Jenna in Tonya Part 10
By Avida Dolor
The Fight Night finale and a fuck for the future.




Warning: This work of fiction contains frank language and explicit sex 
and violence. No one under 18 permitted to read without the express 
consent of parent or guardian. 


Copyright 1998 Avida Dolor (avidadolor@aol.com) 



The Hards have gone silent as I enter the ring to face Glo. We're all 
stunned by what just happened to Flung. What Betty did to her last time 
she was in the ring was a party compared to this. I try to compose 
myself and wipe this horrible image of Flung's crushed bloody face out 
of my mind as the Nancies start a fresh load of trash talk to pump up 
Glo. "Send the fucking bitch to County to keep fucking Flung company!" 
Ice yells. 

That focuses me quite nicely. No fucking way am I going to County, 
though I'd love to keep Flung company. Then Glo walks over to me, coming 
practically into my corner, takes her mouthpiece out and says, "I'm 
gonna kick the pus outta you, sucker." 

Shit, Marlow doesn't have us doing any sportsmanlike shake-hands stuff 
in the center of the ring, but this is ridiculous. I take my mouthpiece 
out and reply, "Glo, you've got great cuts. I'm gonna add a bunch to 
your face, for symmetry." 

Then Marlow pushes Glo back to her corner. My fight plan is simple 
enough: Attack Glo at the bell and don't stop attacking till she's down. 
I'm not waiting around for her to break my leg with kicks. I'm staying 
in her face, ripping into her from inside and putting her away as fast 
as I can. The fact is, despite all my dope smoking, I've got tremendous 
stamina from my wrestling days. So I'm planning to flail all over her 
for as long as it takes, and I'm not interested in doing any bleeding. 
Actually, I already *am* bleeding. Yeah, it's that time of the month, 
and on Largesse my flow is so heavy my crotch has been renamed the Red 
River Valley. I change my tampon every 90 minutes, and you can damn well 
bet I study each one very closely for signs of tampering. I'm totally 
paranoid about X-Sponge and whatever it was Tiff and Lee Ann got dosed 
with. I'm so terrified of getting dosed I've been thinking about 
switching to pads, but I leak right through 'em. 

And now it's time to make Glo leak right through her thin, tight, tube-
tanned skin. I charge out like Pavlov's bulldog on the bell and get up 
close and personal with Glo, jabbing wildly and winging wide rights. I'm 
in too close for her to kick me, so she tries to back me off with a 
series of hooks to the body, and her fists slam into my ribs hard enough 
to blow the breath out of me, but I fight right through them on a pain-
suppressing adrenaline rush. I land a roundhouse right on her ear, then 
I slam her against the ropes with an elbow smash that gets mostly arm, 
but there's a sudden, very inviting opening for my left hook and I put 
it on her jaw so hard--my hips set, knees slightly bent and springy, my 
weight flexed forward on my canvas-gripping toes--I can see her eyes 
bounce up into her head and spin like slot machine cherries. Glo goes 
right down in a heap and she's got this stupid grin on her face like the 
lights are on but no one's home. 

Well, actually the lights aren't even on. As Marlow shoos me toward a 
neutral corner, I can see Glo is in some sort of la-la land, her legs 
are flopping like she wants to get up but the rest of her body isn't 
going anywhere. Then Marlow's counting as I realize my KO hand is 
throbbing like someone hit it with a hammer, and I stand there and work 
the fingers and examine my knuckles but nothing seems to broken. Except 
maybe Glo's jaw. And then it's over. Shit, that was anti-climactic. I 
spent far more energy worrying about this fight than I did *fighting* 
it. Glo is KO'd in 29 seconds. That's faster than most of my orgasms, 
speaking of which, I think I'm having one right now from the sheer joy 
of victory. 

Glo, with Nurse Church's help, is in a sitting position now, her flexed 
biceps looking lickity-split fabulous, and Churchie is trying to lift 
her onto a stool as she waves smelling salts under her nose. Marlow is 
holding my hand up, the one that isn't throbbing, and I'm looking down 
to ringside at Ice, who's glaring up at me like she wants to rip my 
brain out and eat it. I look at Brooke, who's sitting next to her, I'm 
trying to catch her eye, but she's studying her huge hands like she's 
planning to schedule an appointment at the nail salon. She doesn't seem 
too concerned about her old friend Glo, but then again she's nuts. 

After posing self-consciously for the cameras, I climb through the ropes 
and sit down ringside in a happy daze and get congratulated by the 
Hards, high fives and hugs all around. Then Mickey comes over to shake 
my hand--an act that he manages to make into an obscene palm 
molestation--then Mrs. Roper comes over to give me a big wet kiss. Then 
I remember what happened to Flung and I feel like shit again. Stef must 
be feeling pretty shitty too, or at least she looks like she is as gets 
in the ring with Nora, who's strutting around like she's a rooster with 
a 12-inch hardon. I don't get Nora's nerve; Stef is so big and so strong 
looking, the sight of her is making *me* weak in the knees, and I'm on 
*her* side. Maybe it's the Titanic. Or maybe Nora rubbed a ton of Load 
Lotion all over her head and it seeped into her brain. As Stef makes big 
arms for the camera, at Marlow's urging, the Nancies start to bellow, 
"Nooooogie, Nooooogie." Ice jumps up on her seat, still all pumped up 
from the beating she gave Flung, and yells, "Break her fucking skull 
just like you did to Juicy Lucy, Nora!" 

"Fat fucking chance of that," Bon scoffs. "Juicy Lucy was a drunk punk. 
My grandma coulda broke her skull." 

Unfortunately, Bon's grandmother is not on this card, Stef is, and Stef, 
despite her superior size and strength, is in a motherfucker of a fight. 
They're going at it about four minutes before my adrenaline high wears 
off and I start to feel like my normal nervous self again, and I start 
to *really* worry about our Head Hard. They've been at it for what seems 
like forever--it's so weird when there's no rounds, you just keep going-
-and she's not making any inroads on Nora, just jabbing ineffectively 
and not following with any good right hands. Nora's doing better, though 
she hasn't had Stef in trouble. But Nora's got the better jab, and she 
knows how to counterpunch, and through a lot of very slow, methodical 
action, Nora's the one who's landed all the good shots. She's snapped a 
number of stinging jabs into Stef's brow, which is getting red and 
puffy, and she hit her hard in the chin--so hard, she left purply 
knuckle marks under Stef's lower lip. 

"Our girl's gonna need a jar of Zmeskaline she doesn't make something 
happen," I mutter. 

Five minutes gone. Both girls keep their feet on the floor and circle 
each other carefully from a respectful distance. There's been no in-
close fighting, little clinching, no hooks or elbows flying in the 
corner, no attempts at a knee. Then, at six minutes, Stef works Nora 
against the ropes with a series of desperate roundhouses, then gets in 
close and stuns us all with a nuclear *head butt*, slamming Nora between 
the eyes so hard with her forehead at just about hairline level, the 
girl is whiplashed back over the top rope. 

"A head noogie!" Tiff screams. 

Stef is quick to capitalize on this move, hitting Nora mostly in the 
body with a barrage of hooks and roundhouses, none of which really land 
solidly, but she's setting Nora up for a knee, making her hands come 
down to guard her ribs and belly, and the Nancies are shouting, "Get off 
the ropes, watch the knee!" when Stef cleverly steps back and front 
kicks Nora, who's leaning low, in the face, snaking the ball of her foot 
neatly between Nora's fists. This kick doesn't look that fast, but it 
must have a hell of a lot of 235-pound power behind it. It pops Nora's 
nose with this wet whooshy sound that instantly brings a gush of blood, 
but before we have a chance to see just how silly Nora's been knocked 
from the surprise foot, Stef steps back in, bobbing like a pro, fakes 
with the left and throws a right that catches the Noog full on the 
cheek, whipping her head to the side and sending this splash of nose 
blood flying so far, it speckles the Nancies. Cool. My eyes cut across 
the ring to the drizzled Nancies for a split second, and when they go 
back up to Stef she's hitting Nora in the body with shots that are so 
hard they're making her jerk like an electric puppet. Then Nora falls 
down and Marlow pulls Stef away and pushes her to a corner. 

It's 7:12 on the clock. Nora's on all fours, still conscious, amazingly, 
bleeding a sticky puddle under her face from her flattened nose, and 
Marlow is starting to count her out. "Get up and kick her ass, Nora!" 
Ice pleads. But despite the humiliation, the beaten, panting Nora is not 
about to get up. If she does, she's sure to be heading straight to 
County to keep Flung company. So she stays like that, on her hands and 
knees, staring straight down at the canvas and her own blood, in shame, 
I guess, as Marlow raises Stef's huge arm in victory. 

The gauze girls tend to the dripping Nora, who is then trundled off to 
the infirmary with a broken nose and a possible broken cheekbone. She'll 
have to go to County for X-rays eventually, but the one ambulance still 
standing by is not taking her now, not before Bon and Brooke do their 
thing. 

Well, the Nancies have gone silent. Brooke's heading into the ring, 
Nora's in the infirmary, Glo is present but not fully accounted for, 
sitting quietly with a big ice pack on her jaw, and Ice has finally shut 
up, as she sits muttering conspiratorially with Scuzzy Ethel, both of 
them watching the gauze girls meticulously cleaning the blood out of the 
ring again. Lally has returned from the infirmary with an ice pack of 
her own, and she sits on the Hard side, of course. 

Stef comes back to hugs and kisses, and she's all smiles now, glowing 
with relief. She got off with just some bruises, nothing a few dabs of 
Zmeskaline won't handle. Then the main event gets underway, and Stef 
gets all flustered again. We all do. Brooke lifts her leg over the top 
rope to enter the ring like it was a kiddie cable. She's just too big, 
she's scary. Her hands and feet are too big, her fists look like she's 
wearing knuckle prosthetics. She's too tall, her head is up near the 
lights. Her muscles look too hard. Her legs are too long, and she's got 
a reach that seems to extend halfway across the canvas. She's just 
wearing a tiny sports bra--no chest protector, thank you--and her cast-
iron abs look like they could take a pounding with a sledge hammer. And 
she's got this I'm-so-bored look on her face, like she fights bare fists 
against 6-5, 280-pound brutes every day. She's smiling at the camera, 
giggling about something with Marlow, it's unnerving. But, I must remind 
myself, she's functionally insane. "She's Looney Tunes, Bon," I yell, 
"pound some sense into her." 

Bon stamps to ring center where Brooke is flexing her stunning arms--21 
inches of permapacked, powerpeaked, pudenda-puddling perfection--pokes 
her in the shoulder and announces, "This beating I'm about to give you 
is in honor of Hairy Mary Kaslewski, who it turns out is *not* dead, but 
you made her into a fucking homicidal lunatic who right now is on the 
run in rain country, with a trail of corpses behind her." 

"See!?" Brooke goes triumphantly. "I *told* you I didn't kill her! How 
many times did I tell you I didn't kill her? And did you believe me? You 
never believe a word I say! And what's this shit about she's a homicidal 
lunatic? That's my fault, too?" 

"That's enough, girls," goes Marlow, who didn't hear Bon, she was 
conferring with the timekeeper. "Whatever it is, settle it with your 
fists. Get in your corners and get ready to rumble." 

They're gonna rumble, all right. The whole fucking ring is rumbling. 
They have the combined height and weight of Godzilla. The bell rings, 
they circle, or Bon tries to circle, but Brooke is standing face-on in a 
sort of wrestling posture. Bon refuses to be confused, and she starts to 
move in on Brooke with the jab and Brooke suddenly kicks her hard behind 
the lead knee. Has she been practicing in Glo's room on the Cindy 
Rothrock water-filled foot bag? Bon moves in again cautiously, snapping 
jabs that Brooke takes on her forearms, then Brooke turns her left 
shoulder forward in a more traditional boxing stance and launches this 
rolling rocket of a left from somewhere near the floor that grazes Bon's 
cheek like an anti-tank missile. Bon has an opening after this miss, and 
she hammers Brooke in the tit with a straight left. Brooke backpedals in 
pain, as the Hards cheer. 

"Big mistake passing on the chest protection," snickers the bruised but 
unbroken Lally, who's sitting next to me now, rubbing my calf in that 
familiar way that only comes after a pee-soaked tossing. 

Bon moves in again, jabbing well, catching Brooke in the corner of the 
eye once or twice, then Brooke lunges in and comes up with this orbital 
payload of a right *knee* that catches Bon in the side of the face, 
whipping her chin around like a bitch slap from hell. 

"Did you see that?" Lally goes in disbelief. "She *kicked* with her 
knee." 

"Or she punched with it," I add grimly. "She can throw the knee like a 
fist, her leg is so long." 

Brooke doesn't follow her advantage with anything useful though, as Bon 
backs off, snapping jabs in her wake like she's laying down covering 
fire. They circle again, Bon now wary of the foot *and* the knee, which 
makes it hard for her to get in close enough to do damage. Then Brooke 
tries this wild spinning back kick, which actually sails over Bon's 
ducking head, and Bon counters with an elbow that catches Brooke in the 
side, leaving her off balance up on one foot for a second, allowing Bon 
to kick her behind the calves so hard she sweeps Brooke right off her 
feet and onto her ass. 

"All right, a knockdown!" Stef yells, as all the Hards applaud. Brooke 
isn't hurt, but it's still a knockdown. 

But her contact with the canvas has made Brooke angry. She seems more 
focused, more into the fight now. She circles with Bon, jabs pretty well 
for someone her size, tries to kick behind the leg a few times, then 
they clinch off a body exchange, and as they break from the embrace 
Brooke hits Bon in the mouth with a jerky right that splits her lips. 

"First blood!" yells Ice. "Now break her nose, baby!" 

Bon circles as deliberately as ever, blood on her mouth and chin now, 
she's wiping it on the back of her hand, then Brooke tries to kick her 
in the face a few times, but gets her long leg slash blocked. Four 
minutes have elapsed. 

They come together again, fists flying at ring center and Brooke bulls 
Bon back to the ropes, snapping an elbow into her ear at one point in 
the course of a wild hand exchange that's too quick and crazy to keep 
track of. They clinch, dance awkwardly into the corner, Brooke gets her 
arms loose and hits Bon with an uppercut in the nose that nods her head 
up and lets the blood loose. They stay head to head, Brooke ripping 
occasional uppercuts, Bon pounding to the kidneys, then Brooke raises a 
knee and catches Bon in the tit with it, and I can see the pain etched 
on her bloody face. Brooke hits her with a short left in the eye, and 
Bon is straightened up in the corner now, her back against the 
turnbuckle, set up for a vicious knockdown that has us all cringing. 

Then Brooke takes a step back and launches a front kick, trying to catch 
Bon in the nose just like Stef did to Nora. Big mistake. Bon blocks the 
kick with a piece of perfect cross-hands technique, then lunges forward 
and strikes Brooke with a short, hard right between the tits. Brooke 
stumbles back, clutching her chest, and as Bon steps forward again to 
knock her head off, Marlow grabs Bon in a hug and pushes her back. She 
must know something we don't. Brooke has her back to us, we can't see 
her face, she's just standing there with her hands to her chest, sort of 
paralyzed, then she falls down like she was pole-axed, she just goes 
straight over on her side, not putting her arm out to break her fall, 
and she ends up on her back, arms folded on her chest like a stiff. What 
the fuck? 

Nurse Church has jumped into the ring to check Brooke out. Marlow is 
still holding back Bon. Ice jumps up on the apron, screaming 
"Broooooke!" which gets Penny out of her seat to jump into the ring too. 
Penny pushes Ice off the apron with some harsh words and kneels down 
with Churchie, who's got her stethoscope to Brooke's chest. "Her heart's 
stopped!" Churchie shrieks, and there's Penny taking charge, just like 
with Sara, pounding Brooke's chest EMS style, and Brooke comes back to 
life, her arms finally moving, as two gauze girls scramble into the ring 
with an oxygen tank. 

"Holy mother of Tonya," goes Stef, "Bon almost killed her with a *body 
shot*." 

Marlow hasn't raised Bon's hand yet; she's just standing there looking 
down at Brooke, aghast. They've put a towel under Brooke's head, she's 
got an oxygen mask on her face, and Churchie is checking out her 
heartbeat with the 'scope. Brooke is clearly alive and breathing, and 
the fight is clearly over and the Hards are clearly victorious this 
night, going three for four in the Nancy matchups. 

Marlow finally raises Bon's hand at our urging, and Bon exits the ring, 
wiping her bloody face off with a towel, as we crowd around her and kiss 
her all over her big beautiful self. The time of the KO: 5:45. Brooke is 
in a sitting position now, she looks strangely blanched like she saw a 
ghost, or *is* a ghost, and Penny, Churchie and the gauze girls, with 
the assistance of Ice and Glo--Glo, I note, has a nasty swelling at the 
point of her jaw that's puffed up her neck so it looks like she has a 
goiter--eventually get her to her feet and slip her shakily out of the 
ring. She's too big to put on a gurney, so they put her in a wheelchair 
and push her out to the ambulance to go to County for observation. The 
jolted Nancies head back to Nancyland without another word. 

As for the punch that almost killed Brooke, all I can say is, a few 
weeks ago Bon got really pissed about something and punched a locker 
door in the weight room. She left a fist imprint in the door that was 
about four inches deep, she buckled the metal like it was cardboard. And 
she didn't hurt her hand. There's no doubt she's stronger than Brooke, 
and so much for my theory that Titanic knits the muscles so they're 
indestructible. The funny thing is, Brooke got out of the ring with her 
face almost untouched. She just had a little swelling around the eyes 
from some jabs. Bon was a bloody mess, but nothing's broken. Anyway, we 
do this handshaking ceremony where we say our goodbyes to the commish, 
Mrs. Roper, Denise and some of the paying guests. I get yet another palm 
job from Mickey, and Dr. Dexter grants Lee Ann and Tiff reprieves on the 
spot--they can go back to general pop, the rampage is forgotten. Then we 
hit the showers, put on our Tonya best and head for the lounge for a 
private party. It's definitely time to get Bobek Oksana . . . . 

And stay that way. The following day, Sunday, brings the most totally 
Tara piece of news I've had since I've been in here. Flung's dead. She 
never regained consciousness. She was in a coma all night and died this 
morning. We get the news in Marlow's office, just before lunch. We're 
all hung over from last night, and we've all got assorted aches and 
bruises from the fights, but I got a jar of Zmeskaline from Janet, who 
came to our party--she wanted to show off her new Titanic tattoos, which 
look really good on her bigger-by-the-day arms. She's already growing 
after a lousy week on the stuff. 

So we're standing there stunned, wondering what the hell to say about 
the loss of Flung. "And forget about Ice," Marlow adds, "she's gone." 

"What do you mean, she's *gone*?" I go, my voice trembling with pain and 
anger. 

"Outta here. She's already on the bus for Karla Faye. Been transferred, 
commissioner's orders. We can't have you Hards killing her now, there've 
been two too many deaths here already this year. You'll never see her 
again." 

"You sent her to *Texas*?" Stef groans in disbelief. "Why not to 
Wuornos? She *killed* somebody." 

"She killed somebody in the ring, it's not the same as murder and you 
know it, Stef," says Marlow. "I'm as guilty as she is. I let her throw 
way too many knees." 

"Why *did* you let it go on so long, Warden?" I ask. 

Marlow looks down at her sensible prison shoes, bites her lip and sadly 
shakes her head. "I don't know. I guess I wanted to put on a good show 
for the audience. And I never really liked Flung. I hate to say it, but 
it's true. There was something about her that seemed arrogant, superior. 
I don't know. God knows I didn't want her dead, though." 

"Warden," I go, "Flung was one of the sweetest, kindest, smartest, most 
beautiful girls I ever met. She was humble, selfless and loving--" and 
I'm crying like a baby. 

"I'm sorry, Jen, I really am," says Marlow, patting my broad back. "I'll 
try to make it up to you somehow. Who do you want to room with now? 
Sara?" 

"Another roomie?!" I croak in disgust. "My last two roomies ended up 
dead! Keep me a single, Warden, or you'll have another corpse on your 
hands." 

Marlow just stands there looking ashen. "Fine, you're a single. And on 
the upside, the Hard-Nancy wars are over, and you've won. Brooke is 
still in the hospital, they're running tests on her. Nora's back, 
nothing's broken besides her nose, but she and Glo are in protective 
solitary by request. They're terrified you're going to kill them. And 
despite this tragedy, let's finish the arrangements right now. All of 
you get your Titanic. And if you want to give Flung's share to some 
other Hard, like Lally Palooka, you're welcome to." 

We take bottles of Titanic with us--it's in plain plastic unmarked 
bottles like they sell spring water in, but there's a tiny fang-dripping 
viper curled around an anchor on the bottom, imprinted like the logo 
they put on dime bags of smack--but we can't muster any excitement about 
it. We're all in a state of shock at lunch, where Marlow makes an 
announcement about the "accidental" death of Flung. Lally comes over to 
sit with us and offer her condolences. Not Very Merry is back from the 
hospital, her face looking kind of scabby, as she sits across the room 
staring wistfully at Lally, who's become a hell of a big cheese in her 
absence. I'm thinking about offering Lally Flung's Titanic, but I don't 
say anything just yet. Lally doesn't know we have Titanic, of course, 
and I'd have to be sure I could trust her before I tell her. Anyway, we 
pick at our lunches, go back to Stef's and issue a directive that all 
Hards must wear a black armband for two days. Tight black armbands are 
very sexy on big arms, we wore them on Kerrigan's birthday too, but 
never mind that now. 

Then I go see Mrs. Roper, who calls me up when I get back to my room. 
She's in her office for special crisis therapy hours in light of the 
Flung fatality. Despite my guilt over my pleasure, I take a Feng Schwing 
massage, and maybe as punishment for this sin I pee myself so bad it's 
dripping down my legs, making these weird sticky brownish trickle stains 
as it mixes with my menstrual blood. 

When I get back to my room, I have a double Stoli, lie down on the bed 
and fall asleep, praying I don't dream about Flung. Stef, Bon, Lee Ann 
and Tiff wake me up an hour later with more shitty news, and fuck my ass 
if I wasn't dreaming about Flung. We were sitting outside somewhere, 
some park or something, playing checkers on one of those cement tables. 
Don't ask me what that's about, Flung didn't play checkers, she played 
chess. Anyway, back to reality: The Hards were all in the gym, trying to 
work off the bad news about Flung, and while they were out their rooms 
were ransacked and all the tapes were stolen. 

"*All* the tapes?!" I moan in disbelief. 

"*All* the tapes," says Stef. "We've got nothing left, not a thing. They 
took the rooms apart shelf by shelf, drawer by drawer. Thank Tonya they 
didn't take our Titanic." 

"They?" I go. "Scuzzy Ethel, you mean. Your doors were locked, of 
course, she let herself in. Who do you think her accomplices were? Nora 
and Glo?" 

"Hard to say," Bon muses. "She could enlist any of a number of Nancies, 
or even guards. The point is we're sure she's got the tapes. It has to 
be her." 

"So what can we do about it?" I petulantly point out. "We can't complain 
to Marlow about the loss of our snuff tapes." 

"We can't do shit about it," says Tiff. "Except get fucking Ethel out of 
our hair once and for all." 

"Like, break her fucking legs?" I offer. 

"Marlow owes us one bigtime," says Stef. 

"Meaning she'll let it slide if we break her legs?" 

"Meaning she'll let it slide if Penny breaks her legs," Stef replies. 
"I've been talking to Penny. She wants to take Ethel out. She's not 
gonna do it here though, she's gonna do it at the Tin Horn. Take her out 
back and beat her to jelly." 

"Beautiful," I go. "Too bad we don't get to see it." The Tin Horn is the 
dyke bar in town where the guards go to unwind after a shift. There are 
a lot of fights there, usually guards getting it on with townies. 

"Maria the Muscle may want a piece of her too," Stef adds. "She's back 
on duty, and she's convinced Ethel had something to do with Tiff and Lee 
Ann getting dosed." 

"I wish there was something I could do for Maria besides toss her," says 
Lee Ann. "I feel so bad about busting her face up like that." 

"There *is* something you can do," says Stef. "Give her a free year's 
supply of Largesse." 

"She's 27, she's not in the growth range," says Lee Ann. 

"Doesn't matter. It can really accelerate her muscle growth, just not 
her height. She should really appreciate this, she wants to turn pro, I 
think." 

"Yeah," I go, "Largesse did wonders for Mrs. Roper. She got huge on 
Largesse and she's in her 40s." 

All the girls look at me funny. "You have something going on with Roper, 
Jen?" Bon inquires. 

"Kinda," I go. "She's a way cool chick under the business suit." 

"You been under her business suit?" Tiff asks. 

"Yeah, I have. Don't worry girls, she's very pro-Hard. And a very hard 
pro. She could win the Estefan Senior Invitational I bet, no sweat." 

"Jen, it's cool," says Stef. "You just lost Flung. You can get up close 
and pussy personal with anyone you want. Sweet Sara asked me about you 
before, by the way, she wants to come over." 

"Sara can come over anytime, she knows that," I go. "In fact, why don't 
we give her a year's supply of Largesse too?" 

"Great idea," says Bon. "And Lally too. Isn't this a trip? We're giving 
away our Largesse because now we're swimming in what used to be called M 
Factor. M for Mystery." 

"What about Flung's share of Titanic?" Lee Ann wonders. None of us have 
said a word about Titanic up till Bon's remark. We all took our first 
dose, and we're trying not to think about the implications of this. Bon 
even had some reservations about taking it at all. She's already 6-5, 
for Tonya's sake. But she took it. We all did. We all want to be as big 
as Brooke, or even bigger. Brooke, who's in the hospital right now, 
getting an electrocardiogram up her ass or something. 

Anyway, I call Sara after the girls leave and ask her to come over. No 
sooner do I open the door than she's crying, her pertly braless, stiff-
nipped, muscle-thrusted rack pumping under her Tonya Forever baby tee 
like an idling sex engine. "That fucking Ice!" she bawls. I give her a 
big hug and start consoling her, which is a little weird, since Flung 
was *my* roomie, not hers, but never mind that because her vulnerable 
grief-stung Bummed-Out Barbie routine has me so aroused I'm rubbing my 
clit-swollen crotch on her big thigh and tongue-fucking her ear. Anyway, 
she calms down a little, we do a lot kissing and rubbing, then we decide 
to take a shower together before dinner. We don't have communal showers 
here, by the way, like they do in the movies. We have three individual 
shower stalls in each bathroom and even one tub, though none of us can 
fit in it comfortably. 

So I'm in the shower with Sara, we're so big there's very little room to 
maneuver, we're standing tit to tit under the water tongue kissing like 
schoolgirls and massaging each other's broad backs, when Sara goes 
insane. Yeah, like Lee Ann and Tiff--*bad* insane. She puts her hands 
around my neck and shuts off the oxygen flow to my brain like she turned 
a safety valve. Shit, this girl's muscles are possessed, ramped up on 
that crazy drug, whatever it is. Well, isn't this just perfectly fucking 
totally Tara! She hits me in the face now, I'll be picking bone 
splinters outta the wall. And I was gonna put her on Largesse! 

Well, I have to take desperate action, Sara is killing me in the shower, 
I can't pry her hands off my neck and I'm not gonna poke her in the eyes 
or anything vicious, so I hurl myself *out* of the shower with her 
attached to me and we fall on the bathroom floor, all wet and naked. 
There's a tangle of limbs, a wild struggle, then I get the upper hand 
and pounce on her back, tying her arms up and riding her just like I'd 
do on the wrestling mat. To my horror, Sara, in a fit of inhuman super 
strength, gets to her feet in a crouch with me on her back like this, 
and powers up out of a squat to stand erect while I'm hanging onto her 
like I'm getting a piggy-back ride up the creek. She's screaming at the 
top of her lungs all this time, "I'm gonna rip your fucking head off!" 
and other not nice things. The first one to my rescue, ironically, is 
Maria the Muscle. 

She's standing in the doorway of the bathroom taking in this weird 
scene, looking sexy as ever despite the clunky hockey-type helmet she's 
wearing with this face guard. That's to protect her broken jaw. Well, 
it's a hairline kinda fracture, not too bad, she can talk fine and chew 
and everything. Maybe she'd like to chew me. Maria doesn't look quite 
like anyone else in Tonya in the usual guard garb with the gray short-
sleeve button-down shirt tucked into the standard gray chinos with the 
black sensible shoes. She wears her uniform *tight*, her big chest 
straining the buttons, her hard-mounded lifter's ass straining the seat 
of her pants and her centerfold arms busting out of the short sleeves 
big in seam-stretching succulence. 

"Maria!" I go desperately, peering over Sara's tensely striated 
shoulder. "She's freaked out, it must be that drug again that got Tiff 
and Lee. We've got to control her without hurting her." 

"Need a trank," says Maria, who knows first-hand how strong dosed girls 
are, as she whips the walkie talkie off her belt to call for backup. 

That's when Sara turns to her left, with me still on her back, and rips 
the paper towel dispenser off the wall with this growling noise in her 
throat like she was a monster and charges at Maria with it in front of 
her like it was a battering ram. Shit, where the fuck are the Hards? 
Maria backpedals out of the bathroom, trying to keep this enraged death 
zombie away from her jaw, and as Sara charges into the hall, dragging me 
along with her like I was tied to the back of a brahma bull, there's 
fucking tiny Julie the Coolie standing there gawking at us like an 
idiot, just like the day when Brooke punched her into the ceiling. What 
the fuck is the flirt squirt doing down at this end of the hall at a 
time like this? No time to find out. Sara, swinging the big metal 
dispenser with one hand, brains Julie with it so hard the puny girl 
collapses straight down like she telescoped into her feet. Blood is 
spurting out of the top of her head, as Maria tags Sara with a very nice 
right cross that staggers her sufficiently so I can get an arm around 
her neck and apply some pressure. 

Maria is yelling into the walkie talkie again, when none other than 
Scuzzy Ethel comes tearing around the corner, riot baton in her hand, 
and starts clubbing *me*. She hits me twice in the head, really ringing 
my bells, before Maria punches her in the face hard enough to bounce her 
off the wall. Then Maria holsters her radio and really goes to town, 
working Ethel over with her fists so wickedly the old bag's head is 
chipping plaster off the wall. As this is happening, Sara manages to 
whip me over her shoulder and punch me a few times in the back before 
Lally Palooka appears on the scene and jumps into the fray, bravely 
tearing into the crazy girl, fists flying. Lally lands some good shots 
to Sara's face before I summon the wherewithal to get off the floor, my 
back and head throbbing, by which time Sara grabs onto her and is about 
to break Lally's arm when, finally, other guards come running, led by 
Penny, and Sara is tranked while she's got Palooka's 14-inch arm in her 
hands, about to snap it like a twig. Since the trank takes a few seconds 
to work, I'm forced to punch Sara to save Lally's arm, and I put a 
tremendous right on her cheekbone, which sends her sprawling onto her 
back in a daze that soon becomes the unconsciousness of the trank, thank 
sweet Tonya. 

The guards quickly attend to Julie the Coolie, who is bleeding profusely 
from the head, and one of them carries the little girl off to the 
infirmary. Sara, naked, insensible and so very beautiful, is cuffed and 
carried off to the infirmary as well, as Marlow appears, looking aghast 
for a change. "It happened again," I go. "Sweetass Sara got dosed, and 
she happened to be in the shower with me when the drug kicked in." 

Marlow is standing there gawking at me--I'm all wet and naked and 
panting and I must look excessively cute--then she forces her eyes away 
and studies the crumpled, motionless form of Scuzzy Ethel, who looks 
like she was hit by a Ford Explorer doing 50 on Santa Woofa Blvd. "I had 
to take out Ethel," says Maria the Muscle not very regretfully. "She 
started swinging her stick on Jenna, she wasn't trying to stop Sara. She 
was *helping* Sara. Sorry if I overreacted. I think I may've broke ribs 
and stuff." 

"That's OK, Maria," says Marlow, patting the Muscle on her big shoulder 
as she crinkles her nose at Ethel, who's making some kind of awful 
fucking stink on the floor. She appears to have crapped herself. 
"Ethel's had it coming for a long time. And it's good she got it from 
you. I suspect she has something to do with this dosing business." 

"You know something we don't, Warden?" I ask. 

"I know there's a Mex cafeteria worker by the name of Soledad who got 
busted by the She Roids last night, who was in possession of a very 
potent PCP derivative known on the black market as King for a Day. As in 
Rodney. Also known as K-Fad. Also known as KD Bang. It's so new and 
different there's no standard test for it yet at the lab. It's the kind 
of drug they'd give to Indonesian Death Cage combatants, it just makes 
you a killing machine. This could be just what's been going on here, 
custom-delivered in food or drink at mealtime. When the She Roids are 
done interrogating this ex-employee of ours, I'm sure we'll have the 
whole story. They have ways of getting all the information they need, 
even if they have to rip it out of you all bloody and squirming." 

"So can Sara be tested for this drug?" 

"I'll make a special request for it. They can test the blood samples 
they have from Lee Ann and Tiff, too." 

"I'll call for some nurse's aides and have Ethel shipped to County," 
says Penny, looking down with distaste at the broken old fart. "You OK, 
Jen?" 

"Yeah. I got clubbed twice in the head by Ethel, but she didn't draw 
blood or anything, she doesn't hit hard enough. Thanks for your help, 
Maria," I add as I grip her hand and rub one of her gorgeous 17-1/2 inch 
arms. "And you saved me from Sara, Lal," I go, kissing Palooka hard on 
the lips. "Your arm OK?" 

"Yeah. A second more the bone woulda been showing. You saved *me* by 
punching her out." 

"All right, enough with the mutual admiration society," says Marlow. 
"And put some clothes on. Your nipples get any stiffer they're gonna 
poke someone's eye out. I'm gonna put Sara in solitary and have her 
blood shipped to the lab. Let's see what happens with the results, and 
let's see what happens dose-wise now that Ethel and that galley girl 
aren't working here anymore." 

"And what's gonna happen to Sara when she comes down?" I go. "You're not 
gonna punish her, are you?" 

Marlow gnaws at her lip nervously. "I suppose not, but the commissioner 
will have to be involved again. We've got Julie with a serious head 
injury, maybe, and we've got a guard out of action. I don't know what'll 
happen." 

I go back to my room with Lally and pick up where I left off with Sara. 
Not Very Merry is gonna be Very Very Pissed, but Lally and I don't give 
a fuck, we're in post-combat heat. I give the girl all my Largesse, too, 
she deserves it, but I don't say anything about Titanic. That would 
require the approval of the Hard command. The Hards turn out to have 
been in the gym all this time. They're so psyched over their Titanic and 
so bummed over Flung, they can't stop working out. I, for some reason, 
can't stop fucking. Anyway, I give them the blow-by-blow over dinner and 
fill them in on Lally's heroism and the fistic destruction of Ethel. 
They're all so wasted from working out they don't say much, they just 
keep readjusting their black armbands, which are actually headbands, so 
they're right over their bi peaks, then flexing to watch them expand. 

Anyway, after dinner, while I'm trying to take another nap, who knocks 
on my door but Brooke. "Brooke! Back from the hospital so soon?" 

"They ran all the tests they could. They say I'm fine, fit as a fucking 
fiddle. So here I am." 

Brooke marches in and sits down on the bed. She's wearing oversized 
shades, I guess to cover the damage around her eyes from the fight, so I 
can't see quite how crazy she is. 

"A lot has happened in your absence," I go cautiously. 

"I know. I'm so sorry about Flung, girl. She's in a better place. Marlow 
filled me in. I got debriefed. Literally. I took my panties off and 
Marlow had some fingers up my snatch. She's weird." 

Marlow and Brooke? I don't know what to make of this, so I don't say 
anything. Brooke is not even dressed sexy--she's wearing a green 
hospital orderly type of smock thing that must be from County and 
ripped-at-the-knees jeans--but I want a piece of her so bad I can taste 
it way back in my throat. Is it Titanic or the death of Flung that's 
making me so horny? "So you've heard about Sara and Ethel and Julie the 
Coolie?" I finally ask. "And Ice getting shipped out?" 

"Yeah," says Brooke, standing up suddenly and crossing the room in one 
stride to pour a vodka at the bar. "Julie's always in the wrong place at 
the wrong time. Isn't it funny that Glo and Nora are in protective 
solitary?" 

"Well, now that you're back, maybe they'll come out." 

"Why?" Brooke takes a big hit of Stoli and shivers. "*I* can't protect 
them. I've had a near-death experience, Jenna. I've been there and back, 
you know what I'm saying? I'm not the same person I was yesterday. You 
want a drink?" 

"Sure. You turn non-violent or something?" 

"Totally. I've been to the promised land. You can't fight after you've 
been there." 

"Really? You won't fight anymore?" 

"No way. You know what Nurse Churchie said to me? She's so funny. She 
said I should star in a show called Suddenly, Snoozin'. I like that 
lady, tits and all." 

"Shit, Brooke." She hands me a Stoli on ice as I wonder if she's gonna 
flip out any second and crush me like a bug. She doesn't seem right. 
"Were you medicated at the hospital?" 

Brooke turns her head funny like a dog hearing a weird noise. "I saw the 
white light, Jen, like A. Gordon Pym saw at the end of the book." 

"Huh? What book?" 

"Haven't you read all of Poe? He's, like, so awesome." 

"I read the Telltale Heart. Oh, sorry." 

"Never mind. I've seen the face of eternity, and it was *smiling*. I'm, 
like, totally mellow now? Let's blow some hash. I brought a piece with 
me." 

"Great. So you're not having a rematch with Bon?" 

"Are you kidding? Of course not!" 

"And you're not gonna get revenge on Sara for what she did to your 
personal slave?'' 

"Sara was dosed, she was out of her mind. I can't hold her responsible 
for that." 

"That's a relief, 'cause I'm nuts about Sara. Totally Bonaly in love, 
actually, now that Flung's gone. It's so funny, 'cause she capped me 
once." 

"What's even funnier is I paid for it." 

"Oh, shit, that's right. Well, that was a long time ago." 

"Another lifetime. Where's your water pipe?" 

I'm tempted to ask Brooke about the tapes and Hairy Mary, not to mention 
if she knows anything about the death of Missy, but I don't want to set 
her off. Somehow, despite the Martin Luther King routine, she seems more 
dangerous than ever. "Well, anyway, I'd room with Sweetass if I didn't 
have a roomie jinx." 

"I don't blame you. I had my own room in the hospital. There were a 
couple doctors who came in when they thought I was asleep, pulled my 
smock up and jerked off like wang doodles. They couldn't get over the 
size of me. There was a time when I would've shot off the bed and 
grabbed their nuts and made paste, but that was then and this is now." 

"Uh, right. You don't wanna go to Wuornos over some fucking medical 
dorks." Whatever. I suppose it's possible a temporary cessation of 
cardiac activity could cause mild brain damage. Anyway, I blow hash with 
Brooke, and we get it on. I just can't resist her, and she's real tender 
and loving, and I'm careful around her chest, which is black-purpled 
real bad between her pecs, with this big swollen lump from Bon's fist. I 
give her a fresh Zmeskaline rub, and she puts some on my back where I'm 
bruised from Sara's fist, and I come squealing under Brooke's skilled 
hand and then under her skilled face, which brings me up to about a 
hundred spends for today, the day Flung died. You forgive me, babe? . . 
. . 

"You forgive me, Jen? I tried to strangle you, Jesus fucking shit." I'm 
in Sara's solly cell with Penny. It's almost midnight, Sara's down from 
the drug, and there's more bad news. Julie the Coolie died. Her little 
brain was squashed. Sara's sitting there in Tonya-issue gray tee and 
sweatpants, her bruised cheek and eye glistening with the fresh coating 
of Zmeskaline I just gave her, tears running down her face, her 
beautiful chest racked with sobs of remorse. 

"Baby, it's not your fault," I go. "You were dosed." 

"I *killed* that poor little girl." 

"It was an accident." 

"I'm gonna get shipped to Wuornos." 

"No you're not, babe," I go, looking hopefully at Penny. 

"Maybe they'll ship you to Karla Faye," Penny says encouragingly. 

"That's where Ice is!" Sara moans. 

Not *too* Tara. Penny waits outside while I pull Sara's sweatpants off 
and toss her real slow and sensual, she's sweet and clean as always and 
she feels so good under my lips. I have the nasty feeling this will be 
the last time I get to make Sara for a long time, and this stokes me up 
and supercharges my mouth so my tongue is so far up her gorgeous ass 
it's tickling her bellybutton from the inside. She has a wrenching come 
that makes her groan with this really long "Aaaaaaaggggh" that dissolves 
in sobs and a fresh torrent of tears, as I hold her in my arms and 
murmur sweet soothing nothings into her ear. I leave Sara with a ton of 
hugs and kisses, fighting back my own tears. Penny walks me to my room 
and leaves me at the door with a tender goodnight tongue kiss. "It's 
been some fucking awful day, Jen. Sleep it all off. Tomorrow will have 
to be better." 

"Thanks, Penny. I love you, girl." 

"Love you too, Jen." 

I spend a fitful night dreaming about Flung and Sara and Julie the 
Coolie--they all have their hands up my ass at the same time, and if 
feels good!--but the next day is indeed better. Or, at least different. 
After breakfast I go for a massage with Mrs. Roper and, to my total 
surprise, the commissioner is in the office with her. Dr. Dexter 
himself. 

"I'm going to leave the office, Jenna," says Mrs. Roper. "No `therapy' 
right now. The commissioner has a proposal for you." She winks at me and 
nods encouragingly, like something good is about to happen. So there I 
am sitting across the desk from Dr. Dexter, like this was a job 
interview. 

"Jenna," he begins, "I've admired you for a long time." 

"You mean you've seen my wrestling tape?" 

Dr. Dexter chuckles and lights a Parliament, even though there's no 
smoking allowed anywhere in the building. "I haven't only *seen* your 
wrestling tape, I *made* your wrestling tape. I'm the one who compiled 
and distributed it. Pretty clever move, if I must say so myself, since 
all the footage was simply lifted off local cable. Totally illegal, of 
course, but I specialize in illegal video." 

"Like the fights the other night. You'll be distributing those too." 

"Indeed I will. And I just got a honey of a scissors compilation tape 
from back east. This poor sonofabitch of a volleyball coach gets his 
head crushed every week for months by a very big, very beautiful girl, 
who finally gives him a *stroke* on camera, almost kills him. Really 
intense stuff." 

"I just read about that in a scissors magazine." 

"Mr. Wheezy's Squeezy? *You* read it?" 

"There was a little guy named Mickey who showed it to me at the fights." 

"Oh, that freaky little busted-up troll?" Dexter snorts as he exhales a 
cloud of blue cigarette smoke. "If you're wondering why he limps and his 
arms hang kind of funny, it's because he got all his connective parts 
ripped to shit by a Hungarian midget wrestler. Now dead, alas. I've seen 
*that* tape, and let me tell you, it was a major kick in the head. 
Anyway, yeah, he writes for Wheezy's. But let me get to the point, 
Jenna." 

"I know what you're gonna say, Dr. Dexter." 

"Please call me Harry." 

"Uh, I know what you're gonna say, Harry. You're gonna tell me you had 
to steal all the tapes from our rooms because they have such tremendous 
commercial value. Like, the Flung-Ice fight is cool, you can sell it as 
a `death match,' but real snuff footage can't be beat. It's worth a 
bundle." 

"As a matter of fact, that's right, but that's not what I wanted to say. 
As long as you mentioned it, those tapes are worth a fortune. Denise 
Massey is up in rain country right now researching her next book, all 
about the giant hairy girl who's killing all the hicks up there. And 
those tapes have actual snuff footage of that tremendously well-built 
and *cute* hairy girl in action, though she's not full size yet. It's 
gonna be the first crime story with accompanying videotape, and it'll 
retail for like $75, like a coffee table art book, and it'll sell like 
hotcakes with a side order of fresh pussy." Dexter has this grin on his 
face like a baby who just shat his diaper. "And, by the way, my 
sincerest condolences about Flung. She was a beautiful, polished, exotic 
gem, and we're all gonna miss her." 

"So what's the deal? You're not offering us a cut of the profits on the 
tapes, are you, Dr.--uh, Harry?" 

Dr. Dexter shifts nervously in his chair, adjusts his tie like Rodney 
Dangerfield, and clears his throat before taking another pull on his 
Parliament. "No, I'm not offering you a cut of the profits, but I *am* 
offering you freedom--tomorrow. Today is your last day in Tonya, if you 
like." 

I don't say anything at first, I'm too stunned. Me out ahead of Stef? 
We're planning her big goodbye bash for the day after tomorrow. "What do 
I have to do to get out of Tonya tomorrow, Harry?" 

Dr. Dexter smiles and his eyes light up. "Spend the night with me, 
that's all. One night, off campus in a motel. Tomorrow you're on a bus 
outta here, I'll sign a release document and leave it with Mrs. Roper 
and Warden Marlow. I've always had a thing for you, Jenna, ever since I 
watched you wrestle. You're just so goddamn sexy it's ridiculous. And 
you have such *style*" 

"And are you taping our little fling?" 

"No, not at all. This is pleasure, not business. I sell fight tapes, not 
love tapes. With the exception of the love tape with our Miss Brooke and 
the hairy nutball. Jesus, that was a horn and a half, wasn't it? I know 
you've seen it. I know you stole it from Glo." 

"How do you know that?" 

"I'm the commish, I know everything. But never mind what I know; what do 
you want to do tomorrow? Spend another night drinking vodka in the 
lounge and watching Seinfeld reruns or go see a movie at the Chucho 
Sexplex or maybe roll a few games at Gutter Ballz? Huh?" 

The thought of leaving Tonya tomorrow is making my head swim. The 
thought of making Dr. Dexter tonight is making my stomach turn. I don't 
like guys. I've never been with a guy. "Dr. Dexter, I mean Harry--I'll 
do it on a couple of conditions. No kissing, no face to face fucking and 
I won't put it in my mouth. I won't even lick it. You can fuck me doggie 
style, you can butt fuck me from behind and I'll jerk you off if you 
want. That's it." 

"Jenna, I can jerk myself off, I have two good hands." 

"And of course you have to wear protection. OK?" 

"My dear, you take all the romance out of it. Can I touch your breasts? 
Suck your nipples?" 

"Sure, all you want. Just don't handle them too rough. And I'm not doing 
anything to your ass. I'm not putting any part of me or anything up 
there. OK?" 

"Doesn't interest me in the first place. What about water sports? You 
have any objection to peeing on me?" 

"None whatsoever, but you can't pee on *me*. OK?" 

"Jenna, we've got a deal. Let's kiss on it." 

"I just said no kissing." 

"Oh, come on, one little peck on the lips just to seal the bargain." 

"Well, all right." Dr. Dexter's mustache smells like an ashtray and 
feels real old-man tickly, but fuck it all if I'm not going home 
tomorrow. 

So Dexter leaves--he's picking me up at 7--and I get my Feng Schwing 
from Mrs. Roper, who is thrilled that I'm getting out. We're planning to 
get together on the outside for sure. "Don't worry about a thing, Jen, 
Harry's not really that bad a guy," she assures me. 

"How well do you know him, Ev? You been with him?" 

"As a matter of fact, I have. It's sort of a requirement for working 
here. He likes muscle girls. He's pretty good in bed, really, for a guy. 
And if you don't have to kiss him, it should be like getting fucked by a 
dildo. A very *big* dildo. No problem." 

Now what do I tell the Hards? I catch them all in Stef's room, and just 
when I'm about to figure some way to make the announcement, Marlow shows 
up to tell us Sara tested positive for K-Fad, and she's getting shipped 
out to Karla Faye today. We're all screaming bloody murder at her, and 
Marlow calmly tells us, "You kill somebody, you can't stay in Tonya. You 
girls know that as well as I do. The choice is Wuornos or Karla Faye. 
Did I do the right thing, or what?" 

We can't argue with that. I postpone my confession to the Hards and head 
back to the brig with Penny to say goodbye to Sara. We run into Maria 
the Muscle in her goofy helmet, who tells us she's gone, the bus already 
left. I start to tremble with rage, clenching my fists like I'm going 
postal, then I get a grip and deep breathe myself to some kind of rigid 
calm as Penny strokes my back. "Don't worry about Sara," she says. "I'll 
see to it she gets her Largesse shipped over. She'll be fine there." 

"How can she be fine there?" I wail. "Ice is there!" 

"I know some guards at Karla Faye," says Maria. "Chicana muscle sisters 
who were once tight with me in my street days. I'll put in a word for 
Sara, they'll watch out for her. She's a big girl, she's 18 and she's 
only got three months left, anyway. Don't you worry, Jen, she'll do the 
time no sweat." 

"Thanks, Maria," I smile, and kiss her reverently on the forehead, 
careful not to bang her faceguard. "You hear anything about Ethel?" 

"Yeah, she's on the critical list, she had surgery. I fucked her up 
inside, she had internal bleeding and shit. Fuck, I hit *hard* when I'm 
PO'd. And now that I'm on Largesse, thanks to you Hards, I'll be hitting 
even harder." She throws some quick right and left crosses that seem to 
bruise the air. 

"That old bitch won't be fucking her dogs anytime soon," Penny chortles. 

"Is the commissioner gonna give you a hard time about this?" I ask. 

Maria laughs. "That's *just* what he's gonna give me. I'm gonna have to 
fuck him to let this incident slide. He's got a thing for big arms on 
chicks." She cocks her right bicep, which swells up all blue-veined and 
melony, and rubs her palm over it in slow circles, which, much to my 
dismay, makes my clit stand up in my pants despite the fact that I'm 
supposed to be in mourning over the loss of Sara. 

"You had to do this before?" 

"I'm here right now 'cause I let him put his fat thing in me. I was 
supposed to work Wuornos when it opened, I had a low number in the 
lottery. I got to keep this Tonya gig when I found out he had a thing 
for big girl guns and muscle titties . . . . " 

"So you have a thing for big girl guns and muscle titties, huh, Harry?" 
I'm in a second floor room of the Five Pines motel about two miles down 
the road from Tonya. Yeah, off campus, what a thrill. 

"Can you blame me?" Dexter asks, lighting a Parliament. 

"No, can't say I do. Big girl guns and muscle titties sure float my 
boat." 

Dexter laughs, I don't quite know at what. Maybe he's giggly from the 
joint we just smoked. Now he's got a cigarette in one hand and a Chivas 
Regal on the rocks in the other, and his pants are off and his boxer 
shorts are *loaded* with meat. Maria wasn't kidding when she said he had 
a fat cock. Not that I know from cocks, but it looks like he's got an 
uncircumcised kosher salami in there. Anyway, big as it is, it'll be a 
small price to pay for freedom. I sip my scotch and look out the window 
at the pretty dusk, wondering where the five pines are. I don't see a 
pine anywhere. Just streetlights. "They shoulda called this place the 
Five Streetlights. 

"We're not here for the view, if you get my drift. Jenna, what are you 
gonna do when you get out?" 

"Funny you should ask that. I thought I might go back to school and 
wrestle, but I guess not." I tell him about the phone conversation I had 
with Coach McCallister earlier today. I can go back to Chucho and get my 
diploma--what a fucking cheapass state this is where they put you in 
juvie jail and don't continue your high school education behind bars!--
but I can't wrestle there. Something about a new rule where you're 
thrown out of the athletic program forever if you have a gun on school 
grounds. And that's what I'm in here for, among other things. Brooke's 
gun in my locker. Well, that was a long time ago, fuck it. And Brooke's 
changed since then. She changed so much, she threw Janet out of her 
room, she wants to be alone with her white light. I met Janet in the 
hall just a little while ago, she's coming back from the gym, she's 
wearing just a bra and shorts and she's all pumped up, her fresh tattoos 
all swollen with fresh muscle. "Hey, big girl, you're lookin' huge," I 
go. 

"Am I lookin' good enough to be your roomie?" she goes. "I don't live 
with Brooke anymore." 

"Why not?" 

"I dunno. She's weird. I guess she doesn't want me around. I'm, like, 
really hot these days and she's got a bad heart." 

"So where you sleeping?" 

"I took Sara's room. She got shipped to Karla Faye Tucker. You know 
about this, right?" 

"Yeah, I know. Well, I'm glad you got her room. You're a good girl, 
Janet." 

"So room with me." 

"I can't. I can't explain why right now, but I can't." I tenderly rub 
Janet's big arms and shoulders and give her a sweet kiss on the mouth. 
"Take care of yourself, girl. Get big, stay strong. And join the Hards. 
Bon'll need you." 

Janet gives me a puzzled look. "What's up with you? It sounds like 
you're planning to kill yourself." 

"Nothing of the sort. Don't worry, I'm fine. Gotta run, got a date." 

Yeah, I got a date all right, and he's standing behind me now pressing 
his swollen meat into the panty-sealed crack of my ass through his 
bulging boxers. "Well, you may not be able to wrestle for your school, 
but you can wrestle underground and make a lot of money," he says with 
an entrepreneurial air that drips with greed-sleaze. 

"You mean like apartment wrestling, where they sell the tapes?" 

"There's that, and there's wrestling for a paying audience too. You'd be 
surprised how many people are into watching this sort of thing, women as 
well as men. I'm going to take your panties off now, Jenna." 

"Uh, Doc, uh, Harry, I might still be flowing just a little, I'm on the 
tail end of my period. I've got a pad on." 

"Well, you had a pad on, now it's off," Dexter says as he peels my 
panties down to my ankles. "And if you're flowing, no matter, I'm using 
a condom, not that I'd care about a little blood. Flow all you want. 
You're going to bleed anyway when I ram it in you. You're a virgin, 
aren't you?" 

"I've never had a man in me, Harry, but you can't possibly think my 
hymen is still intact. I'm an athlete, for one thing and--" 

"I fully realize your cherry was popped ages ago, my dear, no doubt by 
some sweet young thing's prying finger when you were in grade school, 
but I may rend you anyway. I'm very big, as you're about to find out." 

My only reply is a gasp as Dexter works the head of what must be one 
fucking meat bazooka past my pussy lips doggie style. I'm not very wet, 
but I guess his condom is lubricated, 'cause he's sliding up into me and 
filling me up, I can feel him in there and it's standing room only, he's 
*stretching* me inside, I'm stuffed full of cock and I'm starting to 
moisten up, and he's got a hip rhythm going now, he's fucking me for 
real and I have to admit it's not bad at all, I guess because he's so 
big he's rubbing my chubby clit with his blood-gorged shaft. 

"Guggggghhh," says Dr. Dexter as he fucks me like a bald stallion, his 
hands under my sports bra tweaking and twirling my stiff nips. But he 
doesn't come despite the very tight fit, he just keeps hunching away, 
bent over me in front of the big window that overlooks the parking lot, 
lucky thing we have the lights off. Then, after a few minutes of this 
incessant ramming and jamming, powering this massive thing into me, 
making these really nasty slurping suction noises as he vacuum packs my 
pussy, driving me up on my toes with each stroke so I'm getting a calf 
workout, *I'm* coming, which causes me to tighten my cunt muscles and 
bear down on him real hard--so hard I'm gripping him like a fist on the 
fat end of a baseball bat and then *he's* coming and I swear I can feel 
his cock pumping inside me inside his condom, it must be swelled up like 
a big purple *limb*, and then finally after what seems like an eternity 
of us moaning and panting, we settle down and just stand there, bent 
over the window sill where the air unit is, it's blowing a cool breeze 
softly in my face, sweat dripping off my chin into the grille. 

He finally pulls out of me and I turn around and he's holding up what 
looks like this two-pound latex *bag* of semen, I swear it's hanging 
heavy like a half-filled water balloon. "In the fucking holy name of 
Tonya, Dr. Dexter, did you come or what?!" 

"Harry. And yeah, I didn't just drain my balls, I wrung 'em out and 
tumble dried 'em. Jen, you're tighter than Joan Rivers' facelift. Pretty 
good ride, huh, baby? Simultaneous orgasms, not bad for a first date." 

"Or a last date, Harry." 

"I know it's a one-shot deal, but I have about five shots in me, so the 
fun's just beginning, sweetcheeks." Harry takes a sip of scotch and 
lights another Parliament. He's naked, but he doesn't look that 
ridiculous, mainly because his semi-hard cock is about as big as my 
forearm. I'm reminded of Joan the Bone's favorite toy, Ezra, except Ez 
was black. Harry's white, but with the usual Cali store tan, and he's a 
big guy, like 6-4, 240; the former athlete who's going to fat, though 
his gut is still under control. He must be around 50, old enough to be 
my dad and them some. If it wasn't for the combover and the dumb 
mustache, he might even be slightly cute. 

"How the hell did you ever get a condom on that thing, anyway? Do they 
make them in sizes?" 

"Actually, yes. This is an extra large Ron Jeremy signature model, made 
by the Ace Rubber Company. I wish I had as much use for their combs," he 
adds, pointing sadly to the top of his head. 

"How far down on your thing does it go?" 

"Not very. Less than halfway. But it covers the head, which is all that 
counts. I have to leave a tremendous amount of slack to catch all 
wigglies. Maybe you'd like to put the next one on me yourself?" 

"I'd be honored, Harry." Shit, look at me. I'm carrying on like some 
lipsticked bimbo at the Chicken Ranch. 

As I take a sip of scotch, he says, "Have a beer chaser," waggling the 
six of Coors he brought. "I want you to pee on me soon." 

That makes me think of Missy, which makes me think of Flung, which makes 
me think of Sara, but I've got a more immediate problem to deal with: 
How do I tell the Hards I'm leaving tomorrow? I never got to make my 
announcement, and I never told them I was going off campus. For all I 
know they're looking for me, they think I escaped . . . . 

"We thought you escaped," says Bon. "We couldn't find you anywhere." 

"That's 'cause I wasn't here," I go for the third time. 

"We know that *now*. We didn't know that last night," says Stef. 

"Look, forget it, 'cause here's the point of why I got reamed by the 
commish." We're at breakfast, we've all got our plates heaped with 
pancakes, waffles, eggs and turkey sausage, we've all got our protein 
shakes and we're all about to dig in, so this seems like a good time to 
break bad news. And I really got *reamed* by the commish, by the way. 
Harry was as good as his word. He did me five times--three comes in the 
pussy, two in the ass, and I don't know how he ever got that thing up my 
chute without tearing me in half--and every time right up to the last he 
filled the bag with more come than you'd get from a bull in heat. I'm 
sore from my knees to my bellybutton from getting fucked by this guy. I 
guess it was good training having the late Julie's hand up my ass, 
though Harry's cock is more like having Julie's *head* up my ass. Sorry, 
what a terrible thing to say about a dead girl whose skull was crushed 
by a fucking towel dispenser. After his fifth and final bang, which was 
just slightly less explosive than his first, I had to say, "Harry, how 
the hell are you so damn, like, vital, for a man your age? I don't know 
much about male sexuality, but based on what I read, not even most 18-
year-olds can perform like this." 

"Well, Jen, you're kind of a turnon, you know?" 

"Really? That's it? It's me? You couldn't fuck, say, Mrs. Roper five 
times?" 

"I can and I have," he says proudly. "All right, I've got a 
pharmaceutical assist. I take Niagara." 

"What's that?" 

"It's Viagra for your balls. Some kind of super zinc and ginseng 
supplement spiked with glandular extract from wild mountain gorillas. It 
blows my scrotum up like a beach ball and makes my prostate hum like a 
fuel-injected Maserati." 

"Well, it goes good with your King Kong dong." 

"Thanks. But I'm pretty damn good in the sack without it, too." 

"I wouldn't doubt it for a minute, Harry, ya big ape." 

Anyway, back to the girls, who are waiting for my explanation: "This is 
my last meal here," I go, my voice getting a little funny with emotion. 

There's a moment of total silence while they all stare at my dumbly. 
"What, you're getting *executed?*" Lee Ann finally blurts. 

"No, I'm on a bus outta here, back to Santa Chucho, I'm free. Early 
release. That's my deal for fucking the commish. He has a thing for me, 
he's the one who originally distributed my wrestling jerkoff tape." 

More stunned silence. No one touches the food, they're just all looking 
at me like I told them I was a transsexual. "I'm sorry I'll miss your 
party, Stef," I go, tears welling up in my eyes, "but I can't turn this 
deal down. After Missy and Flung and then Sara I can't take it in here 
anymore. It's too much. So I'm out. I'm sorry. I'll just kiss you all 
goodbye back in the room and I'll hit the bus. Well, Stef, I can see you 
next week, anyway," I giggle as I'm crying. "We can jerk off to your 
Sinew layout together." 

"Don't be sorry, Jen," says Bon. "You got an out, you took it. I'd do 
the same, believe me." 

"It's not like you abandoned us in our hour of need," says Tiff. "Right 
now it seems like our Nancy problem is over. Glo and Nora are in hiding. 
So get out there and have a good time. You never shoulda been in here 
anyway. You got railroaded." 

"What are you gonna do?" Lee Ann asks. "Do your 'rents know?" 

"Yeah, I called them, they're thrilled. I'm having my Titanic shipped 
home, they don't mind. I may take an apartment with Michelle From Hell. 
She lives right in Chucho and she makes such good money as a dominatrix 
she's willing to let me stay with her free till I get settled." 

"Cool," says Bon. "Michelle's a righteous chick. We oughta throw her a 
supply of Largesse, too." 

So we eat and everyone remains normal, or tries to. We make small talk, 
and I fill the girls in on the tape situation with Dexter and Denise 
Massey. Brooke is at breakfast, eating at a table way on the other side 
of the room with just Janet. I don't say goodbye. We go back to Stef's 
room, we all hug and kiss and everyone cries a little. Lally Palooka, 
Penny, Marlow and Maria the Muscle come by and I hug them all too, and 
we all cry some more. I finally get packed, get out to where the bus is, 
and there's that little guy Mickey sitting behind the wheel of a big 
Buick Roadmaster. "Hi, Jen! I happened to be talking to Dr. Dexter this 
morning, and he told me you were getting out. So I thought I'd drive up 
and give you a lift. Hop in!" 

Well, fancy that, I'm getting chauffeured out of jail by a sex gnome. I 
get in next to Mickey, and silently thank Tonya that the car has big 
comfy seats, 'cause my ass is throbbing like a motherfucker. "Thanks, 
Mickey, this is real sweet of you." 

"It's nothing," he goes, putting his hand on my bare thigh and kneading 
the heavy muscle with a merry leer as he pulls into traffic. "I hope you 
don't mind my hand here, Jen. Let's face it, your big beautiful quad 
beats the shit out of the armrest." He grins at me like an old satyr, 
and I can't help noticing the package in his pants, which is so big it's 
almost pressed against the steering column. Sweet mother of Tonya, 
what's happening to me? 

"You can put your hand anywhere you want," I smile, as I fish his 
business card out of my wallet and mull over the title--editor at large. 
"But no kissing." 

(FINIS)