Fearless

I'm not a super hero, genius (evil or otherwise), rich, or glib, but I, Greg Wright, have one quality that few people have. I was born without a "fear" gene. This has caused me a considerable amount of pain in my life, but it has also allowed me to dish out much more pain than I've received and to enjoy life more than many of my peers.

Since I was a senior in High School I've been 5 feet 11 inches (1.8 meters) tall and weighed 185 pounds (84 kg) give or take a few milkshakes, with about 8-9% body fat. A few examples will show you how fearless/foolhardy/nuts/reckless that I am.

--I returned kicks in American football in both High School and college, about the most reckless thing in sports, except for maybe cliff diving (which I have also done). I wasn't good enough to play many downs on offense or defense but my kick return skills were valuable enough to get a scholarship to a football factory -- my grades and board scores weren't good enough to get into a prestigious academic institution -- and with the help of tutors did graduate in the lower 50% of my class in four years.

--Lying about my age I went skydiving by myself at 15 and had no apprehension whatsoever while two adults on the plane freaked out.

--I've free climbed about a dozen rock walls, no safety rope or harness, of course.

--I've hiked The Maze in Canyonlands National Park in Utah twice, once solo.

--At an arcade in a bad part of town I got really good at pinball and some other arcade games and made bets with low lives there -- bets that I couldn't cover if I lost and would likely have gotten the shit beaten out of me.

--In my youth I let off a stink bomb in a police station -- twice.

--I used fake IDs to gain entry into several nightclubs when I was only 17 -- two of them had real cops at the door checking IDs.

--On two separate occasions I have come across serious vehicle accidents once on a train track and once on a freeway. In the first I kept pulling on the driver of a pickup truck who was unconscious while a train was approaching and got him out literally five seconds before the train hit and threw vehicle parts all over the place (some of which hit me). In the second I pulled out two passengers when it was obvious that the car that they were in was about to explode. That time I got them out a full twenty seconds before it did erupt. Those were NOT acts of bravery -- I just didn't have any apprehension.

--I appeared on an episode of The Discovery Channel show "Naked and Afraid." I was naked, but not afraid. I survived all three weeks. I usually don't tell people that (and would never put it on a resume) because then they pretty much write me off as a nut case.

--I grew up in a transitional neighborhood. Some people considered me a "pretty boy" and thought that they could pick on me. They couldn't. Although I've never spent more than a couple of hours in my life taking formal self-defense classes, I'm quick and -- again -- fearless and never gave up so I won many more fights than I lost, and I had lots of them, some of which added "character" to my pretty face. I was particularly pugnacious if I was in a bad mood because something shitty had recently happened to me.

So, I think that I definitely can represent that I'm fearless.

At the age of 25 I had a decent job for my intelligence level, made enough money to live almost comfortably, and had some good friends. Despite my pretty face for some reason I never had any great relationships with women. Some of my friends said that while I could often be a real asshole with men I was too "nice" to women, whatever that meant.

That's all of the background you need to understand and/or believe what happened one sunny day in May on a Florida beach.

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I had just been dumped by a woman that I really liked. She gave no explanation, essentially just told me to get lost. I did see her a couple of days later riding in an expensive convertible sports car with a snooty looking guy, obviously several levels above me in the bucks department.

I like to run when I'm in a pissy mood so that I don't get into an altercation if someone crosses me, and a long local sandy ocean beach near my modest house in Florida is perfect for that. With my serious running shoes, tank top, and lightweight shorts on I started on a leisurely run in early afternoon on a Saturday in May.

I was working through my problems in my mind when a vision of a modern day goddess exited the water several meters in front of me. I am embarrassed to say that I didn't get a good look at her face because I was fixated on her voluptuous bikini-clad body. She had a slim waist, muscular thighs, a pleasantly round ass, and most notable a pair of tits that arrived several second before the rest of her did. She was looking ahead so I was able to ogle her body without her noticing. I have this thing about always looking a woman -- especially one with mountainous boobs -- in the eye, so I was embarrassed by my fixation on her body.

I all too quickly went past her, took a really deep breath, and soldiered on, exercising enormous willpower not to stop and stare.

It took me a good mile before I was able to will my cock back into a flaccid condition, and another mile after that I turned around and headed back.

I would be lying if I said that I wasn't looking for the goddess when I got near where I had seen her, but I was being cautious since I didn't have sun glasses on and didn't want to be caught staring. I probably would have seen her again even if I wasn't looking for her, however, since I heard her squeal as some oaf was twisting her arm and she was pleading for him to stop. The asshole was probably five inches and eighty pounds bigger than I was, but was just in bathing trunks and a tank top, no shoes.

Devoid as I am of a fear gene I detoured toward the goddess and the oaf and not too nicely rhetorically asked "Is there a problem here?"

The oaf looked at me like I was a roach and said "None of your business, asshole."

"It looks like you're the asshole, and a pussy besides, twisting a woman's arm," I said, approaching within six feet of him.

"This is my wife, little man, so get lost or get hurt," he bellowed, in a manner indicated to me that he had had too many brews for early afternoon.

"I don't give a shit if she's your wife, mother, or sister -- let her go," I snarled.

He did let go -- and charged me, wildly swinging. Not having shoes on, and having reflexes half as swift as mine gave me a significant competitive advantage, He caught just the top of my head with a glancing blow before I kicked him in his left knee, quickly followed by a blow to his right shin, then stomped on his bare left foot with my sneaker, and as he bent over head butted him in his nose, knocking him over with blood spurting everywhere.

I hadn't really noticed him before, but apparently the oaf had a lout friend, as big as he was. The lout friend charged me, yelling. Fortunately he had a shirt on which allowed me to practice one of the few actual formal fighting techniques I had mastered. As he charged I grabbed his shirt as I rolled on my back, stuck my right foot in his crotch, and flipped him over me. I honestly did want to land him on his back, but he was heavier than I thought and he landed on his neck instead.

The goddess looked shell-shocked -- but when she viewed her moaning husband and his unconscious friend she actually smiled.

Repeating over-and-over to myself "only look in her eyes, not at her chest" I approached her and said "I'm sorry if I stuck my nose where it doesn't belong but it's not in my nature to walk past what I perceive to be a damsel in distress."

The goddess smiled broadly, and removed her sunglasses. She had a pleasant -- not beautiful but very pleasant -- face, and really intoxicating emerald green eyes. "He was hurting me and got what he deserved -- thank you," she said in a whisper, apparently so that the moaning oaf didn't hear her. "I'm Danika Huddleston," she said, offering her hand.

"Greg Wright," I replied, shaking it -- and looking only into her eyes. "It looks like we need to call a medic for your husband and his friend," I said, pointing to them each in turn.

Just then a small guy in his fifties, and his skinny teenage son, approached us from near the dune. "I've called the police," the man said, holding up his phone, "and my son recorded the entire confrontation. I hate bullies and am really pleased to see someone stand up to them,"

With a smile Danika said "I'm going to look after my husband -- I don't want him to bleed to death -- at least not right now," and then walked over to him with a towel which she pressed to his face to stop the bleeding.

The son was very anxious to show me the video. It was only then that I realized that without the video I might have been in deep kimchee unless Danika told the truth -- I didn't know if her husband could work on her to lie -- but the video caught everything, even the arm twisting.

I chatted with the small guy and his son for a few minutes while a couple of other beachgoers tended to the oaf's friend, but were smart enough not to try to move his head or neck. A lifeguard and medic arrived on one ATV, and then a couple of local cops on another ATV arrived more quickly than I would have expected.

The oaf was patched up, the lout was put on a stretcher, and after the teenager showed the video to the cops and forwarded it to their phones (and mine), with my statement that I wanted to press charges, the cops arrested the oaf after allowing him to pick up a beach bag with his wallet in it, and made a call to the hospital to have other cops put the lout under arrest. They gave Danika information on where they were taking her husband.

After things calmed down and the ATVs were long gone, Danika started picking up her things. I really wanted to stare at her body -- and emerald green eyes -- for at least another couple of hours, but being a gentleman I started to move back to the firm part of the beach to finish my run. Then I heard her yell "Greg; can I ask you for one more thing?"

"Uh...yeah...sure, Danika," I replied hoping that what she wanted me to do was to suck on the nipples of her prodigious tits until one of us passed out.

"Apparently my husband Jerry," that was the first time that I heard his name, "took my car keys with him. Could you give me a ride home if it's not too far out of your way; I live in the Crescent District."

As long as it was less than 200 miles you bet your ass that I would be giving her a ride, but since I had a small house only about five miles from the Crescent District, it wasn't even a minor problem.

"I'd be happy to," I replied trying to suppress my Cheshire Cat grin. "I'm parked about a mile and a half down the beach. I'll finish my run then pick you up at the parking lot just over the dune here. It will take me about 15-20 minutes or so."

"Thanks," Danika replied with her own Cheshire Cat grin.

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So my "relationship" with Danika Huddleston started when I picked her up at the parking lot. Fortunately she had a beach cover-up on so it was easier not to ogle her body, and by constantly repeating to myself "Look only in her eyes, not at her chest" I was able to carry on a very pleasant conversation with her without embarrassing her or me.

In the half hour ride to Danika's condo I found out a lot about her; she was easy to talk to and very forthcoming. One thing of interest, though unimportant, was that she is three years older than I am. She also asked me lots of questions, including why I thought that I could come to her rescue without getting beat up.

"There's something that I don't tell many people -- but if you promise to keep it confidential and not judge me harshly I'll tell you," I half-smiled.

"You're some sort of martial arts expert?" she grinned.

"Absolutely not; I've never taken more than a few hours of self-defense instruction in my life. My issue/problem/gift/handicap, depending upon how you look at it, is that I don't have a 'fear' gene. That may ultimately be my undoing, but it is what I am and I couldn't change it even if I wanted to," I seriously told her.

"Really?" she inquired with a puzzled look.

"Really; it's a miracle that I'm still alive!" I exclaimed.

She got a laugh out of that, and then our conversation got even friendlier.

About five minutes before we got to her condo she got a call on her cellphone. She looked at caller ID and said "I've got to take this; it's Officer Davidson," one of the cops who had arrested Jerry. Her phone conversation was brief and friendly. Once she terminated the call she told me "I called Officer Davidson while waiting for you in the parking lot and asked her about my car keys. She said that she'd have them at the front desk of the local precinct for pickup any time after 9 a. m. tomorrow."

"Great," I smiled.

"So...it seems that I just love to impose on you...if you can take me to the police station sometime tomorrow I'll make you lunch or dinner, depending upon the time that you're available, as a thank you for everything," she subtly grinned.

"Let me see," I mused out loud, "work around my house getting all dirty and frustrated when my projects go awry, or get a home-cooked meal, which I haven't had in a long time, from Danika. Hmmm; hard choice but I think that I'll take you to the police station and then get a home cooked dinner."

"Pick me up at 5:00 p. m.?" she asked as we pulled in front of her condo.

"Sounds like a plan," I smiled.

She got out of the car, said thanks, and just before she closed the door asked "Are you gay Greg? No judgment, just curous."

That threw me; no one had ever asked me that before in my life and I'm 100% hetero. "Uh...no...uh...absolutely not," I stammered, knowing that I was turning red. "Why...uh...do you ask?"

"You're the first guy since I was fifteen that I've had a long conversation with that always looked me in the eye and never at my chest who wasn't gay," she chuckled. Then she closed the door and sashayed up to her house, retrieving an emergency key from under a flower pot next to her front door. I watched her bubble butt wiggle, and almost came in my pants as she bent over to get the key, and once I recognized the condition of my little soldier I peeled out of there.

I had a hard time getting to sleep that night; "she's married, even if to a jerk, and out of your league anyway," I kept repeating to myself, although it didn't stop me from picturing moving my cock between her fabulous mammaries as I masturbated in the shower.

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The ten minute ride from Danika's condo to the police station was characterized by more friendly banter. I then drove her to the beach lot where her car was, and followed her home after that. We carried on a blue tooth conversation the entire time we were in different cars; she may have been the easiest woman to talk to that I could remember.

Even though I don't drink alcohol -- considering my fearlessness I've always been worried what would happen if I got drunk; kill myself or someone around me? -- but I brought what I was told was an excellent bottle of red wine for our dinner. I volunteered to help with preparation (only menial tasks, I have no artistry or talent when it comes to cooking) which she gladly accepted, and soon she had a great meal prepared.

Danika really was a good cook, and I enjoyed the meal immensely. It was only after cleanup and she had consumed three quarters of the bottle of wine that she started talking about her marriage to Jerry -- who couldn't get a bail hearing until Monday, but was expected to be released on bond then, while his lout buddy Harry was still in the hospital for observation.

With a few sighs, and even a couple of tears, Danika went over her relationship with Jerry and how he normally was a really good guy except when he had the need to be macho around some of his friends, especially after drinking some beer, since despite his size he is a short-hitter. I played the part of the sympathetic friend while inside burning up at some of the stunts he had pulled. After about an hour I couldn't take it anymore and got real.

"Look, Danika; you've got a lot going for you. You're intelligent, friendly, empathetic, and beautiful. You don't have to put up with shit from anyone. If he doesn't change you should bail on him," I forcefully said.

Danika paused for a long time; I thought that I might have overstepped and was about to apologize when she finally replied. "You're right, Greg -- and not just because that's your last name," she actually giggled. "When I see him Monday, I'm going to make it clear that things are different or we're done."

"Good for you," I said, hoping that she could follow through.

We then went over how I would continue to press charges, but she would not for the sake of harmony. When her eyelids started drooping I knew that it was time to go.

"Well, thanks for the great meal and wonderful conversation," I smiled as I stood up, "but all good things must come to an end. I've got to get up early for work, so I'll say my goodbyes now. I hope that you have a great life and get everything that you deserve," I smiled.

Danika walked me to the door, thanked me profusely for everything that I did for her "Including giving me some of your fearlessness," she smiled, and then she got serious. "This will probably be the last time that I see you Greg. Jerry would be off-the-charts jealous if I saw you again. Hold my appreciation in your heart, though -- please."

Then she kissed me while pushing her Grand Tetons into my chest. It wasn't just a perfunctory smack; it was a quick peck of soft pursed lips followed by a hot and wet passionate open-mouth kiss. I honestly felt a little light-headed and my flagpole immediately saluted. Fortunately, given the size of her mammaries it was difficult for her to put her crotch into contact with mine while her boobs were pushed against my chest, so I don't think that she felt my stiffy.

When Danika broke our kiss then stared at me with her shimmering emerald green eyes I was frozen. She gently pushed me out of her front door and closed it behind me. It took me a good thirty seconds to regain my bearings before I was able to stumble to my car. "Damn, damn, damn," I kept repeating to myself on my drive home disturbed by the fact that I'd probably never see her again.

###############

After my brief brush with a deity -- which is what I considered my interaction with Danika -- life moved on. It wasn't exactly the same, however. I alternately wondered whether even a non-sexual relationship with Danika ruined me for one with anyone else, or whether it should inspire me to have more self-confidence when it came to women, or if it should buoy my spirts in general. I decided that the latter was the right attitude to take. It must have helped some because my efficiency at work increased and was duly noted by both my immediate and big bosses, and I got hit on by females with much greater frequency than before.

I even had several extremely rewarding one night stands. The most rewarding was with a thirty eight year old business woman at the local Four Seasons Hotel who I noticed having trouble with her luggage when I had just finished a meeting with a client in a hotel conference room. I helped her with her luggage; she helped me with my horns. She was totally uninhibited, hotter than a Roman candle, and had boobs half the size of Danika's -- in other words significantly bigger than any I ever had the pleasure of handling before, nice for the first titty fuck of my life.

About six months after I had last seen Danika, and shortly after my twenty sixth birthday, I was to the point where I thought of her only about five-ten minutes a day.

It was a Friday night -- actually I guess Saturday morning -- about 2 a. m. when my cellphone rang. The caller ID said "Danika Huddleston." In my just-awake stupor I didn't know how she got my cellphone number, but once I was mostly awake I remembered that we chatted on blue tooth the day I went with her to pick up her car. "Hello" was my stellar greeting.