The Domino Club

by Mongoose750

The Domino Club; it's been a long time since I last visited, but it's good to be back. The club is a place where the city's movers and shakers, as well as businessmen and women come by to talk about the latest news regarding the business world, and to see underground woman's sumo wrestling.

Actually, 'underground' is a very crude term. It makes it sound like we have gladiators hacking each other to death in the basement, and we're sworn to secrecy not to tell anyone about it. That's not so. It just means the matches run separate from the standard sumo leagues in the US. It's generally where some independents (sumo wrestlers without a stable), and in some cases former league wrestlers compete. An average sumotori can make a pretty good living this way, and those at the top of the food chain could live very lucratively. However, the league is a closed one, and auditions are packed with women vying to enter this unique arena. This 'league' for lack of a better term, extends to clubs like the Domino Club, to places like the Elk's Club, to sometimes places like the so-called gentleman's clubs. Regarding the later, by agreement, those places decided to tell their dancers to take the day off, and have attendance by invitation only. Over a short time, the operation had extended all over most parts of the country.

How this started from what I've been told was at one club similar to this one, two businessmen who also happened to be owners of separate woman's stables met. As you can imagine, before the evening was halfway over, both were beating their chest, bragging how their ladies could beat the others, and how their best lady could beat the others best lady. Near the end of the night, they finally decided to do something about it. Then they remembered that the laws of the league prevented them to have their wrestlers participate in unsanctioned competition. Not deterred by this, they decided to chose some women who were auditioning to enter their stable and use them. This had a snowball effect, and beside being a great success, the two owners realized they had a separate operation to manage beside the one they currently have. And to quote the tired cliche, the rest was history.

A sumo bout here isn't much different from one at a standard tournament; in places like this, the audience is more exclusive and reserved. Or maybe the best way to say it is they have more money.

As for me, I'm a member because I started a business that has been booming. So much so, that it took most of my time over the last year. It didn't allow too much time for me to be social. The other day, I received an engraved invitation to arrive on Friday, and I thought, why not, I need a break. I reintroduced myself to those I knew, introduced myself to those I didn't, and after making the rounds, I excused myself to see the stablemaster and trainer. Going by raw memory, I traveled down a couple of hallways to this office that could have been bigger, but was still the size of a small bedroom. But the stablemaster was not much into the trappings and elaborate rooms that my kindred was.

Helen was watching a small television while munching on a plate of food that was provided by the club. Unlike everyone else, she was dressed casually in a short-sleeve loose black velour V-necked top, and straight leg blue jeans. Her long brown hair was trussed up in a bun. When she saw me, she rocketed from her chair and gave me a big, hug that bordered on bone crushing. Helen was a sumo wrestler in Russia, then moved to the states to start her own stable. Somehow she stumbled across running a stable for the business crowd.

'Morris, where have you been keeping that black behind of yours?' She asked in that rich Russian accent that years of American living hadn't erased completely. So I told her.

She just shook her head and said, 'I shouldn't have to remind you of that old American saying that all work and no play makes Jack, or in this case, Morris, a dull boy. You need to come by again on a regular basis like you did before. If you do not, I will come get you. You know I can do it too.'

I believed her. After all these years, she still looks the same, and remained as attractive as ever. She claims sumo keeps her young as well as strong. From the tight hug she gave me, there was no doubt of that. And though she's now about forty or forty-one (five or six years my senior), she still looked like she was in her thirties. She sat back in her chair and rested her bare feet on the edge of her desk. The soles were already good and black. Helen's trainer once said that you're not fit to be a sumo wrestler unless you're willing to get your feet dirty. She held strongly to that adage, even now during the middle of fall (now that I think of it, I never saw her wear shoes). During some auditions, I've actually seen her inspect the soles of her potential recruits, and then look them in the face as she asked them if getting dirty feet would be a problem to them. If they made a slight facial expression of discomfort, it did not bode well for them. One tried to argue that since they were performing in front of a more sophisticated crowd, they should be careful on appearances. Helen flashed flame as she replied it didn't matter if they were wrestling before a king, they still had to deal with dirt between their toes, and on the bottoms of their feet. This sport had no room for the dainty. Last I heard, I think that woman soon worked at another club as some type of fashion consultant or something that focused on appearances. I believe she thought that sumo here was like foxy boxing; where the women just giggle at each other and pretend they're doing sport. When she found out they really do throw each other out of the ring, she went elsewhere.

There was a rumor that Helen at one time fancied me. But before I could find that out, work started booming, I got busy, and well that was that. Like Helen said, all work and no play made Morris a dull and lonely boy. Well not lonely so much, but my social calendar was almost nonexistent.

So Helen and I played catchup with everything that went on over the last year, with constant reminders that I shouldn't have been gone so long.

'I have a good crop of sumotori that have been bringing some excitement to the club this year. One of them should really catch your attention. She's a heavyweight, stands about an inch and a half or two inches taller than me (Helen is 5'6" with a slight pear shape figure), and is not exactly from Japan, but she's second generation. Regarding the sport, she's third generation,' Helen began.

'So her father or mother and grandfather were sumo wrestlers?' I asked.

'Close. Her grandfather and grandmother were sumo wrestlers. Her mother did sumo, and her father played some other sport; what was it? Oh, he was a lightweight powerlifter, and a professional bowler. So as you can see, sumo is in her blood.'

'Oh yeah.' I couldn't help laughing about the woman's father being a bowler. Then again, my bowling stinks, so I couldn't say anything. 'What's her name?'

'Anji. You'll know her when you see her.' Helen glanced at her clock on the wall. 'Right now, you need to go back with the rest of the audience. I got to check on my ladies, and see if the competition has been taken care of tonight.' She gives me another firm hug. 'Come back here after the matches are over,' she whispered in my ear.

I told her I would, and left.

The difference between a sumo match among the 'common' folk, and one in this venue is minimal. With a standard match, you'll have people cheering the whole time after the referee says go. Here, the crowd is much more subdued, roaring their approval after the match is over. Less distraction, and they have more freedom to concentrate for those precious seconds in the match. Also with a standard tournament, the wrestlers wear their stables' colors. Here, the sumotori are free to wear what they want, provided it looks halfway decent. I've seen the mawashi, the belt sumo wrestlers wear, worn with sweatpants, shorts, bikini bottoms, or nothing at all. Regarding the tops, I've seen T-shirts, leotards, catsuits (not kidding), and I've seen two actually go topless. They were both heavyweights. One explained that was the way they wrestled in their native Samoa. The other was a black woman who said she was more comfortable competing this way, and this type of crowd wouldn't be focusing on her breasts anyway. Turned out she was right.

Despite being gone for a year, I still had enough connections to get myself a seat close to the ring. As I was watching the matches, I didn't realize how much fun and excitement I missed. Yeah, my life was sorely lacking all this fun. While I watched the lightweight and middleweight bouts, I saw Helen kept most of her ladies from last time, along with the new faces as well. I saw a Hispanic middleweight talk to a friend, dressed in an orange long-sleeve top and gray sweatpants. When it was time for her to go, she quickly shed both off, revealing an orange leotard with a gray mawashi. She looked like a bodybuilder, someone I wouldn't want to get mad. I smiled to myself, seeing that Helen hasn't lost her touch. This was further proven by the fact that her wrestlers were ahead in the matches overall. But I was quietly waiting for the heavyweights; I always liked seeing them. Helen knew that too. Eventually they started, and that's when I saw her.

Anji at first glance looked chubby. But when you took a closer look, it was easy to see that she had a large frame, and those thick arms, legs, and non-protruding stomach were muscular. Enough fat was layered on the frame to keep any bodybuilders from being jealous. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but she was built well. Then again, I can't imagine a powerlifter and a sumo wrestler combining together to create a puny kid. Her shoulder-length black hair blew in the winds of the large fans that helped circulate the air in the special room that was designed for this event. I guess to best describe her beauty, you would have to look at those paintings of the Renaissance, where the women were full figured, and actually looked like they ate their dinner, as opposed to today's models. She wore a black sports bra and short black shorts hiding under her mawashi. And she was definitely one of Helen's own, for her soles were filthy black.

She moved with a stride that oozed sensuality. Now let me explain that sensuality is not something you project because you happen to be a swimsuit model or playboy bunny. It has nothing to do with that. It's a form of confidence that makes many people stand up and notice. I've actually seen women who from my standpoint were plain or even unattractive, carry that sort of sensuality that made the men stumble over themselves trying to talk to them.

Her opponent wasn't a slouch either. Her nickname was Snow White, I kid you not. She was the same height as Anji, had fair skin, like Snow White, and short black hair. She had a build similar to that of a weightlifter. She was pretty as well, with not a sensual approach, but more of a commanding presence. Her green mawashi looked like it was made of silk, and the same went for her matching sports bra. No doubt she had the signs of a successful sumo wrestler. She probably had that outfit made for her, and I bet it wasn't cheap. As I said earlier, sumotori are paid well in our little circuit, but like anything else, a winning record carries plenty of perks. By the way, Snow White's real name is Abby. I found out later some spurned fan called her Snow White, and somehow it stuck.

As Anji strode over to the center of the ring, she looked around at the crowd, and - did she just wink at me? I could've swore she turned, looked right at me, and winked! I never met her before, so it couldn't be me. I subtly glanced around behind me to see who her target was, but I didn't see anyone stand out. It was probably nothing. I glance over at where Helen usually sat; and when she saw me, she patted a spot right by her, an invitation. I normally sat by her during these contests, but again, time away made me forget those little things. And the crowd gathered now made it hard for me to move. I shrugged my shoulders in apology. Too bad. I could've asked her who Anji was winking at.

A black woman in a flowing white kimono and white hose, walked onto the sandy surface prepared for the event, and introduced each wrestler. Hearing the voices behind me, apparently Snow White, er, Abby had gained quite a reputation around Chicago's South Side and the Upper Midwest. I heard some interesting things about Anji as well. One of them was she once posed nude for a magazine. It was a photograph for an art magazine, and the thought occurred to me that I need to make my contribution to the arts and pick up that copy. I'd ask Helen what she thought about it, but she's some distance away, and the match was about to start.

When you really take a close look at it, a sumo wrestling match can be a stage for high drama, similar to two gunfighters having a showdown at high noon. Neither one blinking, or daring to take their eyes off the other, and the whole town watches in silence to see who will draw first. Abby did the smart thing and examined her foe carefully, displaying a grim look. Anji on the other hand, had a look that seemed almost on the verge of smiling, but you can see she was taking her foe very seriously.

Battle plans were set, then reconfigured in mere seconds before they put that second fist down, and wait for the referee to say go. I always liked to sit as close to the ring as possible so I could see the war of thoughts that shown on their faces. Each wrestler slowly put their other fist on the sandy floor. The referee shouted begin, and the match was on.

Outsiders to the world of sumo fail to appreciate, or perhaps just can't see the hidden strategies that lie within. It's actually similar to a physical game of speed chess. Any participants who think it's just two people running into each other or just mere pushing find themselves in the dust. I have watched the sport for years, so I've picked out a few things.

Take the way they charged each other for example. That holds many different types of attacks alone. The Japanese teach their wrestlers to charge straight into their opponent, if not to push their opponent off the mat, at least to get a good grip on the others' mawashi before the other can react. The Europeans and Russians are a little more tentative, probing around for a possible weaknesses before they launch their attack. The United States, us, well, we're still finding our way.

Snow White, I mean Abby, had attempted several pushes to send Anji off-balance. Anji had responded in kind, and moved in close to Abby to keep her from doing anything right away. Anji's fingers quickly grabbed on to Abby's mawashi and pulled hard. Abby's feet was brought up on her tiptoes from the lift before she countered with an attempted pull. But despite her counter move, the damage was already done. Moving quickly, Anji half-walked, half-lifted Snow White to the edge of the ring. And it was over, within the space of under a minute.

The audience now delivered their polite applause, while the winner pulled the loser back into the ring, and gave her friendly hug.

After the matches were over, it was always customary for the wrestlers to shower, dress and appear to chat with the audience as a sort of friendly gesture I suppose. The wrestlers would not be seen as untouchable superstars, and the audience won't be seen as cold, rich snobs who couldn't care less about the women except as mere entertainment. I think that's the theory anyway. In any case, I didn't stick around; I went back to Helen's office like she asked me to. She normally stays out long enough to be personable, then retreats back there. During the time when I attended on a regular basis, I always went back and talked to her. I asked her once why she didn't stay out any longer with the crowd. She simply replied some of the clientele had a tendency to put on airs when she was around, and try to impress her with their achievements and wealth. Despite the nice position she had, she was still just a simple girl who liked pushing people around - her term for sumo wrestling.

She gave me a big smile when I arrived. It also seemed like she had those 'I know something you don't' looks on her face. She was leaning back in her chair, bare feet crossed on her desk.

'You liked the matches, yes?' She asked.

'Yes I did. As usual, Helen, you never fail to deliver,' I replied.

'Did you like the invitation?'

'Yes I did. Why, did you send them?'

'As a matter of fact, I did. I also designed them as well.'

'Well, that's an expansion of your duties here, isn't it?'

Helen's smile grew wider. 'Yes, expansion is the right word for it. Since I always 'delivered' as you say, I told the powers that be that some changes needed to be made. So now I'm the head of the clubs' entertainment. I now have a bigger budget, more of a say on who I choose to wrestle, and many things, like the invitations that were sent out. But I did this with you in mind.'

'Me?'

Helen patted a spot on the small sofa beside her desk. 'Have a seat, Morris, I need to tell you something.'

I sat down, a little tentatively. 'Okay Helen, what did you need to tell me?'

'I was going to tell you that I was... fond of you, and wanted to get together. But then you got very busy with your company, and stopped showing up. I was going to do something about that, but then I got very busy making my stable a powerhouse in our little circuit. It paid off too. It was also the time I met Ronald.'

'Ronald?'

'Yes, my boyfriend. He is black and handsome, like you, and owns a little mail service he started two years ago. It's not on the Forbes 500 list, but as I said, I'm a simple girl. If he was a ditch digger, that would be fine with me.'

A friend of mine once had a theory why some Russian women go for black men. He said since everything and everyone in that country is so pale, when they enter the states and see color (that's us), they got to have it. Like I said, that's his theory. You want a more accurate answer, I'd suggest asking the Russian women.

'I've been told part of what makes a relationship is the timing. We were just off a little bit,' she added.

'So where is Ronald?' I asked.

?He's meeting with family tonight. Yes, I have met them. Very nice folks. So I met Ronald, a wonderful man. But I wasn't going to leave you off the hook.?

?Okay, so you sent invitations to everyone, especially those who hadn't been for a while, I got that. So how is that-?

?Hold on a moment,? Helen said as she raised a hand to stop me. She got up, and planted a long, hard kiss on the lips. After an eternity, she let me up for air. ?I've wanted to do that for a long time. Now I got it out of the way.?

I momentarily forgot what I was planning to ask her. Instead, I asked her, ?So if Ronald wasn't in the picture, you think we would work out??

?Oh yes, I would be at our house bearing your children by now. It would've worked out very well.?

Then I remembered what I was going to ask. ?You said you weren't going to leave me off the hook,? I said.

?Correct. So one day, I ran across someone who was just like... me. She's very friendly, very fun, she hates shoes, and a joy to be with. I saw her, and thought she'll be your woman.?

I crossed my arms. ?Oh really? And who would this be??

Helen pushed a button on her intercom, and said, ?You can come in now.?

Seconds later, the door opened, and in walked Anji. She was dressed in a blue sleeveless Chinese dress with a mandarin collar, and slits on both sides of the dress to display her powerful legs, which were bare of stockings or shoes. Her toenail polish matched the dress. She looked down at me, and with a heavy alto said, ?Hello Morris.? This was followed by another wink. So that first one was directed at me.

?Hello,? I managed to get out. The dress really brought out the curves, and she was rather light on her feet. That husky voice didn't hurt things either.

?Did you enjoy my match?? She asked.

?Yes, you seemed to have had it in order.?

?Actually it was more closer than it appeared. But I won, right? I'm glad you liked it.?

?Anji, go ahead and mingle with the guests. Morris will meet you there shortly. I have a few more things to say to him,? Helen interjected.

?Of course. See you soon, Morris.? Anji closed the door, leaving a beaming Helen sitting back with satisfaction.

?Now Morris, after you mingle with those folks, it probably would be a good idea for you and Anji to go out for a cup of coffee or tea. She will take good care of you,? Helen said.

?I was going to say she looks like she could take care of herself very well. From what I've seen, she's a very strong woman,? I replied.

?Yes, she is, just like her stable-master. I do have a little request. After you two get married, and have a family, I'd like to have one of the daughters named after me.?

I laughed. ?Helen, where did you come up with that? I just met her!?

Helen gave me probing look with an arched eyebrow. ?Morris, are you arguing with me??

?Well of course I am; I just met the woman, and you already have us raising a family.?

?Now Morris, what did I say about arguing with me??

I huffed and repeated what she said to me long ago. ?Don't bother to argue with you, because you're always right.?

?Very good. I would love to chaperone the two of you, but I have some paperwork to finish. We'll go on double dates though. Now go on up there, meet your new woman, and I'll see you later.?

My ?new woman? was waiting for me as I rejoined the crowd, and never left my side as we engaged in conversation with the rest of the crowd. I don't recall asking Helen to set me up, but she definitely didn't set me up with a dumb jock. Anji held her own in regular conversation, and even had a working knowledge of the stock market, shutting up some windbag who wanted to show off his savvy. After an hour of talking to everyone, Anji bent down and asked me if we could go to the nearest cafe a few blocks down the road, and have some coffee.

?Sure,? I said, ?I'd like that.?

?Would you have a problem if I went without shoes?? She asked.

?No, not at all.?

She paused as if in thought for a moment, and replied, ?Well they might. Just a moment.?

She opened her purse, and pulled out a pair of shoes that she unfolded and slipped on. I heard of these. They're originally used if you've been wearing heels all day, and need to put on something more comfortable. These white slip-ons looked like a cross between a ballet slipper, and a dance shoe. After she finished, she locked her left arm around one of mine, and said, ?Shall we??

We said farewell to everyone, and Abby. Oh, I should say Abby was also a delight to talk to. She actually had a strong background in finance before she discovered sumo. She always had a good laugh when people discover she's not a dumb jock. She'd already invested some of her winnings, and had already gotten some good returns because of it. She plans on having a stable of her own someday. The way she's going, she won't have a problem with capital. Helen waved farewell with that smug grin of hers. I deliberately looked elsewhere as I waved goodbye to her.

We talked for a long time. Besides being a pleasant conversationalist, Anji's goals were simple; dominate the sumo league, and run a business, which could be running a sumo stable of her own. Oh yeah, those nude photos for that art magazine I mentioned earlier? The truth was she wore a bikini while she was covered with a sheet, giving the impression that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. It took a little time for her to explain this convincingly to her friends and family. Anyway, she was proud of the legacy her parents and grandparents had in sumo, and wanted to pass it down to her own children some day. And Helen was right, blast that woman, Anji was just like her, especially on knowing she's right. Near the end of the conversation, she flashed me a smile...

Which was the same smile she wore when we got married a year later. It was nice as far as weddings go, but I won't bore you with the details, except for one thing. Helen, who was one of the bridesmaids, continued to give me that knowing smirk, and I kept looking elsewhere. Finally, at the reception, she cornered me when it was her turn to dance with the groom.

?Admit it,? she said to me.

?All right, you were right all along, and we agreed to name our daughter after you. Happy?? I replied, admitting defeat.

?Yes. It's good Anji is the sumo wrestler in the family. A skilled opponent could easily read the defeat on your face,? she giggled.

?And I suppose Ronald is better at this??

?Of course not. But he learned not to question his bride-to-be. You'll learn eventually.? She kissed me on the cheek as we moved to the music.

It would be easy to say this is the end of the story, but it's not. Far from it. Someone from the publication Sumo Women News discovered Anji and the rest of the others in their little clan. Now called the ?Luxury League,? the sumotori in it became almost as popular as those in the mainstream leagues. This also meant more women flooded the various business clubs to join. This also made people like Helen a very popular and rather wealthy stable-master. She eventually had to leave the Domino club so she would have more time to deal with her army of sumo wrestlers. She couldn't be more happy.

Speaking of happy, Anji was too. She was champion of the Luxury League for three years before she retired to have a family. Our first child was a daughter, and you guessed it, we named her Helen. Her mother already has dreams of the kid dominating the international circuit. I keep reminding her that she needs to learn to walk first, then she can play sumo.

?Our child will dominate the sumo world,? Anji says to me smugly as we watch her become fascinated with the sumo matches on TV and DVD.

My first response was to ask how would she know, but I stopped myself. I know better than to argue. I just smiled and said, ?Yes dear.?

And in the back of my mind, I could hear Helen laughing with delight, telling me I finally learned.

Women.

If you enjoyed this story, perhaps you may want to read other stories from the Barefoot Heroines collection. There are a variety of stories to choose from. They can be found at  http://www.thevalkyrie.com/stories/mongoose/index.htm.

For suggestions, comments, or story ideas, email the author at shrewsberry@juno.com.

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