Tonya gets stuck; Jen and Stef seem to be coming apart
By Avida Dolor (avidadolor@aol.com)
Jenna Takedown: NADS Buster, chapter 4


Copyright 1999 Avida Dolor 

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. 

Chapter 4 

I'm playing a new game. Golden phone sex. I'm in the empty tub, naked on 
my back, a throw pillow under my head, my legs climbing way up the wall, 
which is the only way I fit in the tub at all. I've got the 900-
megahertz cordless in one hand and my so-stiff-it-megahurts clit in the 
other. I'm talking to Sweetass Sara, who's on her back in her tub in 
Shankville, Texas, telling me how it'll feel when she tosses me. We're 
working our way to simultaneous pee-drenched comes when I break the mood 
and say, not for the first time, "Sara, you could be tossing me for real 
right now instead of just talking about it. Cut all the shit already and 
come back to Cali. You can move right in with us, there's plenty of 
room. I think Stef's gonna be moving out anyway." That last part's new, 
though, and it matters. 

"What? You and Stef breaking up? Why?" 

"Bonny's coming back. We got a call from her today. Her tough gal tour 
is over. She's gonna be a Roids enforcer, and it's only logical that 
she'll take up with Stef again. They used to be very tight. The only 
reason I live with Stef is we got out of stir the same time and we work 
together. Stef and I are good friends, but she was never my big, big 
love." 

"Flung would have been--if she lived." 

"Maybe. But Flung's dead. And you're very much alive. And I love you." 

"I'm coming." 

"You're coming? We're supposed to jerk off *together*." 

"No, I mean I'm coming back to Cali. To live with you, babe. OK?" 

What? Finally? Sara has at long last relented? I gleefully ram two 
fingers into myself and tense my abs and thighs, working my thumb over 
the top of my chubby in fast motion like I was jacking a junior high 
school boy. The deep buzz of pleasure is spreading inside me like love 
lava. "Aaaaaaagggh. Fanfuckingtastic! Why the sudden change of heart?" 

"I just found out they shipped Ice to Amy Fisher," Sara goes, her voice 
breaking. "I didn't know how to tell you. Amy herself made the 
arrangements so Ice could be near her." Sara pauses and sobs. Despite 
her tears, I'm frigging myself faster than ever, my cunt so wet now my 
fingers are making slurpy-sloshy noises in there. "She's not in Texas 
anymore, she's all the way across the country," Sara blubbers. "It's 
over. It's time for me to get outta this state." 

"Aaaaaaaaarrrrgh." I'm breathing like an obscene caller now. "The state 
of servitude, you mean," I breathlessly husk. "Oh, Jesus," I moan, as I 
lean on one cheek to get some more quirk into my jerk. "But at least it 
lit a fire under your ass. Get on a train tomorrow. You'll come up here 
and join the Roids, I'll talk to Evelyn Roper," I add in a rush through 
clenched teeth. Then I'm there, all my muscles quivering like fucked 
bowstrings, and I let my bladder loose so the hot pee soaks me like a 
shower massage. "Sara?" I mutter between pants. "Sorry, I just came. And 
I let my pee go too, I'm dripping. Sara?" 

"I can't leave *tomorrow*, I gotta say goodbye to all my clients and 
wrap up all my business." Sara's a personal trainer. A *very* personal 
trainer. "But I'll be there in a few days. The two of us will never fit 
in a regular tub," she giggles, happy again. "You'd better get a deluxe 
kiddie pool. Listen to this." She must be holding the phone near her 
belly, 'cause I hear a splashy tinkle that's water music to my ears. 

I'd better do some 'splainin' too. First, Bonny. Big Bon, as she was 
known in Tonya. And that was *before* she got on Titanic. Bon's 6-9, 320 
now. Yeah, 320. You gotta be careful when that kinda weight sits on your 
face. She didn't take over the Hards and run Tonya for the rest of her 
sentence like we thought she would. She made a deal just a couple weeks 
after I made mine with Harry Dexter, but she made hers with Denise 
Massey, editor at large for Sinfully Sinew. They went up to rain country 
with a camera crew to make a documentary called On the Trail of the 
Abominator: The Search for Mary Kaslewski. This Abominator thing grew 
out of the Abominable Snowman concept, even though there's not a lot of 
snow in rain country. It just has a nice ring to it. Like Nora the 
Nihilator. Anyway, they traveled the back roads for weeks on end looking 
for Hairy Mary, who to this day is still stalking the sticks like a 
Sasquatch with tits. Bonny never even sighted her old friend, not even 
from a distance, which is kinda weird, since Mary is reputed to be at 
least 7 feet tall. But the crazed giantess--crazed, presumably, on 
chronic overdoses of the intrauterine psychedelic X-Sponge, administered 
by Brooke in her "evil" period--has gotta be up there. There's still a 
weekly corpse or two found broken like its limbs were made of twigs, the 
head cracked open like an egg and the brain gone. Mary must be into 
smart food. 

So Denise's plan to pit Bonny and Mary in an exclusively filmed 
deathmatch didn't pan out, and Bonny and Denise went on to Canada where 
Bon got herself onto the Moosehead Melee tour, this nasty tough gal 
circuit in all those shitkicking western provinces, and they made a doc 
about that instead. Besides the fact that they both wanted to drink tons 
of free beer, Bon wanted to sow some wild ring oats before she settled 
into the life of a Roids soldier, and Denise wanted to make a movie that 
would sell bigtime. Which it should. Bon is a very charismatic and 
videogenic character. And she never lost a tough gal match, she went 22-
0. She's sent us tapes of some of her fights, and she really kicked some 
wicked ass up there. Hey, she's the one who turned Brooke into a 
pacifist with a single pacifying fist to the chest. Quite a feat. The 
Tonya Fight Night tape is a best seller on Harry's Venomous Video label, 
by the way, which wouldn't bother me except that that's the night Ice 
killed Flung, which will haunt me forever. 

Speaking of Ice, that brings me to Sara. The three months she spent in 
Karla Faye Tucker as Ice's slave--this was after she got transferred for 
killing Brooke's slave, Julie the Coolie, with a paper towel dispenser 
while she was freaked out on K-Fad, the psychotic drug--really 
traumatized her. She was forced to get a ball and chain tattoo with 
"Ice" written on the ball, and she just got humiliated on a daily basis, 
having to toss Ice all the time and do all the housework in their cell 
like she was a maid. It doesn't sound that bad, really, especially when 
you consider how goddamn cute Ice is, but Sara was really guilty about 
caving Julie the Coolie's head in, and, as I found out later during a 
tear-soaked drunken phone confession, she's still suffering psychically 
from accidentally killing her stepfather when she was 14. He tried to 
molest her while she was working out in the basement and she punched him 
in the balls so hard his heart stopped. Her mother never forgave her for 
this, she was crazy about the guy. 

Another great thing about having Sara around is it'll take my mind off 
Colossally Calved Caitlin. I'm Bonaly--head over heels--in love with 
her, as we used to say in Tonya. Shit, I'm getting nostalgic for stir 
now that I'm thinking about Sara. The party we had that night after we 
drove Tonya back to Cobblestone Gardens, since she couldn't drive 
herself, she was Bobek Oksana (falling down drunk), was so good I wanted 
to shit myself. OK, I *did* shit myself, but I was sitting on the toilet 
at the time, right after a pee, with Cait on her knees in front of me 
lapping at my pisswet pussy like she was a kitten with whiplash. We 
didn't have enough Af-Gro Sheen to slather it on all four of us, 
unfortunately, so Cait got a coating on her calves, Stef did her bi's 
again and Brittany and I did the sweaty skin- fling thing. And we got 
off just fine like that. Shit, that stuff is potent. I've still got 
images of Cait's hot trotters playing through my mind in a lewd film 
loop that feeds itself cunt-scented quarters. She stands up high on her 
pulchritudinous piggies, the X-Acto blade ankles, inked in interlocking 
red and black rings of chain and barbed wire, 'shrooming out into sonic 
booms of calf muscle, which we metered at 21 flat, drug assisted. On a 
girl that short, unfuckingbelievable. We're getting more of this awesome 
ointment in a couple days, I made an appointment to see this Professor 
Pep lady in Santa Herminosa. 

But right now we've got to tend to Tonya. She's got a show for the Hung 
Republicans tonight at the Santa Humonga Armory, and she's worried about 
her face, which is still kind of bruisy despite all the Zmeskaline. Her 
thigh still has faint kick marks on it, too, we're gonna have to do some 
touchups there. The word from the RWF so far is no word at all. Ned the 
Head is conducting an "investigation" of the incident, and Tonya was 
distinctly *not* invited to Charlie Montrose's funeral. She wanted to 
attend but she was banned by his family. There isn't another RWF show 
for a week--the next one's in Sacramento--and as of now Tonya's supposed 
to be there. But she sure as hell won't be head-butting anybody. 

Which brings us to the buttheads known as the Hung Republicans. Yeah, 
Ton is doing a show for *guys*. Money talks, bullshit walks, and they're 
paying her a cool $7500 for an hour's work. It's chump change to a bunch 
of compassionately conservative guys in their 20s and 30s who have big 
cocks and even bigger bankrolls. The word is you can't get into the HR 
unless you're a John with at least 9 inches of birch in your pants. 
They're all white, of course, in this exclusive club for men with 
exclusive clubs. And they like nothing better than hooting and hollering 
at a piece of superhumanly built trailer trash while they jerk off all 
over their Brooks Brothers suits. Stef and I are sitting stoned 
backstage reading magazines during the show. No need to do the security 
stage-defense thing, these fellas are way too prep-schooled to hassle 
the talent. Our presence out front would only distract them, anyway, 
we're too big. Ton has a very elaborate show planned, with special music 
for the occasion: Jewel. The Hung Republicans are nuts about Jewel. I 
mean, she's cute, but I don't think they'd be so crazy about her if her 
name was, like, Zircon. 

Anyway, Ton's doing her profane pump and pose in her spangled red, white 
and blue bikini with the matching spike heels, and she's got her mic 
headset on, she's getting lipstick all over the windscreen, she's 
painted up like a clown, and Stef and I are off in the wings laughing 
hysterically over the new issue of Jump. That's this teengirl rag, which 
has a How'd You Get That Bodypart? feature, this month on Keri 
"Felicity" Russell, who's explaining how she got her arms. Never mind 
the obvious question: What arms? Her "biceps buff-up" starts like this: 
"Grab a 3- to 5-pound weight (or a full 12-ounce water bottle) in each 
hand." We didn't get any farther, we started laughing so hard the tears 
were flowing and we couldn't see. Either can Ton, she's wearing so much 
fucking eye makeup she looks like a transvestite. Anyway, her act is a 
smash hit and it ends with a smash hit: the ice block head-break. By the 
time a couple of pert and pretty Armory assistants wheel out the ice, 
half the audience has jacked off at least once, many twice, and the 
stone floor is slick with sticky dick drippings. Yuck. The head butt 
goes off without a hitch and Ton gets a standing ovation, though 
everyone's standing very carefully so they don't get spunk on the soles 
of their Bruno Maglis. 

Then the curtain closes and the applause is deafening as Ton heads to 
her dressing room backstage, giving us a cross-eyed look as she passes 
like she's got another splitting headache from the human ice pick 
routine. We start to follow her as she turns off to go into the 
backstage ladies room and as she passes through the door a big dark 
black girl in jeans and a red muscle tee goes in behind her and in the 
quick glimpse we get all we see is masses of huge delt and tricep. 

"Who the fuck was that?" Stef wonders with alarm. 

"An Armory strongarm?" I guess. 

"I never saw any female strongarm here before," Stef says, looking at me 
funny. 

Then we hear the grunts of a struggle and we both sprint for the ladies 
room, but we're too late. The black girl has pushed Ton into a toilet 
stall and pushed a long switchblade into her back, her left arm wrapped 
around Ton's throat, the right hand wiggling the knife in deeper, trying 
to push it right out Ton's front. Stef is in ahead of me, so she deals 
with the situation. She *really* deals with it. She takes the girl by 
the wrist of her knife hand and, in the cramped space of the toilet 
stall, pulls the arm around and up and breaks it fast and hard, though 
this is like a 19-inch hunk o' meat we're talking about. The black girl 
is screaming as she lets loose of Ton's neck and tries to elbow Stef 
with her good arm and Stef grabs *that* luscious limb and armbars it 
with max efficiency, breaking it too. I can hear the sharp crack of bone 
in between the screams and it makes me wince. This reminds me of the 
attack on Stef in the bathroom in Tonya on the day of her first Sinew 
shoot, but that was a much smaller girl. This very foxy black girl is 
like 5-11, 220, but now she has a pair of very big broken arms that are 
bent all weird and she's whimpering with the agony as Stef hurls her out 
of the toilet stall and bounces her off a wall as I grab onto Ton's 
shoulders and carefully ease the knife out of her back and toss it into 
a corner. The blood starts flowing right away and Ton is cursing 
nonstop, a string of snarling fucks and shits coming out of her mouth 
and when she turns around blood is coming out of her mouth too, running 
in trickles onto her chin, which makes my stomach quiver. 

"Christ, she punctured a lung, Ton. Come with me." I shuffle her out of 
the bathroom and into the dressing room as Stef grabs the black girl and 
forces her head into the toilet stall entrance and starts slamming the 
stall door on it over and over, growling like a pit bull, in a rage that 
she let Ton get stabbed. 

I quickly call 911 on the phone in the dressing room as I listen to the 
background sounds of the door banging on the girl's head. Stef's gonna 
kill her, I know it. I press a towel into Ton's back as hard as I can 
and tell her to shut up when she starts to say something. I put her 
jacket over her shoulders as best I can and walk her out to the front 
entrance, yelling for Stef, who comes running out of the bathroom, her 
shirt spattered with the black girl's blood. 

"Did you kill her?" 

"I don't know," say Stef, her chest heaving. "The door came off its 
hinges." 

"You ever seen her before?" 

"No, I don't think so. She's gotta be DS. She's pretty big." 

"But why just one girl? If they wanted to off Ton, why one girl with a 
knife?" 

Ton starts to say something and we tell her to shut up and we cover her 
bloody mouth with a towel. 

"Why would they want to eliminate her anyway?" Stef reasons. "They want 
to *turn* her." 

"We'll sort it out later," I shrug. "Let's get Ton fixed up first." 

So we ride with Ton in the ambulance to Santa Humonga State Hospital, 
the little EMS chicks gawking the whole way at Ton's near-naked 
hugeness--she's still in the stage bikini, pumped to the gills. She 
spends a couple hours in surgery, but it's nothing life-threatening for 
a girl as sturdy as she is. We sit in the waiting room the whole time, 
getting stared at by everyone, visitors and hospital employees alike, 
even though we keep our jackets on. I feel like some kind of sideshow 
attraction trapped under these hot fluorescents. We already called the 
incident in to our Roids control, who happens to be the delectable 
Evelyn Roper, the resident psychologist and Roids recruiter at Tonya. 
She got promoted somewhere along the way, or maybe she always had more 
power than she was letting on. Anyway, she's the only Roids official we 
deal with. We go outside to call her on the cell for an update and she 
tells us that Ton's attacker is in the same hospital getting her 
fractured skull and arms attended to. Someone from the Armory staff 
must've called in for her, 'cause we never mentioned her to the EMS 
crew. We just said Ton was stabbed in the back, whoever did it got away, 
we just found her with the knife in her. 

"So who is this big black girl?" I ask Evelyn, thinking about how much 
I'd like a nice bowel-loosening Feng Schwing massage right now. "Is she 
DS?" 

"Nope. Nothing of the sort. She's Matiqua Montrose. Charlie Montrose's 
eldest daughter. She's 21 and she's an all-state heavyweight wrestler at 
Gabrielle University. Have you heard of her? You follow the collegiate 
scene?" 

"No way, don't know her from Eve. I don't follow any wrestling except 
the RWF these days. And I guess I won't be following *that* for a while, 
either. That explains the bizarre attack, though. It's just mindless 
revenge. I'm kinda relieved that it wasn't the DS." 

"So am I," says Evelyn. "That would precipitate a major war. It's the 
last thing we need. War takes time and time is money. The funny thing 
is, the Roids practically *own* Gabrielle U." 

"Are you saying she was hired to hit Tonya?" 

"No, not at all. The Roids don't want to do anything with Tonya except 
exploit her celebrity. It's just a weird coincidence. But when she 
graduates, Matiqua is sure to be a Roids operative, what with her size."  

"So what do we do now?" 

"Go home. I'm sending other agents to guard Tonya's room. She's gonna be 
in the hospital for a few days, I'm sure. And then she's gonna have to 
recuperate. Maybe we'll send her away somewhere for a while, find you 
girls something else to do. Why don't you come by my place tomorrow for 
a reassignment discussion? Be here at noon, we can have lunch. OK?" 

"Sure, Ev." My innards are already quivering just thinking about a 
session with Ev. I fill Stef in on the conversation, then we take a cab 
back to the Armory where the Jimmy is parked. The cabbie tries to make 
conversation about how big we are and Stef threatens to rip his leg off 
and beat him to death with it if he doesn't shut up. He shuts up. Stef's 
sulking, she's mad at herself for letting Ton down. She blames herself, 
not me at all. Like, I'm not really a bodyguard, just her companion. 
Whatever. I'm just relieved that Ton's gonna be OK and that Stef didn't 
kill the Montrose girl. Now the question is will someone want revenge 
for what Stef did to her. Ned the Head calls to find out about Tonya--
the news that she's in the hospital has been leaked to the press, but 
*why* she's in the hospital is still a secret--and tells me Charlie 
Montrose's other daughter is only 12 and his one son is in the Army in 
Germany. But who knows what kind of gung-ho friends Matiqua has? She's a 
college wrestler, after all, at Gabrielle, the number one musclechick 
school in the state. Their idea of a prank is to turn over a parking 
lot's worth of cars, and that's when they're in a *good* mood. 

Can't worry about that. It's late already. Stef and I blow a doob, have 
some Stoli and watch TV as I sit behind her on the bed and try to 
massage the tension out of her densely knotted shoulders. But the first 
thing we get is a late-breaking news bulletin about the Mashed Man of 
the Mall, as the tabloids like to call Dennis. Matiqua Montrose, a 
suspected "illegal performance drug abuser," has been charged with his 
murder. A high school yearbook pic of Matiqua pops up onscreen, her 
thick, trap-heavy grappler's neck lending her sweet face a lethal edge. 
So, the DS has been pulling some strings of its own. But why? I think 
pinning Dennis' murder on Matiqua will give Stef a chuckle, but she only 
scowls all the more. Well, Matiqua's gonna be in deep shit, assuming she 
lives and she's not a vegetable. Cait and Brit took the news about 
Dennis very well, by the way. I mean the news that he was dead. Not that 
Stef did it. They don't know that, they think it was a NADS job. They're 
going to lose the house, but they don't care much about that either. 
They have a lot of drug money saved up and they're quite happy to take 
their own apartment. 

The next morning I'm taking my usual 6-mile run around the reservoir in 
Santa Shorta War Memorial Park--it feels real good to smoke a joint 
while sitting on the cannon with a big clit chubby, but this is not that 
kind of party day. We're gonna have to drive back up to Humonga later 
and visit Ton in the hospital and I bet she'll give us hell. Stef didn't 
even join me, she's so bummed about what happened she stayed in bed, 
claiming she didn't sleep well last night. Just as I'm winding down to a 
slow trot, two big short girls join me, one on either side, their 
mountainous bustlines erupting with every stride. "Dunn and Gomez!" I 
almost shout, and I can't hide my pleasure at seeing them. Gomez, sure 
enough, is sporting the late stages of a wicked shiner. 

"You recognize us?" Dunn asks in surprise. 

"I've been digging your Burly Girlie pictorial," I explain, panting. 
"And Tonya ID'd you after seeing it. That was right after you punched 
her out." 

"She threw the first punch, you know what I'm sayin'?" Gomez goes. "We 
were just there to talk. She put a fist in my eye from outta nowhere." 

"So I had to tag her a few times," says Dunn. 

"We didn't hurt her that bad, right?" asks Gomez. 

I pause and look the two NADS nookies over. They're already breathing 
hard from jogging 100 feet. They don't look like big cardio types, but 
anything but an exercise bike would be tough with tits like these. 
They're in cutoffs and the same tight Rimfire Girls tees that Tonya 
mentioned. With Timberland boots and heavy sweat socks. They look good 
like this. Good enough to eat. We're standing on a narrow dirt path 
that's pretty deserted. They're not gonna pull any shit on me, are they? 
"No, she was OK after plenty of ice and Zmeskaline," I go, not knowing 
if they know about the attack last night, though I bet they do. "I'm 
glad you didn't kick the shit out of her. We couldn't be chatting like 
this if you really hurt her." 

"Really hurting her is the last thing we wanna do," says Dunn. "We 
happen to think the girl totally rocks." 

"She does, in her own way," I go. "She really got herself together after 
all the shit she went through. She just has a really nasty temper, 
though. So what brings you two to the park? You know who I am, of 
course, right?" 

"You're Jenna Takedown," says Dunn, like it's totally obvious. 

"We used to jerk off to your high school wrestling tape all the time, 
you know what I'm sayin'?" adds Gomez. 

I laugh bitterly. "Yeah, I know. Practically everyone I meet has that 
damn tape, which I don't make a penny off of." 

"Harry Dexter makes all the money," says Dunn. "Hell, the tape was his 
idea, he *should* make all the money. Venomous Video, hot operation 
right now. I hear that Kadaffy Duck guy in Libya has the whole Venomous 
collection. Watches tapes all day while getting blowjobs from his harem. 
Daddy drains his bag in Baghdad. Not *too* excellent." 

"I should get royalties from the bastard. Harry, I mean." 

"You can't complain, babe," Dunn replies knowingly. "You're 18 and on 
salary with the She Roids. An apartment, a car, health insurance, 
everything. Didn't even have to graduate high school." 

"And you girls are on salary with the NADS, right? Is this an official 
visit? Are you DS? You girls have to be DS, big and strong as you are. 
What 'troph you on?" 

"It's official now, but if we take it up to your place it's, like, 
unofficial. You know what I'm sayin?" Gomez leers up at me, not 
bothering with any of my questions. 

"It's official insofar as we're telling you we know what happened to 
Tonya last night and we want to make sure you understand we had nothing 
to do with it," says Dunn, also avoiding any discussion of herself. 

"I know you had nothing to do with it. How do you know about it?" 

"We know about everything, you know what I'm sayin'?" Gomez husks, 
making cow eyes at me and flexing her pecs so her tee shirt jerks like 
her tits are gonna blow out of it. 

Dunn continues, "And we *are* selling the tape of Tonya fucking that 
rapist to death--we know all about Def Stef and her rape and her arson 
too--we're selling it to Harry Dexter for a cut of the overseas 
distribution. It'll be massive in the Third World, way bigger than her 
wedding video. We want you to know this now, before it happens." 

"You asking for permission?" 

"No, but we're asking for your understanding in the matter," says Dunn. 
"The tape will end before the guy dies, or before it's apparent he's 
dead. So it's not being marketed as a snuffie. It's just hidden camera-
type footage of Tonya getting it on with a guy who's bound to a home 
gym. Since the photography is so fucking static, it's Tonya's name and 
face that sells it. And body. Fuck, that girl got put together bigtime 
in a hurry! Harry's thinking about calling it Tonya's Butt Bench. She 
does a lotta really intense anal, and she keeps up a really good 
commentary, all of it quite audible. Too bad there's no closeups." 

"That's a terrible title," I complain. 

Dunn nods in agreement and says, "Well, in Algeria or some fucking place 
like that it'll be translated as The Strong-Bodied Disgraced Ice Queen 
Tortures a Decadent American College Student With Viselike Contractions 
of Her Rump Region. The point is, it's gonna happen and there's nothing 
Tonya can do about it, and she's not getting any money for it either." 

There's a lot Tonya can do about it. Like lean on Harry. But I'm sure 
he's not selling the tape without Roids approval. "What if she joins the 
NADS?" I ask. 

"Don't matter," says Gomez. "The tape's a done deal. She'll never join 
the Sisterhood anyway, you know what I'm sayin'?" 

"And what happens when the guy is identified? He's missing, you know." 

"So what?" says Dunn. "Plenty of people in porn films are missing. No 
one cares. He was dumped by a Roids disposal team, he'll never be found. 
He's a Tonya toy, that's all." 

"And how about you two? You wanna be Jenna toys? You wanna play with me 
today?" I'm checking out the racks on this pair, which are so enormous 
they hang on their power-paunchy beer bellies even though they're 
wearing these humongous industrial tittie harnesses. I'm thinking about 
the boob bashing they gave that little guy in Burly Girlie. I want my 
head in their cleavage too and I don't care if I get a fat lip. 

"We'd love to go home with you and make a foursome," Gomez smiles. She 
has great teeth and really dark sexy eyes. 

She starts to stroke my bare arm and it's making my nipples grow. I'm 
wearing this gray, sweat-soaked, way too small Santa Chucho Varsity 
Wrestling tee over two Nike sports bras. Gotta double up when I run; 
even with tits this firmly pitoned on a mountain of pec, a bustline this 
big is just bouncing in my face like my chin was doing the rat-a-tat on 
twin punching bags. The shirt is from my high school days, and I'm so 
much bigger now it looks more like some kid's baby tee, pulled up so my 
hard belly shows, the sleeves so short almost all of my delts are 
bulging out like a three-headed hydra. "Forget about that," I go. "Stef 
is very upset about what happened to Tonya last night and she's not too 
thrilled with what you two did to Ton either. I don't just mean the 
beating, I mean stealing the tape." 

"Ton should never have made the tape," says Dunn. 

"Fucking A to that," I say, rubbing Dunn's tricep, which is about as big 
as a normal girl's neck. "Gimme a number where I can reach you. I'm busy 
today, but we may be able to get together tonight." 

Dunn hands me a business card, making a show of her bicep, which is so 
fat and round I have to bite my tongue not to ask for a ride on it, and 
she kisses my bare arm, then playfully bites the taut flesh, leaving wet 
tooth marks across the heavy vein that piques my peak. "Later, girl." 
Then they jog away, and I watch their huge calves pump into the 
distance, big buttcheeks shuddering. Jesus, these girls are built. I 
wonder what they're on . . . . 

My mother wonders what *I'm* on, for the umpteenth time. I told her more 
than once I was on Titanic, it's a liquid made from kelp and snake venom 
and stuff, but she doesn't get it. I'm over for a quick visit. Since 
we're going to Santa Rauncho to see Ev, I had Stef drop me off in 
Chucho, which isn't too far away. She'll pick me up later, I don't need 
Mom getting freaked over her too. So I'm standing in the kitchen, 
careful not to walk into the hanging light that's about on a level with 
my face now, and Mom's giving me that wide-eyed gawk of barely concealed 
fear and loathing, just like I get all the time from women in the 
supermarket and what have you. I didn't bother to cover up or anything, 
I'm in a tank top and cutoffs. Let Mom take me as I am, I'm her flesh 
and blood, though you'd be hard-pressed to guess it. But I'm not here to 
give her a hard time. She's having that already. Dad left her just after 
I got sprung and moved to Ohio with a waitress he met at the Hooter 
Hacienda. Shit. Mom's 40 and alone. She has no other children, her 
parents are dead and her sister lives in Florida. I keep telling her to 
start dating--she's a good-looking woman, fairly trim--but she can't 
bring herself to do it yet. 

"So, are you taking care of yourself, Jenna?" Mom goes, sort of cringing 
beneath me, nervously wrapping a dish towel around her hands. She's only 
5-6 and weighs like 135. She never touched a weight in her life. Maybe 
if she had, Dad would've stayed. Those Hacienda girls aren't just 
topheavy, most of 'em are real fit. Then again those Hacienda girls have 
boobs the size of seedless watermelons, and Mom's a 36B. 

"Don't I look healthy, Mom?" I almost unconsciously expand my chest as I 
say this, then my nervousness takes over and my pecs jerk real hard so 
all the muscle shifts and swells from my breastbone right back into my 
armpits, making my nipples plump up in her face like Ball Park binkies. 
If I was in a wicked mood I'd hit a double bi now and do some alterna-
tittie jerks and *really* flip her out, but I'm trying to be decent 
here. 

"Healthy's hardly the word, Jenna." She looks up into my eyes for a 
quick second, then looks down at my leg and blinks a few times, like my 
vein-fat calf can't be real. 

"Mom, I'm fine. How about you? You should really join a gym and get some 
exercise." 

"Jim. He hasn't sent any money this month." She shakes her head sadly. 

That's Dad's name. I guess I shoulda said "health club." We sit down at 
the table for coffee, and Mom lights a Winston. She smokes like two 
packs a day now that she's alone, it's disgusting. "Don't worry about 
money, Mom, I brought for ya." I put $400 cash on the table. The house 
is paid off, and Dad's got the taxes covered, but he doesn't send money 
regularly. Mom doesn't make much as a Barnes & Noble assistant night 
manager. She never worked at all till I was in high school. 

"Is this clean money?" she asks quietly. She insists on thinking I get 
my money as a collector for loan sharks. Like I go to guys' houses and 
break their legs if they don't pay up. That's the only way she can 
rationalize my size. The funny thing is, Mom, though she has no athletic 
background of her own at all, was a big supporter of mine during my high 
school wrestling career. I was only 5-9, 160 then, with, like, 16-inch 
arms, and she could deal with it. Mainly because I was winning, I think. 
If I was getting pinned all the time, instead of doing all the pinning, 
I'm sure she would have urged me to quit. 

"Mom, for the last time, I'm an employee of the She Roids. A quasi-
governmental agency. Affiliated with the DEA. Uh, formerly. We're 
supported by tax dollars, sort of." I wisely leave out the parts about 
all the illegal nastiness the Roids are into, not to mention all the 
murders they commit. Mom's the kind of woman who thinks Xena: Warrior 
Princess is way too violent. 

Out of nowhere, she goes, "Jenna, you're so big, how do you find clothes 
that fit?" 

So I tell her about the Jane Russell House of Voluptua for the tenth 
time, then we chat insanely for another five minutes, in which I try to 
make it sound like I lead a normal life bodyguarding for Tonya Harding--
yeah, normal, right--then I call Stef on the cell and have her pick me 
up. I need a massage from Ev so bad now I can taste it . . . . 

And now I can smell it. I just pissed and crapped myself all over Ev's 
Feng Schwing table, which she expected me to do, and which I kind of 
expected myself, at least the pee, but it's still sort of embarrassing 
when it happens. Mainly the poop. It makes me feel like a baby. "Oh, 
Jesus, Ev. How do you do that thing on my spine? I just open up like a 
flower, I lose all control." 

"Pressure points, darling, I'm licensed. Vertebral triangulation. 
Flipped discs. The spine divine. And your loss is your gain. Don't you 
feel great now?" 

"I always feel great around you." 

Ev is straddling my prone body on the table, her strong hands still 
pressed into my back, her massive legs spread wide, careful not to get 
in the shit that's steaming between my thighs. We're both naked and 
sweaty. She neatly swings herself off the table on her palms like she 
was doing a dismount on the pommel horse and has her Asian housegirl, 
Kim No Vac, prepare the table for Stef's turn. There's a towel under me, 
of course, for easy cleanup, and Kim wipes down my thighs and cheeks 
with hot soapy washcloths. She's fabulous--a really cute 16-year-old 
refugee from Viet Nam who was orphaned when she was a baby. Her parents 
stepped on a land mine, got blown into the air and landed on another 
land mine. That's some really shitty luck. She grew up in a home for 
wayward girls in Ho Chi Minh City. Really toughens you up. She knows 
like 10 Southeast Asian fighting styles. She's skinny and only 5-5, but 
she's naturally muscular and Ev has her on Titanic and tortures her in 
the weight room five times a week. Ev has legally adopted her, pulling 
some She Roids strings to sidestep all the usual red tape. Kim's been 
here only six weeks, and we're all expecting great things from her. 
Right now we're expecting great things from Stef's ass. Maybe a good 
massage will get her out of her funk. But probably not. We still have to 
see Tonya later. As it turns out, Stef doesn't shit, but she pees and 
then she starts farting like some kind of novelty sound effects record. 
Loud, long, stinky cheese rips that go on for a couple of minutes and 
have me in hysterics. 

"So that's why you were so pouty, huh, Stef? Bad gas." 

"We let Tonya almost get killed," Stef whines. "I feel so fucking bad 
about it I've got indigestion." Then she tears another. 

"Jesus, did someone shove a kazoo up your ass?" I joke. Stef looks at me 
so crossly, I feel like I just got punched by her eye. 

"You feel better now, don't you, babe?" asks Ev, who's gotten off Stef's 
back and moved across the room to escape the foul cloud. 

"Yeah, I do, Ev," Stef smiles wanly. "You're the best." 

Ev grins with den-motherly delight, her big tits jerking proudly with 
pec flexion. Largesse did Ev so righteous, she looks like two scoops of 
hot buttered muscle love on a cunny cone. I wish my mother was built 
like this. Ev's older than Mom, but so much better. Maybe I should bring 
Ev over for dinner some time, let Mom soak up her vibe. Ev could tell 
her all about how she abuses her husband. Yeah, right. Like Mom would 
ever hit Dad. When she sees an ant in the house she catches it and lets 
it go outside. "Now go to the shower and let Kim clean you off one more 
time, then you both get dressed and come into the den," Ev trills 
officiously. "I want to talk business with you." 

At the time I was sprung, I thought I'd be seeing a lot of Ev on the 
outside. We were beginning to get real close. But that was before I got 
the Tonya gig and moved in with Stef. Back then I couldn't help but 
think of Ev as Mrs. Roper, but I got over that. She's still technically 
married, but she had another bad spat with her husband a few months ago 
and broke his hand so bad, using just her own bare finger strength, he 
needed all kinds of surgery and he's still in rehab. He got a 
restraining order against her and she's not allowed within 500 yards of 
him anymore. Not that Ev has to worry about the law when it comes to 
battering her hubby--she's in the She Roids. 

And so are we, maybe more so than ever. The gist of Ev's business talk 
is the Roids have formed a new special unit to replace the Doom Patrol, 
which was disbanded some years ago after one too many murder scandals. 
"It's called the CHICKA," she explains. "California Hypertrophics 
Institute and Center for the Killing Arts." 

"Looks like they got murder right there in the title," Stef notes 
sourly. 

"Yeah, they do," Ev says pleasantly. "There'll be a lot of killing done 
by the CHICKA, but you don't necessarily have to be a cold-blooded 
murderer to be in it. There'll be plenty of other things going on 
besides assassination. I'm really glad you didn't kill Matiqua Montrose, 
by the way, Stef." 

"Why's that?" Stef asks, wincing at the memory of last night. 

"She's the best wrestler in the state and she goes to Gabby U., which I 
don't have to tell you is a Roids school. She's as good as Jenna was in 
high school." Ev should know, she has my wrestling tape. 

"Well, she's not gonna be wrestling any more *this* year," Stef sneers. 

"No, but she'll make a big comeback, I bet. She's getting the full Roids 
treatment, Zmeskaline bone marrow implants, top surgeon called in, 24/7 
rehab in a state of the art facility. Her head injuries aren't too 
serious after all, I heard." 

"Is this supposed to make me feel good?" Stef says heatedly. "She put a 
knife in Tonya's back." 

"Purely emotional reaction to the death of her father. She was really 
Daddy's little girl. We didn't foresee it, and we should have. Plus, 
she's on a special PHEW-based Kaboost supplement that really puts her 
into rages. It was our fuckup, not yours, Stef. No one's blaming you 
'cause Ton got stuck in the lung." 

"We saw her named as the killer of the Mashed Man of the Mall last 
night," I go. "What was *that* all about?" 

"The NADS fucking around," says Ev, with a deprecating wave of her hand 
that makes the veins in her forearm twist and swell. "That charge has 
already been withdrawn, Matiqua has an alibi for that murder. Which was 
committed by we know who, huh, Stef?" 

Stef's gorgeous blue eyes flash at Ev with anger. "I killed a fucking 
rapist. Was I supposed to ask the Roids for permission first?" 

"No," says Ev calmly, "but you sure as hell should've reported it after 
the fact. We have to know what you're up to, Stef. The only reason we 
*do* know what you're up to is Tonya had to call in a disposal team 
after she killed your other rapist." 

"Tonya did that totally by accident, and my revenge on these rapists is 
not a Roids deal, it's personal," Stef says, her voice rising with 
anger, the muscles in her neck and shoulders starting to tighten 
dangerously. 

"Chill, Stef," says Ev with a patronizing smile. "It's OK, we understand 
your vengeance. Just try to keep us posted when you do things that could 
get you arrested. I just *love* what you did to that guy, by the way. 
Beating him to death with a revolving door! Shit, that's pure genius." 

"Let's get back to the CHICKA," I go, desperate to change the subject, 
as Stef looks like she's about to say something nasty. "What's the 
Hypertrophics Institute part about?" 

Ev smiles and beckons to Kim to sit on her lap. She brushes Kim's thigh-
length glossy black tresses while she talks. "New drug labs, a new drug 
program. There's a new lab in Santa Herminosa now, it's CHICKA-operated. 
Gonna be great stuf coming outta there." 

"That's where Professor Pep is, right?" I go. 

"Yes. Have you met her?" 

"No, but we're going to. We got turned on to a really cool salve, sort 
of a combo aphrodisiac and Load Lotion, by these black girls who do a 
leg-fetish act. The Soleus Sisters? They got it from Pep." 

"Really!" says Ev with interest. "I've heard a lot about the good 
Professor, but I haven't met her yet. Make sure you bring back some of 
this salve for me, Jen." 

"For sure, Ev." 

"So what about the CHICKA?" Stef asks. "We have to do anything to join? 
Like, is there an initiation?" 

"No. You've done all you have to do to join, just being who you are. But 
it's a combat role, mostly. Not a lot of standing around while guarding 
Tonya. Sorry, girls, I didn't mean it that way." 

"We know, Ev. Do we have to get tattooed? Is it like the Doom Patrol, 
with those crazy neck jobs?" 

Ev shifts her weight in her chair, actually lifting Kim into the air by 
the hips, and recrosses her legs, curling her foot down so her calf 
bulges huge. "No, not at all. It's totally secret, you won't be 
advertising the fact you're in the CHICKA. That's all I can tell you 
now, I was just sounding you out on it. Call me after you go to the lab 
and we'll arrange to get together again. We should party hearty sometime 
soon. I hear Bonny's coming back. I'd love to see her." 

"For sure," I go. "We'll get together, it'll be like old times. Sara's 
coming back too. She's leaving Texas." 

"No shit!" Ev goes with joy. "I bet that's because Ice got shipped to 
Amy Fisher. Sara is finally free from Ice's psychic hold on her." 

"You're right, Ev, it's something like that. You're such a great 
psychologist. I don't quite get it, but the fact that Ice is out of 
Texas is the only reason Sara can leave." 

 "And what about Tonya?" Stef asks, changing the subject again. The 
return of Sara is a sore spot with her. She wasn't thrilled when I broke 
the news to her. "Who guards her, if not us?" 

"Tonya's going to have to convalesce, as I understand it," says Ev. "She 
had pretty serious lung surgery, and when that heals she'll have to 
rebuild her physique to some degree. She'll probably go to Mexico, where 
the Roids have resorts for just that sort of thing." 

"I wonder what'll happen with her RWF contract," I go. 

"Oh, I expect she'll be back with them when she's back to normal," Ev 
says. "She's gonna make a lot of money for them over the long haul. 
They're still getting their shit together. Just wait till they go 
national." 

Then Stef leans onto one buttcheek and farts again, frowning fiercely, 
her ass blowing something that sounds like a foghorn and smells like 
bilge. "Sorry," she mutters as we giggle like schoolgirls.  

Then, while we're walking to the car to head for Santa Humonga, we see a 
bunch of schoolgirls who aren't giggling. They're screaming. A pack of 
five Sock Her Moms pour out the back of a minivan and wade into a group 
of four 16-year-old cutie pie cheerleader types and beat the snot out of 
them. The Sock Her Moms are all sturdy, well-muscled gals in their 40s, 
weight-trained and 'trophed, probably on PHEW, which has caught on 
bigtime lately, and they must have spent many an hour on the heavy bag, 
'cause they hit like suburban sledge hammers. Stef and I stop and watch 
them pound the shit out of the teens and then take the boot to them when 
they fall in the gutter between parked cars. No one interferes and there 
isn't a cop in sight. "Jesus," says Stef with disgust, "what's the deal 
with these Sock Her Moms? Forming gangs to beat up teen girls? I don't 
get it." 

"I saw a thing on CNN that said they're getting revenge on phony, punk-
ass youth culture," I go. "Like, they blamed Britney Spears for it, sort 
of. And Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But it's mainly the drugs. They're 
mostly doing the latest PHEW compound, which really gets your blood up, 
I heard. And you smell like a hot soldering gun." 

"Well, they sure got their revenge on those puny rah-rah chicks," she 
says. "That little blonde is getting her pretty face kicked in. Look at 
the arms on that redhead," Stef adds, pointing at the biggest of the 
Moms, who must go about 6 feet, 220, in a leopard-print sleeveless 
Danskin, black vinyl hot pants and Doc Martens. "She's a fucking 
*brute*, must be running 19 inches. She could be in the Roids." 

"Maybe she is," I say. "I heard a lot of older Roids and DS girls are 
part-timing with the Moms just for the fun of it." 

"What's the world coming to?" Stef asks gloomily. 

The redhead eyes us savagely--we're standing no more than 20 yards from 
them--but the Moms aren't coming after us. We're too big. Then again, we 
don't look like teens, really, certainly not at 20 yards. We look more 
like we're in our mid-20s. Though if there were 10 of them, I bet they'd 
rush us first and ask questions later. Anyway, we have to head for the 
hospital and see how Tonya's doing. 

It turns out not too bad. We get a very appreciative once-over from the 
guards outside her private room--a pair of heavily tattooed, pug-ugly 
Mexican bull dykes who tell us they used to be in Aileen Wuornos in the 
Anacondas gang and "graduated" to the Roids after they beat four inmates 
and a guard to death with their bare hands during a riot. Uh, cool. They 
oooh and aaaah over Stef's arms for a minute, paying no attention to me 
--finally, two chicks who don't have my wrestling tape! -- then we pop 
into Ton's room and there's a big black ass fringed in white skirt 
staring us in the face. It's a nurse, on her knees on the bed, chewing 
Ton's carpet like she was trying to resuscitate a drowning victim. If 
anyone's drowning, though, it's the nurse, who's got so much pussy juice 
in her mouth it's leaking out her nose. 

"Hi, girls," says Ton, as the big-titted, hip-heavy nurse sheepishly 
gets off the bed and pulls her skirt down, patting her uniform all over 
with way too much enthusiasm. "Just gettin' a little friendly face after 
my medication. This is Cawana. She munches lap lunch like an African 
pants eater." Cawana grins at us, giggling with embarrassment, then 
checks her duty roster or whatever it is and gets the hell out. 

So Ton is sitting there propped up in bed with her throbbing clit 
standing up like a big pink passion fruit, her white hospital gown 
pulled up above her bellybutton, which is puckered with muscle. "Anyone 
for sucking candy?" she goes, giddy with joy, her gray eyes twinkling. 
She must be high on painkillers. I exchange meaningful looks with Stef, 
and we both realize this will be a piece of cake. After all, Ton isn't 
drunk, she's *drugged*. She's so mellow, she just let a black chick eat 
her mere hours after a black chick  almost *greased* her. "Didja check 
out those Aztec bitches they put outside my door?" she gushes merrily. 
"Lucky this ain't the cardiac ward. You could get a heart attack just 
lookin' at those inked-up pit bulls. I guess they didn't wanna get me 
sexually excited after my surgery. But they overlooked Cawana. And she 
ain't easy to overlook. But she's easy to look over. Soul food, ya gotta 
love it." So we have a brief chat, which kind of rambles since Ton is 
semi-coherent, and then I get on the bed and finish what the nurse 
started. Ton's entitled to that much. Stef just watches, trying not to 
fart too often. 

In the car going home Stef is tight-lipped behind the wheel, her face a 
gorgeous mask of misery. "What is it with you?" I go. "We just saw Tonya 
and got not the slightest shit from her. She was happy as a clam." 

"She was flying on morphine or something." 

"So what? You were expecting to get chewed out by her and instead she 
got chewed out by *me*. Can't you lighten up now? Everything's OK now, 
right? Isn't it?" 

"No, not really." 

"What is it, Stef? Tell me." 

"It's just been a bad week, OK? I killed Dennis, Tonya killed Brad, 
Tonya almost *got* killed, I almost killed this Montrose chick . . ." 

"So what's so bad? Two of your rapists are dead, Ton's OK and so's the 
Montrose chick, apparently. All's well that ends well." 

Stef shoots me a wounded look. "Yeah, that *ends* well. Like you and me. 
We're ending, and I don't think there's anything too *well* about that." 

"Oh, it's Sara. You have issues with Sara coming back to Cali?" 

"Of *course* I have issues with it. It means we're breaking up." 

"But you'll have Big Bon." 

"Who said I wanted Bon? She's a fucking *giant*. I want you." 

Stef's crying. There are tears trickling under her Killer Loops, and I'm 
suddenly so moved I don't know what to do. I'm getting all verklempt 
myself, my chest is heaving with big sighs and I can feel the salt water 
welling up in my eyes. I'd like to throw myself on her and start kissing 
her all over but she's driving. So I just stroke her thigh as tenderly 
as you can stroke 30 inches of poured concrete. "Stef, you don't have to 
leave. If you don't want to live with Bon, fine. You can stay with us. 
It'll be a menage. That's totally cool. I have to have Sara live with 
me, that's why she's coming back. I've been begging her to come back for 
months. But you're welcome to live with us. Sara loves you." 

"I'll just be in the way. You'll wanna do pee stuff." 

"You will not, don't be ridiculous. We can do pee stuff without you. 
We'll all sleep together, it's not a problem." I start rubbing Stef's 
arm, wondering for the hundredth time how anyone can have biceps so big 
and if mine'll ever break 21. 

"It's no good. It's over between us and I've got to get used to it. I'm 
gonna go on tour, I think, with Mega Ms. I got a call from Gloria 
Sternum. I didn't tell you about it. I'm supposed to meet her tomorrow 
at her office. I'd like you to come with me --for support. But I'm 
telling you now, if she makes me any halfway decent offer, I'm gonna go 
with her. Get out of Cali, get on the road, do some shows, make some 
tapes. I've got a pair of the biggest arms in captivity. I might as well 
let people see 'em." She smiles at me, tears running down her cheeks. 

I'm flabbergasted. "But what about the Roids? And what about Sinfully 
Sinew?" 

"I have no contract with Sinew. As for the Roids, I'm gonna talk to 
Evelyn. I'm not CHICKA material. I'm a spectacle. Like Amy Fisher." She 
flexes the arm I'm touching on the side and the brachialis punches into 
my hand like it was a fist. "I'll be happy to give the Roids a cut of 
all my earnings and do special publicity work for them or whatever. But 
I'm not any assassin or street fighter. What I did to Dennis was 
*personal*. Center for the Killing Arts? I don't think so." 

I don't know what to say, so I just continue handling Stef's arm, which 
has a soothing effect. I have a terrific desire to masturbate, but it 
doesn't seem appropriate. Actually, she's completely right and there's 
nothing to argue with her about, really. I'm no assassin either, but I'm 
hoping I can get into the hypertrophics part of the deal. Guinea pig a 
new drug, maybe. I think I might've topped out on Titanic. And I hate to 
admit it, but I'm thinking about how I can party with Dunn and Gomez 
tonight and not tell her. I've really got a chubby wubby on for the 
burly girlies. 

--30--