks strong enough to stand on.
"I'm at 205 right now. I gained 37 pounds since the time we fought. I don't 
really get it myself, it seems like an awful lot."
"Well, you put on a lot of muscle," says Court. "Show her your arms, Cin. 
Her arms are 15-1/2 cold."
Cin takes a step away from Courtney to give herself some elbow room and 
hits a double bi. No need to pull the baby tee sleeves up, the delt swells 
take care of that. She's got big, nicely massed arms, not vein popping 
lean, but with that full-bodied maternal look so you just wanna feel 'em 
wrapped around you in a love hug. I'm kinda stunned. If their progress 
keeps up, in six months these girls will be bigger and stronger than me. 
Cin, who's raunched-out braless, flexes her chest and the big thrusting 
nipples move up and out under the tight tee in a sex orbit. Cin always had 
a good sized pair on her, and this Largesse has only made them bigger. I 
can feel my crotch soaking up, my asshole is puckering like a fish, and I'm 
thinking about how Warden Marlow would handle the request of me taking some 
connubial leave or whatever with these two in my room. 
"That's a lot of fucking weight, girl," I manage to say. "Maybe it's partly 
intracellular water weight, like you get on creatine."
"You mean the kind of water weight that makes your muscles bigger and 
harder?" says Court as she wraps her fingers around Cin's left bicep and 
squeezes lightly, watching her fingers rise and fall as Cin rhythmically 
flexes the arm.
"Yeah, exactly, except it's more intense on this stuff." I'm getting really 
antsy now, this is becoming a torture. "Look girls," I go, "I'm really glad 
there's no hard feelings between us and I'm fucking thrilled that you're in 
such great shape, but why are you here? Did you want to sell me Largesse? 
Who turned you on to it, anyway?" 
"We got it from a reliable source," says Cin, sitting down at last and 
pulling Court down with her. "Rhoda, who looks like Yoda, the all-state 
powerlifter from Santa Cleena?"
"She's on it?"
"Fuck, yeah, she's gigantic. She's in college now at Gabrielle University, 
and she's on the team, she's a superheavy. Weighs something like 275. 
Largesse works on women only, you know, it interacts with estrogen somehow. 
They don't have any drug testing for it yet, she says. She swears by the 
stuff. This is nothing like the other growth hormone shit that's going 
around. You don't get enlarged hands and feet or facial features or 
anything. Everything is in perfect proportion. You can get some bustline 
and clit growth, though." Cin flexes her pecs as she says this and her tits 
second the motion with their motion. Then Court rubs the front of Cin's 
shorts and squeals, "Oooh, Cin, you're standing up down there like a 
rockhard dick, I can feel it right through your pants!"
I'm dying. I want to change the subject. "What about this Chili who trains 
you?"
"She's on it now," says Cin. "After she saw our results, she went right on 
it."
"The thing is," says Court, "we met Brooke last week, haven't seen her in 
quite a while, and she noticed how big we were and she asked us about it 
and we told her the story and gave her Rhoda as a contact. So Brooke might 
be getting the stuff. We wanted you to know this. We know how it is between 
you and Brooke." 
 I have this queasy but oddly pleasing mental picture of a 6-2, 220 pound 
Brooke with 18-inch arms assfucking me with a clit the size of a full-blown 
prick. "You don't know the half of it between me and Brooke," I go.
"We know she got you kneecapped in here," says Cin. "She told us. But she 
told us *after* we told her about the Largesse."
"She *admitted* to you that she paid for my kneecapping?"
"Yeah. She said it was revenge for the beating you gave her in the locker 
room. I'm sure you knew something like that might be coming."
"How'd the subject come up?"
"She said something like, `We all have something in common. We've been 
beaten up by Jenna.' "
 "What was she like when you met her? Was she alone?"
"She was alone," says Court, "but she seemed weirded out. She was on 
something, we don't know what. She was jumpy and slowed down at the same 
time. Really strange."
"But she looked good," says Cin. "She obviously has been working out. She's 
not in our league, but if she went on Largesse, she could be wicked."
"Where'd you meet her?"
"At the Circuit City in the mall. She was buying videotapes."
"No shit. Blank tapes?"
"Yeah."
"Full-size VHS? Like, not 8-millimeter or VHS-C? You know, those little 
ones that can play in VCRs with the adapter?"
"Hey, we're hip, we're drama students, remember?" laughs Court. "She was 
buying full-size VHS, two Fuji three-packs, she was holding them while she 
was talking to us."
Fucking A the tapes we got in the mail were Fujis. But none of us ever had 
any doubt that Brooke was making the tapes. It's just a weird verification, 
sort of. I don't know what else to say to these girls. They're bringing 
home the fact that I'm in prison, 'cause I can't get down with them, and 
this hurts. "You really came up here just to tell me that Brooke may go on 
a growth hormone? You know, we have phone privileges here. We even have e-
mail. You can't have driven up here just to tell me this."
"It's not a long drive, and we wanted to see you," says Cin.
"And we wanted you to see us," says Court. "We're like, proud of 
ourselves."
"You don't seem to realize what that night was all about for us, Jenna," 
says Cin. "You made me work over Courtney. There's something really intense 
about that, it brought us much closer together."
"And the whole thing was our fault," says Court. "We were wired on crystal 
meth. That's the only reason we ever took you on."
"Brooke was fucked up on something when she attacked me, too. It might've 
been PCP or some nasty combo." 
"Well, we've never done PCP," says Court.
"Now our drug is Largesse," says Cin. "And we brought a quantity for you. 
Like, it's gratis. It's out with the guards, we weren't allowed to bring it 
in. Can you swing with the Warden to receive it?"
"Yeah, I think so." I pry myself away from the table and head over to 
Marlow's office. When I tell her what the drug is--something that'll make 
me bigger, I don't give her any details--she gives it an instant OK. I make 
some more small talk with Cin and Court--they're both enrolled at the Kathy 
Long School of Drama in Santa Fista--then I tongue kiss them both goodbye--
even their tongues are bigger!--and mournfully watch their bulging calves 
walk off down the corridor to Reception.
 I feel weird. Am I really holding a drug that'll put several inches and 
maybe 50 pounds on me over the long haul? I'm starting to worry about my 
height, actually, I'm going on 18 and I seem to have topped off at 5-8. Not 
tall by today's big-girl standards, not at all. Standing next to strapping 
6-foot Bon always makes me jealous. Should I share it with the other girls? 
I have to, I'm a Hard. I have enough for three months on my own, according 
to Cin and Court, it's two capsules a day. If I share it, we've gotta get 
more immediately. Maybe Marlow will be into buying a massive quantity. 
After all, it's not officially illegal yet. 
I go back to my room and there's Missy lying naked on her bed, looking all 
pumped up from her session with Bon. I wonder what Largesse would do for 
little Miss? "How was your workout, Missy?"
"Awesome. I'm so swollen I can't move. I'm think I'm gonna have to pee in 
bed."
"Cut it out. At least go in the pool."
"I can't get up, Bon tortured my thighs for an hour. She was fighting me on 
the leg raises and curls, pressing down with both hands. I can't walk. My 
hamstrings are strung."
"How'd you get back here from the gym?"
"Bon carried me. No shit."
"So I'll put you in the pool." I lift Missy off the bed, hold her like a 
groom holds a bride on the threshold, and ease her gently into the Fisher 
Price. 
"Care to join me?" she asks. "I look down at naked Missy, who is looking 
really good, all lean, taut sinew, and I skin down fast and lie next to 
her. We entwine our legs and start kissing and sucking each other's 
nipples, and then on a silent signal of synchronicity we pee each other, 
all over our bellies and thighs, her pee-wet flesh smells tangy sweet like 
orange peel, then we slip into mutual chew mode and make each other come in 
a frenzy of tongue flicking, our spends overlapping. Then our lapping is 
over and we lie there, face to face, in a wet, gentle citrus-savory peace. 
"Missy, why are you fighting Go Blow Glo?"
"She punched me out. You already know this, Jen."
"No, why are you *really* fighting her?"
Missy starts crying, her salty tears mixing with her sweet pee, and she 
finally shifts into truth mode. "She said some things about Paula. She told 
me Paula's dead. I went to hit her and she hit me first. Then I thought I'd 
hold off, not hit her back, use it to get her in the ring. I'm gonna kill 
her in there. Since I lost Paula I'm developing a vicious streak."
"How would she know Paula's dead?"
"Brooke told her. Paula went after Brooke, right? Glo is in touch with 
Brooke. Brooke has spies in here, you know. How do you think you got 
'capped?"
"So you're taking her word that Paula's dead?"
"I haven't heard Paula's voice on the phone in how long now? If she was 
alive she would've called me, don't you think? And don't give me that 
`undercover' crap. Brooke killed Paula. I can deal with it. I'll kill her 
when I get out, that's all."
"I hope she'll be dead before you get out."
"You have a hit on her?"
"Yeah, actually, but she's tough to get to. I'm not sure how it's gonna 
turn out."
"Michelle From Hell, obviously. You paid her off not to take my money. I 
wanted her to find Paula. But if Paula's dead, I suppose taking out Brooke 
is the next best thing she can do."
"No shit. It's the thing she's gotta do. I think with Brooke it's kill or 
be killed. She's on a rampage." I wipe away Missy's tears tenderly with my 
fingers and kiss her cute little nose. "I loved Paula too, you know. Not 
like you, I didn't know her very long, but I really dug her. I want Brooke 
dead just as much as you do. We're doing all we can, the Hards." 
"Make me a Hard, Jen," Missy pleads.
"You beat the shit out of Glo, I'll try to get you in. I know Bon is in 
your corner now, she's very impressed with your workouts." 
"I want to get big and strong like Paula is. Or was."
I think of the Largesse. "You train with Bon, you'll be a terror. Just 
stick with it."
I shower, put on my evening attire--Tonya t-shirt, a fantasy scene someone 
made in which she's breaking Kerrigan's neck, twisting the head viciously 
in her powerful hands, and skin tight jeans--and head for Stef's with the 
Largesse. Bon, Lee Ann and Tiff are there. Michelle called in earlier, no 
sign of Brooke. I wonder if Michelle is tossing Karla right now. "I had the 
strangest visit before from two girls I once beat up," I go, and I fill 
them in about the Largesse. They all look the jar and the capsules over. 
The jar is unmarked, no label, nothing. The capsules are clear, filled with 
a tannish powder with blue sparkles in it. "OK, there's no disputing that 
Court and Cin got way bigger," says Stef, "but you have nothing but their 
word that this is the drug that did it. They could be working for Brooke, 
and this could be the shit that made Mary crazy." 
"I know," I go, "though if they were lying they were really good about it."
"They're drama students," says Tiff. 
"Yeah," I reply, "though they've got about as much talent as it takes to do 
a guest shot on Kiana. But I was thinking about testing it on someone. Like 
Missy. She wants to get big." 
"If she takes one and she freaks out, we'll know," says Stef, "but if it's 
the real thing, we won't see any convincing results for months. We should 
try to get ahold of this Rhoda at Gabrielle U. This capsule we've got is 
real distinctive looking. We can describe it to her, see if it matches, 
verify that she sold to Court and Cin." 
Stef, as usual, is on the ball. We get a list of e-mail addresses off the 
Gabby U. Web site, and we write her. Then we go to the lounge to watch TV 
and drink beer. Pretty Penny is on duty tonight and she lets us do just 
about anything as long as we let her touch us.
We get a response from Rhoda the next morning. The capsules check out, so 
do Court and Cin, and Rhoda can't recommend Largesse enough. She offers us 
a mail deal, where we'll get a year's supply for all of us--that's for me, 
Bon, Stef, Tiff, Lee Ann and Missy--the rest of Tonya, Hards and Nancies 
alike, must remain in the dark, the whole point of a black market wonder 
drug is not everybody's hip to it. I manage to talk the Hard command into 
letting Missy in on this deal, it'll be a trip to see a little girl get 
big, and Bon backs me on this, saying how Missy is a natural in the weight 
room. The bulk order is really pricey, but all of us can raise money on the 
outside without even dipping into Hard funds, and we chip in and do it. We 
decide to leave Marlow in the dark, again, we want to keep this thing 
exclusive. I later get Missy to swear secrecy, part of her initiation to 
Hardness. She's very excited about taking a growth hormone, she's trembling 
with anticipation and almost pees herself. So we plan to start the regimen 
together as soon as the shipment arrives. In the meantime I hold onto the 
capsules I've got, I don't take any.
 But this Largesse is, of course, a long term thing; on the short term, 
nothing much is happening. Brooke has disappeared. Karla and Michelle have 
been casing her house, they never see her or her car. It appears she's 
skipped town and maybe took Hairy Mary with her. I don't know whether to be 
relieved or not; mail call every day remains completely nerve racking.
There are other things to occupy our minds, though. Cut to fight day, Pissy 
Missy vs. Go Blow Glo. It gets a major turnout, and there's even an 
undercard. A pair of middle echelon Hards, roomies, had a falling out over, 
get this, who was wearing whose clothes. It came to a head in the lounge, 
and Stef happened to be there when these girls started pushing each other 
and she ordered them to take it to the ring or give it up. So they took it 
to the ring. The only reason this is the undercard is everyone wants to see 
Go Blow Glo get her lights blown. This other fight is actually a great 
matchup; Bouncing Betty is 5-6, 140, a slightly chubby brunette with tits 
out of all proportion to her size, they're straight off a hippo. Who Flung 
Dung--she's Chinese, and her family name or her father's name or something 
is Deng, pronounced dung, unfortunately--is 5-6, 145, really cute in that 
exotic high-cheekboned, almond-eyed Asian way, and she's built too, really 
muscular.
 They're both 16 and they're both in for assault and battery. They both 
work out hard, but Who Flung has the bigger muscles and is stronger in the 
weight room. I've seen the girl bench 185 for reps without breaking a 
sweat. But Betty is a demon in combat. Ironically, she fought a few months 
ago, on behalf of Who Flung, when some dumb Nance called Flung a "yellow 
bastard" in the laundry room. Something about being in a Chinese laundry. 
Since there are no blacks or latinas in Tonya, the couple of Asians get all 
the kneejerk racism aimed at them. This Nance, who is no longer Tonya'd, 
was a pretty big girl, 5-8, 170, a mixture of fat and muscle, but she was 
in for passing bad checks, I can't imagine what gave her the idea she was a 
fighter. She was also a Betty--Bounced Betty. So Bouncing Betty challenged 
her, and she stupidly accepted. She wanted to protect her rep, the girls 
tell me, as if she had any.
 I saw the fight on tape, and it was quite brutally entertaining. Bouncing 
Betty has tons of technique--she took boxing lessons at a fighter's gym 
from the age of 11. She hasn't got particularly fast hands and she doesn't 
kick, but she makes every jab and punch count, she can counterpunch like a 
pro, she's a great defensive fighter, using her hands and forearms to pick 
off blows, and she can deliver the knee with crushing effect. So she 
bounced Bounced Betty around the ring for four rounds. She peppered her 
with jabs, rocked her with occasional hooks, pounded her kidneys in the 
clinches and never got tagged with a solid anything. Bounced Betty is not 
much of a boxer and she has no foot technique. About all she had going for 
her was her superior size, but her size just made her an easier target. By 
the middle of round 4 she was a mess; a red, swollen face with half-closed 
eyes, bloody nose and mouth, probably some cracked ribs. These girls are 
bare-fisted, you know. Then Bouncing Betty put her away with about 20 
seconds left in the round like this was scripted. She pounded her into a 
corner, and Bounced Betty tried to hide behind her forearms, but she got 
her ribs slammed from both sides, the hands came down and Bouncing Betty 
did the head grab and delivered one perfect knee that put her dumbshit 
phony-check writing opponent flat on her face in la-la land, blood pooling 
around her chin.
So now we've got Bouncing Betty and Who Flung Dung. All the high command 
Hards are high and in command, seated at ringside, stoned out of our heads 
on Tiff's latest shipment of Maui tops. Except Bon, who is cornering for 
Missy; they're in the locker room warming up and watching the fight on 
closed circuit. Bouncing Betty is kinda cute and super busty, but I'm going 
with Flung, a far-out Eastern beauty who could step on stage and win the 
Miss Junior Hypertrophy trophy tomorrow. She's got that polished physique 
with the perfect natural skin tone (loco cocoa), everything in Euclidean 
symmetrics from bamboo column neck to chopstick ankles. She looks like a 
plate of chu sum twat with extra joy sauce in her matching white bike 
shorts and tank top. "Perfect for showing blood," says Tiff, but I'm hoping 
it'll be showing Betty's blood.
 Cornering for Flung is a mid-level Hard known as Ice Baby, 'cause she's 
only 14 (minimum age to enter Tonya, by the way) and she's actually a 
figure skater. And she's got a pretty good figure to skate, the girl 
matured early, she could pass for 18 easy. Unfortunately, while practicing 
for the state championships she had a tiff on the ice with a little rich 
bitch, and Ice has a violent streak, it seems; she executed a perfect 
figure hate, stomped the poor girl across the back, butt and legs with her 
skates on and gave her so many gashes she looked like a roomful of hookers. 
I mean, they needed several towels to mop the blood off the ice and about 
200 stitches to close the wounds. So Ice got three years. Hard time. Hard 
time, indeed; when Stef heard her story she got an instant invitation to 
join the Hards. We're suckers for rink-related mayhem. 
Anyway, cornering for the whop-titted Betty is the whop-titted Brenda Boom 
Booms, the second biggest chest in Tonya. Brenda is a low-level Hard; she 
doesn't train much, she's so-so cute, she's only about 5-4, 135, but girls 
like to play with her boobs so she gets invited to parties a lot, plus she 
has a good story--she gutted her uncle one night in the kitchen with one of 
those really pointy meat thermometers when he started to paw her chest. He 
almost died from the infection caused by an intestinal puncture. She only 
got two years since he was such a well-known neighborhood pervert, and she 
would have gotten far less if she hadn't punched his stomach with it *four 
times*. 
Anyway, there's about 100 pounds worth of tits in Betty's corner, and 60 
pounds of it comes charging out at the bell, and Betty starts her expert 
jab-jab-punch routine, backing Flung around the ring, but Flung is ducking, 
weaving, dancing and keeping her hands up and she doesn't take anything 
nasty. This goes on for a full two and a half minutes with Betty pursuing 
Flung around the ring, never clinching her, then, ka-ching! Flung throws 
her first kick, a right roundhouse beauty that sweeps right across Betty's 
jaw and almost knocks her off her feet. Figures Flung would be a great 
kicker, these Chinese girls do tai chi from the age of 2, but none of us 
knew. I wonder if Betty knew. The round ends with Betty keeping a more 
careful distance, looking for that leg to fly when she comes in to jab. 
Round 2 is the same thing, Betty stalking Flung, Flung throwing an 
occasional wicked leg that keeps Betty away. They clinch in a corner after 
about two minutes, and Betty starts pounding Flung's kidneys, then tries to 
muscle her head down for the knee, but Flung is having none of it, she's 
stronger than Betty, and they wrestle and Flung throws her down and lands 
on top of her. Betty is enraged, and when ref Marlow lets them go at it 
again, she throws a slow kick, Flung catches it and catches Betty with a 
punch in the mouth. She lets the leg go, ducks under a roundhouse left, and 
perfectly left hooks Betty in the jaw, front kicks her in the chest then 
strikes with a flurry of punches topped off with a left elbow to the side 
of the head and Betty goes down on her ass. She's OK, she's got headgear 
on, after all, she gets a standing eight and the round ends. 
Well, she's not quite OK, she's got a bloody mouth and she lost the round 
bigtime. She comes out for 3 jabbing hard, looking for the opening to throw 
a big right, and after no more than a minute, Flung tries a spinning back 
kick that almost takes Betty's head off. Betty is off balance, stumbling in 
the direction her duffel bag full of tits is taking her as Flung follows 
with a side kick to the face that actually knocks Betty halfway through the 
ropes. She takes another standing eight, charges back in freshly enraged, 
gets kicked behind the knee so hard she's sitting on her ass again. She 
gets up, starts jabbing and takes another front kick in the chest, followed 
with a spinning backfist that catches her between the eyes and rings her 
bells like Christmas morn. She's poised in the corner like a dumb cluck 
waiting to be plucked, her brain fuzzed like cotton candy. Flung pauses 
before delivering the KO; this is her roomie, fellow Hard and former best 
friend, after all, and Marlow jumps in for a standing eight. Betty still 
looks shaky and Stef yells, "Stop it, Warden, it's a TKO," and Marlow does 
just that. Who Flung Dung is henceforth known as Who Flung Foot or Who 
Flung Fist. Well, she was never called Dung anyway, just Flung. 
I'm so impressed with her I'm thinking about letting her in on the Largesse 
deal, but I'll have to discuss that with the high council later on. I 
definitely wanna toss her, that's for sure. Since I've been in I haven't 
really spent any time with her, we top Hards are kind of inbred. Anyway, 
right now it's time for Missy and Glo to rumble. This is billed as the 
Mystery Fight, the mystery being why Go Blow Glo is fighting. Did Brooke 
order her to? To what end? None of us get it, and Glo isn't talking.
Missy enters the ring first in a red sports bra and matching bike shorts, 
and her abs are rippling. She's worked up a good sweat, she's pumped, she's 
glowing, she looks fabulous, 5-2, 112, all muscle. Bon's workouts have 
already paid off. Glo enters in a baggy purple tank top and baggy white 
track shorts, a sadly petite 5-1, 105, not a muscle visible anywhere on 
her, not even when she flexes. Glo, who's 16, has been in here a year and 
I'm not sure she even knows where the weight room is. She's not a violent 
offender either, she's in for burglary--she stole her teacher's house keys, 
cleaned out the woman's apartment and tried to sell everything. Not too 
swift. Got a year and a half. Missy's 16 too, also got a year and a half, 
but for selling coke to an undercover cop. I know she can fight, though, 
she told me all about how she kicked the shit out of several girls during 
the year she sold drugs. Cornering for the unpopular Glo is Pretty Penny, 
who apologizes to us for this affront. "Marlow made me," she says. We think 
that means she forced her, though Penny is surely goodlooking enough to 
catch the eye of anyone who's not dead. 
Anyway, it's the opening bell, and Missy comes out in a very impressive 
boxing stance, starts throwing good whistling jabs, backing Glo up. Then 
Glo kicks low. A sweeping right foot to the back of Missy's left thigh. It 
hits fast and hard; who knew Glo had good leg technique? And this is the 
way the round goes. Missy punches, Glo backs up, Glo kicks low, Missy comes 
in looking to lay on a killer hook, Glo ties her up. Glo is also good in 
clinches, tying up Missy's arms effectively, and when Missy does get a fist 
loose to go upstairs, Glo's headgear takes the worst of it. "Kidney punch 
her in the clinches, Missy," we yell. By the end of the round, Glo has 
landed at least half a dozen wicked low kicks to the same spot on Missy's 
thigh, which is bright red with a deep imprint of the top of Glo's foot. 
Unknown to us all, some Nance must've been training Glo for weeks or months 
in her room. 
Round 2 is the same thing. Glo keeps scoring with the low kick, Missy keeps 
trying to get inside but Glo ties her up. Despite the fact that she looks 
so much stronger, Missy can't outmuscle Glo in the clinches, can't get her 
head down for the knee. Over the course of the round, Glo lands another 
seven or eight kicks to the same spot on the thigh, and Missy, though she's 
also moving forward, really lands nothing of any value. At the bell, Missy 
hobbles back to her corner; her right thigh looks like some nasty bitch was 
torturing it with a stick. Well, some nasty bitch was. We all agree Missy 
lost the round for sure, she may have lost the first too, or it could be 
even, hard to say. Drastic action is called for. Stef and I go over to the 
corner to consult with Bon and Missy.
"You've got to counterpunch on her low kick," says Stef. "Catch her with a 
right while she's throwing it." Easier said than done, she throws it fast 
and hard and you've got to come in close to land the right. Missy has not 
got a great reach, obviously.
"You've got to hurt her when she ties you up," I go. "Try to knee to the 
chest and belly, and get your arms loose and make an extra effort to get 
her head down. You get one good knee in, you can put her away." Missy's 
been doing a lot of knee driving with Bon holding the blocker, I watched 
some of it in the weight room. Missy drives a hard knee for her size, she's 
got a lot more power there than in her fists, of course. 
Round 3 starts with Glo landing another perfect low kick to the thigh. Then 
another one. Missy is standing there in left side-forward boxing stance, 
leading with her left leg, her bad leg, the leg that shortly will be 
bruised and swollen like it was beaten with a club if she doesn't do 
something fast. Missy jabs and moves forward, looking for an opening and 
she takes another two kicks to the thigh. Then she ties up with Glo in the 
corner, and she takes my advice and tries to get the knee into the chest. 
It only half works, and she can't get her arms untied from Glo's, and 
Marlow separates them. Then we're back to Missy getting her thigh kicked, 
once, then again. At this point she can't really stand on her leg properly, 
she's limping. Glo moves in and this time kicks Missy behind the other 
knee, getting the trailing leg with such force that the leg partly buckles 
and Missy stumbles forward, right into Glo's uppercut, which snaps Missy's 
chin up like her head was on a string. Then Glo explodes, she goes wild, 
throwing both fists with everything she's got, flailing like a maniac, and 
she hits Missy several times on both sides of the jaw, and Missy is backed 
into a corner, trying to cover up, when Glo front kicks her in the chest 
and belly three times, and we know how strong that right leg is, Missy is 
rocked by these blows like she was getting hit with a battering ram. Marlow 
pulls Glo off and gives Missy a standing eight. The girl is getting beaten 
up, there's still a minute left in the round. I'm aghast, Missy looks 
terrified, her strategy is falling apart, and so's her leg. 
Marlow gives them the get-go, and Missy tries to get inside fast and hook, 
but Glo deftly grabs her by the shoulders and knees to the body, once, 
twice, then she fights out of Missy's attempted tie-up and puts another 
perfect kick on the thigh. Missy goes down, her leg is kicked right out 
from under her. How does this little Glo pipsqueak kick so hard? Missy gets 
painfully to her feet and takes a limping eight. She still has about 30 
seconds to kill. They come together again, and Glo tries to take Missy's 
head off with a wild right. She loses her balance and Missy manages to put 
a perfect jab into her mouth, then follow it with a perfect right cross to 
the nose. Bingo! Glo is backed up and bleeding, but as Missy moves in she 
still manages to land another kick to the thigh before the round ends.
It's a pleasure seeing Glo getting her smashed mouth sponged by Pretty 
Penny, and watching the little spitfire spit blood into a bucket, but then 
I look to Missy's corner, and she's sitting there with an ice pack on her 
thigh looking like a mugging victim. She lost the round bigtime despite the 
two punches in the face, and there's probably no way she can win a decision 
now. I go over to the corner and say as much, and Bon tells me, "Don't 
worry, she's gonna knock the little bitch out now."
Really! Maybe Bon's tripping. I don't argue. I just yell, "Get the knee in, 
Miss, you can do it!" and go sit down. I wish I had a bottle of tequila in 
my hand, my dope buzz has worn off from all this tension and I'm really 
bummed. Missy limps out for 4 and wisely doesn't assume her usual left leg-
forward posture. She stands face-on to Glo, waiting for the leg to be 
thrown. But Glo doesn't throw it, she just dances around throwing jabs that 
don't reach. She doesn't have to do anything this round, Missy does. Missy 
moves in and throws a good front kick at Glo's chest, then tries to follow 
with a roundhouse left and she gets a right in the mouth and Glo quickly 
lunges in and goes for the knee. I can' believe how well this girl is 
fighting. She doesn't get the head down to deliver the knee to the face, 
but she does get a good knee into first the tit, then the ribs before the 
two grapple wildly, get their legs tangled and both fall down.
 On the next get-go Missy unthinkingly has her left leg forward again, and 
sure enough it gets kicked. Glo tries to follow this with a left hook, but 
Missy intuits this move and neatly snaps a wicked right elbow into Glo's 
face. The nose is bleeding even before the elbow comes down, is it broken? 
Missy follows with a straight short right between the eyes, Glo bounces off 
the ropes, and Missy throws an atomic left hook that flies right by Glo's 
ducking head. That punch could have ended the fight, but it missed 
entirely, and Glo grabs Missy around the waist and holds on, bleeding on 
her tits. Marlow breaks them up, there's only a minute left in the fight, 
and Missy charges in before Glo has a chance to kick and there's a flurry 
of grabbing hands, then Missy whips a left elbow across Glo's face, it 
catches the side of the nose and a stream of blood squirts sideways like a 
videogame animation, and Missy drives a knee into Glo's sternum so hard the 
girl's bloody mouthpiece is spat halfway across the ring. No stopping the 
fight for this, there's still time left for Missy to put Glo away, we're 
all standing now and screaming wildly, but damned if Glo doesn't kick and 
score again to the thigh and then lunge in to tie up, but Missy pushes her 
off and measures her with a straight left arm, then she punches her in the 
eye with a perfect right, front kicks her in the belly, double jabs her in 
the bloody nose, and is about to deliver the killing right when the bell 
rings and Marlow pulls her away. 
Oh, shit, she's gonna lose the decision, despite this nice fourth round 
beating. Glo is sitting back in her corner panting like a dog, a bloody 
towel to her nose and her left eye swelling up fast. Her bloody mouthpiece 
is still on the canvas. The decision comes up fast, it's Marlow and two 
guards doing the judging. We're all sitting there cringing, but it's a 
draw. A draw! We're cheering. "I was robbed!" Glo is yelling at Penny, 
who's trying to hold an ice pack to her rapidly closing eye. Glo has a 
point, of course, all the guards are pro Hard, but never look a gift horse 
in the bloody mouth, as far as we're concerned. 
Bon hustles the limping Missy out of the ring and we all head to the locker 
room to congratulate her. The back and side of her right thigh a little 
above the knee looks like someone was beating it for a half hour with a 
two-by-four. Bon tapes an ice pack to Missy's leg and carries her back to 
Stef's room where we all pile in, Tiff lights a big joint and Stef produces 
a bottle of Stoli, which, we being athletes and all, is mixed with 
lemon/lime Powerade. We have a cooler of ice on hand, of course, we have 
access to the ice machine in the guards' cafeteria. Missy and Bon are 
ecstatic. "I thank Tonya herself I got this draw," says Missy, who's 
probably wondering if her performance was good enough to make Hard. 
"When you add it all up, you won," says Bon. "She never put anything 
serious on your face the whole fight. She did make a wreck of your leg, but 
you bloodied her nose and mouth and closed her eye. You may have *busted* 
her nose. And if there was another minute in that fourth round, you would 
have KO'd her."
All true enough. We immediately start planning Missy's strategy for the 
rematch. There's generally a rematch when there's a draw, and Missy is 
raring to go, she wants to be a Hard. We're all sitting around toasting 
Missy and the Hards, banging paper cups of Stoli-Ade when Pretty Penny 
knocks on the door. We let her in, she doesn't mind all the smoking and 
drinking, in fact she takes a cup of the Stoli but turns down the joint, 
she's "on duty."
"So how's Glo?" I ask. 
"She's in the infirmary, of course," says Penny. "She's got a nearly closed 
eye, a smashed mouth and nose."
"Is the nose broken?" asks Bon.
"I'm not sure. That's some wicked elbow you throw, Missy. And that knee. 
That one in the chest that popped her mouthpiece really hurt her. She's 
complaining of a badly bruised sternum, they might wanna take her to County 
for X-rays."
"So where'd she learn to low kick like that, Penny?" I ask.
"I have no idea. I didn't discuss strategy with her, she just said she knew 
what she wanted to do. I was only in her corner 'cause someone had to be. 
You know I'm down with you girls."
Penny's down with us, all right, and to show just how down she is she goes 
down on Missy right there while we all take turns tossing Penny's hard 
golden ass. She's a long, lean, nude-sunbathing blonde whip of a girl, 6-1, 
only 139, looks like Michelle Pfeiffer as a UConn forward. When she finally 
leaves to go back "on duty," after getting eaten to a teeth-grinding orgasm 
by Missy, who's really got the post fight gung-ho's, I go with her and talk 
her into letting me into Glo's room. I just want to have a look around and 
see if she has anything interesting. Penny has no trouble with this, I just 
had my tongue up her ass, after all. So we slip into Glo's room unnoticed. 
As I mentioned, she's got no roomie, she's so low she's a solo. Fuck if Glo 
hasn't got this Cynthia Rothrock signature kicking and punching thing, 
where you fill the base with about 100 gallons of water, standing in the 
middle of the room. So, she developed that low-kick technique right here in 
her ratty little room! I pull open the top drawer in the standard issue 
Tonya desk, and the first thing I see is a Fuji videotape. Shit! I go 
through the other drawers and look all around the room, in the closet, 
under the bed and what have you. No other tapes. "Come on, Jenna," Penny 
whines, "I've gotta make the rounds, I'm on duty." 
"Go ahead, Pen, I'll be done in a sec, I'll lock the door behind me, don't 
worry." I kiss Penny warmly, slipping my tongue into her mouth and working 
it over her perfect teeth, wondering if she's smelling vodka on my breath 
or the scent of her own ass, then I push her gently out the door. I give 
her enough time to go down another hallway before I take the tape, hide it 
under my shirt and hightail it back to Stef's. Then I remember Missy 
doesn't know anything about the tapes; I make a detour to my room, stash 
the tape where Missy won't find it, then head back to the party. I'll have 
to inform the high command of this find when Missy is not around. I'm back 
in Stef's having another drink and toking off a fresh Tiff spliff when I 
get a yen to visit Flung. I mix two brimming cups of Stoli-Ade, and go down 
to the second floor and knock on her door. She's in there alone; Bouncing 
Betty is hanging out with Brenda Boom Booms, nursing her bruised face and 
ego in the arms of a fellow boob monster. I sit down on Betty's bed across 
the room from Flung and smile at her. She's sitting on her bed, looking 
incredibly edible in black sports bra and panties. She hasn't got a mark on 
her from the fight, maybe a touch of swelling around the brows where she 
took some jabbing, that's all. Quite a feat against someone of Betty's 
technical skills. "I want to congratulate you on your win, toast you on 
it," I say, handing her the big drink, "and, like, get to know you better. 
I think you're way happening, girl." 
Flung looks at me kind of blankly. I'm not sure what's going through her 
mind, then I get it; she's shy. "I'm kind of at a loss to know what to 
say," she says. "I kind of worship you from afar, and now here you are in 
my room telling me you think I'm cool."
Well, hot diggity! Another rabid fan! "So you followed my wrestling 
career?"
"Oh, yeah, like, intensely. I bought the official Jenna tape in here. You 
know, the one with all the matches on it. I confess to masturbating in the 
lounge to it frequently when no one is around. There's something about the 
way you pin girls that's like, rape, sort of. The way they lie 
spreadeagled, belly down, trying desperately not to be turned, and the way 
you take a leg or an arm and turn them with your strength and technique . . 
." She's making a confession! What am I, the Red Guard? "I remember the 
first time I saw you on TV, before I got in here, it really flipped me," 
Flung goes on. "You were just a freshman, and you were awesome, and so 
cute, humiliating a pot-bellied girl, you rode her back like she was a pig 
you were fucking. My hand went right in my pants, it was like a reflex. I 
taped that at home, I watched it constantly."
 Flung shakes her head in wonderment and giggles nervously. I move to her 
bed, sit down next to her and put my arm around her. Her shoulder's 
glistening hard like beautiful polished jade. "Speaking of cute," I go, 
"you are like a big bowl of wanton soup, babe." I have no idea if she got 
the pun, she's sitting there sipping her drink looking inscrutable. "How 
big do you wanna get?"
She looks at me, puzzled. "I'm 5-6. Already fairly tall for an Asian girl, 
and I'm only 16." 
"No, I mean muscle size. You're big and you're strong and you're a great 
fighter. You train like a bodybuilder or a martial artist?"
"Lately, as a bodybuilder. I'd like to get much bigger in the upper body, 
like you."
"You're almost there, girl."
"Oh, please, you are much bigger than me." Flung lightly touches my right 
arm, and I flex it automatically, the bicep jumping up into her palm like 
iron snapping to a big magnet. My head is swimming with dope and vodka and 
there's this warmth spreading out from my ass and extending in spiraling 
circles through all my limbs that's making every muscle in my body buzz. 
Jesus, where does Tiff get this great shit?
"I must toss you, Jenna," Flung says to me in a near whisper. "Shall I wash 
you first?" For a few seconds I'm lost in the brain haze and don't respond. 
I'm thinking about letting Flung go in on Largesse, the shipment is due any 
day now, what she'd look like at, say, 5-8, 165, my size now. Then I get my 
focus. She wants to toss me. Ah, yes, the toss of honor. I'm entitled to 
one. She's the tosser, I'm the tossee. Not that I wouldn't toss *her* 
gorgeous ass. I'm about to give her permission to toss me and tell her my 
ass is clean enough to eat peas off of when Brenda Boom Booms walks in. The 
door was locked but she has Bouncing Betty's key. She stands there in the 
doorway looking at us for a second, and we stare back at her, mute. I can't 
really focus on anything but her tits, which are hanging out the sides of a 
Tonya tank top, she's so big it looks like she's hiding chubby children 
under there. Finally I manage to say, "You had the key but you still 
could've knocked. It's the polite thing to do."
She looks at me for a second like she's trying to decide if she should 
mouth off, but I'm a top Hard and I require respect. "I'm really sorry," 
she says, though it doesn't sound like she means it. "I thought the room'd 
be empty, Flung was in the infirmary or something."
"Why would Flung be in the infirmary? She almost never got hit."
"I wasn't thinking, I should've knocked. I apologize." I know what she's 
thinking; she's thinking, Just wait till I tell Betty that Flung is getting 
it on with that Jenna Takedown bitch! "I'm just here to get some of Betty's 
stuff, then I'll scoot," Boom Booms explains. "Flung, she's gonna sleep in 
my room tonight. She's not really mad at you, she's just kind of, like, 
having a tough time dealing with her loss right now. When she gets over it, 
I'm sure everything will be back to normal and you two will be the best of 
friends again." So Betty putters around collecting some of the Bouncer's 
clothes and bathroom things, and the thought sinks into my stoned brain 
that Flung is actually a tit freak, she must spend every night with her 
gorgeous face buried in Bouncing Betty's Grand Canyon of cleavage, her 
beautiful mouth fastened on nipples the size of prehistoric mushrooms. 
Weird. Then I think how Largesse might swell Flung's bustline, which makes 
me think of the nipple roll when luscious Cindy flexed her pecs. Then I 
blurt out, "Flung, you ever make Brenda here?"
Brenda stops her gathering and turns to face me, hands on her big hips. "I 
must say I have," says Flung, "and she has quite a stunning body. Not a 
muscle bod like yours, Jenna, but quite a body none the less."
"Oh, I can see that," I go. "If her tits were any bigger she'd need a 
fucking pair of car covers for a bra." 
"Why are you sassing me, Jenna?" says Brenda. "I haven't done anything to 
dis you. I'm sorry I interrupted you. I'm outta here." And she hustles out 
the door with an armload of stuff. Girl must hate my guts. I think I was 
trying to set up a trio, but that wouldn't be right when Flung is about to 
pay me personal homage. But there's no time to think about that now. Flung 
is on her knees peeling my pants off, kneading my flexed butt with expert 
hands, licking my taut, tight cheeks all over like she was spit polishing 
them. I'm about to get Chinese makeout and in an hour I bet I'll be hungry 
all over again.

--30--