Wrestling with Celebrity Ch. 01

CHAPTER I

1

The new organization I was working with had a shot at the big time, and all of the performers were stoked. Ever since A.C.W. had left town most of the local talent had been having to travel to Lawton for the sporadic I.Z.W. shows, but Wichita Falls had finally gotten a new organization, E.I.W., and weekly shows. I'm sorry; you're just seein' alphabet soup here, aren't you. You see, I'm a pro-wrestler, and the mish-mash of letters above are the initials of wrestling organizations, i.e., Asylum Championship Wrestling, Impact Zone Wrestling, and Extreme Impact Wrestling. Well, E.I.W., had gotten an invite to perform for a private function at a huge payday out in California, and we had gotten word that Mr. McMahon himself would be attending to scout out some talent. Emotions were running high, with wrestlers alternating between swaggering around, sure that they would be picked up and running to the bathroom to hurl because of nerves. We were in L.A., and working out in Gold's when I saw her. I was supposed to be spotting Seraphim, but I forgot all about him and went to talk to the most beautiful and sexy woman my chocolate brown eyes had ever laid eyes on, Danielle Fishel.

I walked over, running over a thousand ways to introduce myself, I wanted to come off as witty, but not a jester, charming, but without seeming smarmy, smart, but light hearted, confident, but without arrogance. I fixed a light smile to my face, and said in a smooth, mellow baritone,

"Hi, I'm Danielle, and you must be Jesse...," and froze because I realized I'd gotten that backwards. She looked up with a quirked eyebrow. "I mean..., uh, oh shiza!" I started laughing, miraculously, she started to grin.

"Would you like to back up and start over."

"Yes, lets. I'm Jesse, you're Danielle Fishel, I've always wanted to meet you, only with out my face glowing red from a faux-pas, and I'm a huge fan. Did that make me sound a little less like a goon?" Somewhere in the background someone was hollering for a spotter, and I saw Chris (another one of our wrestlers) pass by looking at me and smirking.

"Don't worry, the faux-pas was what caught my attention. That and the fact you laughed at yourself and kept some semblance of calm." Inside I was doing a geeky little happy dance, outside I turned on a devastating (I hoped) smile.

"Listen, I'd love to meet you for drinks or something, tell you what, here's a backstage pass," I dug into my gym bag, "for the charity function where I'm gonna be performing, you see, I'm a...," just then, a big, beefy hand closed on my shoulder, spun me around, and I was looking at 320 lbs. of angry, sweaty, mean wrestler.

"WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU, I NEEDED A SPOTTER JUST THEN!!" Ahh, shit, Seraphim, That's why Chris looked so amused.

"Uhhh, I got distracted?"

"OUR SPOT, STIFF, SHOOT!" Oh hell. He stormed off Chris shrugged and looked at me sympathetically.

"What was that about?"

"Well, I'm a pro-wrestler, and the opponent I'm facing for the Hardcore Title just told me that instead of a scripted match, he wanted to rearrange my body into new and interesting shapes. Stiff, means you make the moves hurt, shoot means no script." I turned around and looked at her. "I was supposed to be spotting him, and I saw the most beautiful woman I've every laid eyes on. Needless to say, I let myself get distracted." She looked horrified.

"But, he's twice your size!"

"Yup. So..., if I survive, wanna' go for drinks after the event?"

2

I was in the back, trying to maintain calm. It smelled like a locker room in here, more'n'likely 'cause it was. Someone came up behind me and clapped a hand on my shoulder making me emit a small shriek like a girl.

"Whoa, there. How ya' feelin'?" It was Chris.

"I've got someone with a prison sentence for assault who outweighs me by 130 lbs. wanting to turn me into a human balloon animal, how do you think I feel?" Chris chuckled.

I swaggered down the ramp, smiling, winking at the women, and saw Danielle, there, looking a delicate shade of green, I left my valets, and swaggered over, and kissed her. She was so surprised she kissed back. *Good,* I thought, *I get to die having kissed Danielle Fishel.* Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all, plus I had plan. I swaggered on up to the ring, and gave each of my "valets" a kiss and waited for Seraphim's music to start. When it did, I highjacked the announcer's mike.

"Seraphim," Gods, I hated talking in this corny fake Latino accent, "Look, I know jew are angry over our leetle misunderstanding, but before the match starts, I apologize." He just glared at me from the ramp.

"You are dead."

"Hookay, then let me give jew somet'ing to be angry about, let me tell jew what me, jewr seester, and jewr mama did, all together, FIVE TIMES IN A ROW!!!" He roared like a wounded beast and charged. Maybe this wasn't the best plan.

CHAPTER II

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Seraphim looked angry enough to chew a 10-penny nail and spit out a barbed wire fence. Well, so far my plan was working. You see, I only weigh 190, and stand about 5' 10", as opposed to Seraphim's 6' 3" and 320 lbs. When you look at that kind of difference, you have to hedge your bet a little. If he's too mad to think, you can figure something out. As he slid into the ring, I slid out the other side, and snatched a steel chair from the timekeeper, and as he slid out on my side, I hit him with the edge of it right in the small of the back. You see, all of the wrestling shows show a guy getting brutalized by the broad, flat part of a chair. It's B.S. It spreads the impact out so that, while it stings, it doesn't do any permanent damage. What I had just done was to send this ugly gorilla's kidneys and lower spine a very personal love letter. He howled like a wounded dog. I grinned and then hit him again. Behind me I heard a deep voice gasp and say "Oh my goodness, they're doing a stiff shoot match!" I was winding up for a third shot when Seraphim whirled on me, and went to kick me in the face. I tried to bring the chair up as a shield, but, as I was holding it by the legs, I didn't have the leverage to use it that way. I ate a face full of chair, but it spread the impact out, and I absorbed most of it on my forehead, the thickest part of the human skull. I went down and played possum, hoping the blood from my split forehead, and the pain from my earlier chair shots would confuse my opponent. They did. He turned around, I guess looking for another weapon, and I sprang on his back, trying to choke him out, while scissoring his waist between my legs. I captured his throat in the crook of my elbow, and squeezed, while I crushed his middle between my thighs, while this was going on, I used an advantage Mother Nature had given me, I've got an inordinately thick skull, so I pounded the back of his skull with my already bloodied forehead (thick skull, unforgiving steel, normal skin in-between, something's gotta' give, you do the math.) He gave a gurgle and clawed at my arm, I squeezed harder. He ran backwards into the steel ring post, squishing me, and I squeezed harder, while screaming in rage and pain. Finally he collapsed. The ref. came over and lifted his arm once, twice, three times, and each time it fell. I was the new Hardcore Champion. The ironic thing is, if he had stuck to the script, he'd be the champ, still. As the adrenaline left my body, and I heard the crowd cheering, I felt all of the pain in my back and ribs from the rams into the ring post. One eye was matted shut from blood, but I was champ, and I had a date with Danielle Fishel, a.k.a. Topanga, from Boy Meets World! I looked over the crowd, and saw who the earlier voice belonged to, one Mr. Vincent Kennedy McMahon. Great. The one match I've got, and it's a brawl instead of something that showed off any mat skills I've got. Can't win them all, I guess.

2

"Ow, ow, ow, ow!"

"Quit being a baby."

"Quit using iodine, that shit stings!" The medic was treating my cut on my head and I was considering giving him a few injuries. The guy treating Seraphim always uses peroxide on cuts, me, I end up with a sadist.

"I'm gonna use butterfly clamps on that wound, with those, it shouldn't need stitches. How do your ribs feel?"

"Like they were sandwiched between a steel post and 320 pounds of angry meat. Why, how did you expect them to feel?" He snarled at me, which brightened my spirits considerably, when I saw Mr. McMahon walk in. My spirits dropped. Now I'd have to witness someone else get my dream. He scanned the room, and walked in my direction. Great, I'd have to give him directions to that someone else on top of it.

"Jesus? What's your real name?"

"Uh, Jesse. Can I help you?" The medic was poking and prodding at my ribs, I shooed him away, annoyed.

"Yes, yes you can. I was impressed with the fight I saw out there, and with you. Not too many would have stayed in character when going to an honest to goodness fight with someone about twice their size. I want your agent to contact me to hammer out a contract...," all the rest was drowned out by a dull roar as the room swam gray for a second. He came back into focus looking alarmed as he propped me up.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, but I must of been hit in the head harder than I thought. I coulda' sworn you just offered me a contract."

He grinned at me. "I did, now go out and celebrate." He looked surprised as I let out a rebel yell and hugged him, picking him up, then he started laughing. Everyone in the locker room looked around, put two and two together, and then started congratulating me. Robert, the owner of the organization produced a bottle of champagne, and drenched everyone in it before pouring what was left into glasses for everyone, and Danielle showed up just in time to take part in the toast, which made me doubly envied. One quick shower and change later, and I was out to have a night with Danielle Fishel.

CHAPTER III

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Let's recap. I survived a match that should have landed me in the hospital (okay, so my ribs and lower back were sayin' I should be there, but you know what? Screw them,) I was my organization's Hardcore Champion, for those of you who don't know, Hardcore is a style where anything goes, no disqualification, and pins count anywhere, Vince McMahon had offered me a contract (better find an agent to negotiate for me,) and I was on a date with Danielle Fishel, possibly the hottest woman alive. If I'm dreamin', I'll murder the first ass-hole who pinches me.

"My God! I can't believe you managed to beat that big guy! That was soooo incredible!" I smiled at her. I could get used to this.

"You ain't seen incredible, yet, but I'm hopin' I get a chance to show you. Come on, let's find either a kareoke bar, or someplace that plays metal."

"Uh, kareoke, then, I'm not that into metal." Sigh, I guess you can't have it all. She doesn't like metal.

"Okay, you're the native, guide on beautiful." She giggled and tossed her hair flirtatiously. Soon we were in the bar, where instead of her drawing stares, I was since it looked like my forehead was being held together with staples. I grinned at my date, "What, these guys never seen a champ before?" She laughed and kissed me. Suddenly I didn't need the booze to intoxicate me, an armful of sexy, warm, and apparently abundantly eager woman was doing more damage to my system than a couple of kegs could produce. My eyes were slightly glazed when we ended our kiss, and I rumbled deep in my chest, starting to pull her for the door.

"Nuh-uh, you wanted to come here, and we aren't leavin' till I hear you sing." Knew I should have insisted on a rock club. I was gonna' be rich soon, I ran over and bribed the DJ Then I pulled Danielle onstage with me, much to her surprise.

"Hope you know 'Paradise by the Dashboard Lights.'"

"You are sooo gonna' pay for this." I just grinned, and started singing about being doubly blessed, "'Cause we were barely 17, and we were barely dressed!"

Well, she knew it, all right, and as she was willing to actually act out the bridge, where a baseball announcer is describing getting to first, second, and then third base before the female hollers out for the boy to "Stop right there!" I could see her eyes laughing, as I tried to see straight and continue the song. I left the bar with blue-balls, and wanting to pick up where we left off on stage. We went back to a nice hotel (she paid) and started attacking each other's clothing.

2

"So, is it everything you imagined?" She asked when we had ripped each other's clothing off. I paused from nibbling on her neck.

"Huh?"

She smiled at me. "Getting me naked. You said you were a fan. I know this is because I'm famous, is it everything you imagined." Chicks. Why is it they choose the exact wrong moments to use their heads or hearts, when body and blood is calling to take charge? I looked her over, perfect, large yet perky breasts, flat stomach with just a hint of fat, legs that were flawless, went up for a decent ways, then made a perfect ass of themselves, nice trimmed bush, back to the breast, silver dollar sized areolas, and nipples that looked like pencil erasers. I pretended to consider for a moment.

"Nope. It's better than I imagined. Number one, none of your pictures, on TV or elsewhere do you justice, number two, wow. Smart, funny, charming, and sexier than hell, how'm I gonna' imagine that perfect of a combo. If'n you weren't you, I wouldn't be here no matter how famous or gorgeous you were." She graced me with a dazzling smile. "Now if'n you only liked metal..., oh, well." She laughed and jumped into my arms (making me wince in pain from my battered ribs and back), covering my mouth with a kiss that made me get weak in the knees. I kissed back that perfect pouty mouth with equal fervor, and locked in that position we stumbled to the bed. I picked her up and lay her down on the bed, and started licking, kissing, and nibbling my way down her neck. She chuckled.

"They always go for the breast." I let out a muffled laugh. Then concentrated on changing her chuckle to gasps of pleasure. I paid attention to every part of her breast except the nipples and areolas, teasing her, getting close, but not touching, until I had her panting, then working that area until she was making little mewling sounds of desperation and humping up at the air. I then worked my way down lower, kissing my way down her firm stomach, kissing her inner thighs, and repeating the pattern from above with her womanhood. Soon she was nearly crying with need and trying to force my head to her junction. I stopped, a wicked gleam in my eyes, and a smirk on my lips.

"Stop right there, I wanna' know right now...," She looked dazed for a second, then let out a laugh, remembering how she teased me in the bar. While she laughed, I went to work on her pussy. I licked over the lips, almost reaching the clit, then retreating, a finger teasing her entrance while I did this. Soon she was making more animalistic mewling noises. I eased a finger inside her to find her G-spot and started concentrating on her clit, sucking, licking and swirling my tongue, occasionally nipping it, only to soothe the pain with more licking and swirling, so that the pain and pleasure mixed and became one and the same, soon she screamed out her release, and then again, and again. Soon she was gasping and begging me to stop, and let her catch her breath. After two more times, I relented, smiling at her, "Like I said, you hadn't seen incredible yet, and I'm just beginin' to show you." She laughed weakly, and flipped us over, so she was on top.

"My turn to show you."

CHAPTER IV

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Danielle was on top of me, straddling my thighs with hers, and her perfect 34C breast were hanging down. She looked at me and kissed gently, then with more and more need. She started to nibble, kiss, and lick her way down my body. She paused at my belly as I started jerking around, looking up inquisitively.

"Sorry, I'm ticklish." She giggled.

"I'm gonna' have to remember that." She continued downward, until her full, pouty lips were caressing my manhood, bringing groans from me. Her lips, tongue, teeth, and hands making me feel things that I can't find the words to describe. All too soon I felt a familiar sensation building.

"Sweetie, as much as I hate to interrupt this," I said between pants, "if'n you don't want a mouthful, you better slow down, it's been a while for me."

She giggled in a slightly muffled way, and redoubled her efforts, bringing another groan from me. "Go ahead, it'll make you last longer for the main event," she said before going back to her amazing work. I looked down and saw the hand not working on me busy on herself; it was too much for me to handle. I soon roared out my release, as the universe seemed to explode around me and spin into the reaches of eternity. I came back to reality with her mouth still on me, bringing another part of me to full awareness. I reached down and raised her up, while flipping us back over. I entered her, as she gasped in pleasure. "Hard, don't treat me like I'm still a Disney owned goody-goody, use me, damn-it!" I didn't need any further encouragement. Soon the room was filled with the sounds of our furious coupling. I flipped her onto her knees and went at her from behind, spying some lotion on the nightstand. I grabbed it, and soon had a finger in her service entry, eliciting a gasp and moan from her as she had her umpteenth orgasm. I worked as we coupled, until I had her relaxed enough to take three fingers, and then I with drew all my appendages from her. I lined up my member with her rear entry, and slowly worked it in, while she moaned and fingered her clit. Before long I was pounding away, until I looked down, and saw my manhood in Danielle Fishel's ass! Just the juxtaposition of those two things, Danielle Fishel and anal sex was enough to send me over the edge, especially when coupled with the feelings of her orgasming again. I roared out again as I had an intense enough orgasm to pass out. I came around to an empty bed, with two numbers scrawled on hotel stationary with this note: "Had LOADS of fun, we will HAVE to do it again, call me at 555-1234, and here's my agent's number, he'll help with Vince's contract. 555-4321. You're welcome to come to the front or back door of my house ANY time. D.F."

The End, for now.