Ringside Seats Ch. 01

Jeanna reluctantly let the nipple go. She'd play with that more another time. She crept down a little more until Vicky's narrow hips were right in her face, the tight spandex exposing Vicky's "camel toe." Jeanna started nuzzling that spot through the stretchy fabric, rubbing her cheek against it, then kissing it and licking up and down the length of Vicky's slot. She felt the moisture seeping through, and Jeanna couldn't help but anticipate her upcoming treat. She wanted to make her girlfriend cum, and Vicky was prone to very wet orgasms. She hoped that the sofa was sealed somehow. She massaged the outer labia through the fabric, watching as Vicky's clutched her own breasts as her upper body squirmed. Jeanna was enchanted by the face the blonde girl made mid-coitus; her eyes partially closed and glazed over while her mouth was slightly parted. Jeanna could almost see the girl's hot breath rising in the murky club air.

"Do it, please?" Vicky murmured desperately. "I need to feel it."

Jeanna grabbed the sides of Vicky's pants and peeled them down to her knees. She knelt on the floor and forced her head between the blond girl's thighs, with the elastic pants acting as rubber bands and keeping Vicky's legs locked tightly around Jeanna's head. Jeanna remembered when Vicky didn't use to shave down there. It only took a few comments and some long sessions of oral sex before all the pubic hair disappeared, making Jeanna's access to that little slice of heaven much more pleasant. And Jeanna made sure to make shaving worth Vicky's time, every time. She kissed right between those perfect, swollen lips and heard another low groan. She grabbed Vicky's hips, then put her tongue into overdrive. She was licking at the blonde girl's pussy like it was a never-ending ice cream cone, curving her tongue and using wide licks. She nuzzled Vicky's clit with her nose, then flicked her tongue under the hood. Jeanna then sucked the whole clitoral area into her mouth rolled her tongue across the sensitive parts, then pushed her tongue back into the girl's box.

Vicky was gasping for breath as her chest heaved. Ever since Jeanna had helped her uncover this aspect of her sexual nature six months earlier, she had become addicted to Jeanna's charms. While far from being a virgin, the twenty-five-year-old woman had never been as sexually adventurous as when she had Jeanna at her side. That talented tongue was diving into her like the drill on an oilrig, and Jeanna was about to strike the mother-load.

Jeanna didn't have much warning before the first wave of Vicky's orgasm hit. There was a slight trembling and a sudden tenseness of muscle, then she felt the first splash of liquid on her face. Jeanna licked as rapidly as she could, riding the wave of Vicky's climax. More cum gushed onto her face, but she kept her tongue and lips moving. Vicky's juices were dripping down her lover's face and off her chin. Vicky was grinding her crotch against Jeanna's face, making sure that every single last square inch was shiny and covered with cum.

Jeanna pulled her head out from between her lover's legs and slid her pants back into place. Then she lay on top of her girlfriend, and kissed Vicky with the girl's own cum on her lips. "So, did I do good?"

"You're the best baby," Vicky responded. Vicky stroked her lover's hair again as Jeanna lay her head on the girl's chest. She glanced over and saw a towel had been deposited on a nearby table. The waitresses and staff at this club were renown for being unobtrusive as they were discreet. Whatever happened in The Dark stayed in The Dark. Vicky grabbed the towel and cleaned off Jeanna's face. "So . . . did you want to . . . you know, hang out again tomorrow night?"

"You're insatiable!" Jeanna chuckled, but the blush and forlorn look on Vicky's face indicated that something besides sex was on the girl's mind. "Listen," she said softly, "we'll tell them when the time is right. We'll tell everyone how we really feel about each other. But we need to finish establishing ourselves first. As soon as we make ourselves a major draw in the arena, they won't be able to get rid of us, and we can be as 'out' as we want. I promise, it'll all work out."

Vicky wanted to tell her lover that she was tired of waiting. She wanted to tell Jeanna what her heart had been screaming since the first night they had spent as lovers. She wanted to tell Jeanna that she was falling in love with her tag-team partner and best friend. But she couldn't bring the words from her mind to her mouth. So she just smiled a pretty smile and held Jeanna close until it was time for them to leave.

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The following Tuesday . . .

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As soon as Sally and Tiffany showed up at the house of Tiffany's father, Sally was off and running. She hugged her grandfather and great grandfather, then went to play with her cousins. Tiffany's sister Betty didn't have children, but her brother Kurt had four, and there were numerous distant relatives who had brought kids with them. Tiffany's father (William) was turning sixty, and his wife had decided to make it into a big event. Tiffany's great-grandfather Michael, now in his mid-eighties, was also present. After making her cursory greetings, she found herself on the porch with both men. They were watching the children play some kind of game that had no rules that the adults could fathom but involved a lot of running, jumping and laughing. It warmed their hearts to see it all.

"I'm glad you came," William said.

"What, did you think I would deny you the chance to dote on Sally?"

Her father shook his head. "And I'm happy to see you too. We don't get to see you as often as we'd like."

Tiffany looked away. Every day, she felt like she was disappointing her father by pursuing wrestling as a career. Whenever she was around him, she wore her shame like a shroud. "I've been busy."

Her grandfather broke out his pipe and started to pack in the tobacco. He was one of those strange old coots who smoke, drank, and would probably live long enough to see the sun extinguished. "You COULD stop by and take me to some of your matches."

"Sorry Gramps. I don't know from week to week if they're going to include me in the show. John's cutting back on the women's matches in general, and he's promoting . . . other girls right now. I'm lucky to make an appearance every other week."

"Stupid son of a bitch," Michael muttered between puffs. "Doesn't he get it that you're one of the only real talents he has, either on the men's or women's side?"

"You're a little biased," Tiffany chided.

"Yeah, but I'm also a fan, and I know GOOD wrestling when I see it."

"Does that mean you're not pulling in as much money then?" her father asked.

Tiffany hung her head. This was the part she hated. "No. But I'm doing okay. Things have been pretty good at the bar recently." That was a bold-faced lie. Even with the help her parents insisted on providing, she was barely making ends meet. Between rent, food, and clothes and school stuff for Sally, she barely had anything left in her checking account. But she couldn't bring herself to ask for more financial assistance. But it was forcing her towards a decision she thought she would never make.

"Listen honey, if you need a little something extra, your mother and I . . ."

"No, I'm alright. Seriously."

William Thurman didn't buy it. He knew his daughter well enough to tell she was stressed, and he knew she couldn't be pulling in enough at the bar to make a decent living. He also knew she wouldn't keep anything for herself. She loved her daughter to death, and she'd do anything to make Sally happy, even if it came at her own expense. Sometimes he wished he had never gotten her hooked on professional wrestling in the first place. But he also had fond memories of his daughter curled up on his lap, watching the old NWA programs or catching up on WCCW out of Texas. She had been SUCH a big fan of the Fabulous Freebirds. He didn't agree with her all the time, but he knew how much wrestling meant to her. How could he get her to let him help her?

"It doesn't matter. I'm thinking of quitting anyway," she said quietly.

You could have knocked her father and grandfather over with a feather. "What?!?" was William's initial response.

"It's no big deal," she said, sniffling. "I mean, the whole WWE farm league thing seems to be 'one week away' every single week. And I'm not getting much exposure, and we haven't seen a talent scout in a while. And I'm getting a little sick of putting over half-wits that wouldn't know a wrist-lock from a wristwatch just because they look better in tights than I do." Tiffany was gripping the rail with trembling hands. "I found out yesterday that I've been pulled from the Los Angeles card. Seems John wants a 'masked midget match' to make the crowd laugh. I mean, John Wells is good at promoting the product, but I don't think he respects it or appreciates it they way he should, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of getting passed over so he can push girls he 'likes' over girls who can actually go. I'm tired of giving up on having a social life so that I can NOT get used at the last minute." Tiffany realized she was beginning to rant, but she couldn't stop herself. "I'm tired of missing out on my daughter's life and pawning her off on my family because I keep waiting for an opportunity that's never going to happen, and I'm tired . . . I'm just so tired . . ."

Tiffany's father quickly moved to his little girl's side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.

"I'm sorry Dad," she muttered, tears in her eyes. "It's your birthday. I didn't mean to ruin the mood."

"You aren't ruining anything. I just wish you had told me what was going on sooner. I know you're too damn proud to ask for it, but we're family, and we'll help you as much as we can."

"But you shouldn't have to! Betty and Kurt are both supporting themselves. You're not always going to be around to bail me out."

Michael Thurman slowly made his way to his feet and walked over to them, leaning his good hip against the porch railing. "You're not Betty," he pointed out. "You're not Kurt. You're not your father, your mother and you're not me. You're Tiffany Thurman, toughest girl I ever knew. Remember when you first started training? Do you remember that first day you went to that rat's-nest wrestling school?"

Tiffany snickered. It had been a hole in the wall operation, but it had been a start. "Yeah. Dad was so mad at me that he wouldn't drive me or lend me the car, so you came and picked me up." She felt her father's arms tighten around her.

"I came and picked you up afterward too and you were so damn excited. Ya kept babblin' on about how you had been learnin' to fall. I made some kind of joke about how most people already knew how to fall down. You stuck your tongue out at me. But do you remember what you said about what you wanted? You said you wasn't gonna stop until you saw your name in lights at Madison Square Garden. Swore up and down it was gonna happen some day. Never seen you as excited as you were at that moment." He put his hand on her shoulder. "You're a great girl and you're a great mother to that daughter of yours. And I don't think that when she's all grown up that she's going to be happy that you gave up your dreams for her convenience."

"But my dreams aren't going to be able to put her through college," Tiffany replied. "They're not going to pay for her visits to the doctor, and they're not going to help buy her first car. You need cash for that, and . . . and more of it than I have."

"Sweetheart . . ." her father started to say.

"Mommy, look at what Bobby and Charlie made for me!" Sally had come rushing up, and Tiffany hurried to wipe her eyes before turning to her daughter. It was some sort of wreath-like object made of flowers and weeds that some of her younger relatives had pulled out of the front yard. Tiffany wasn't sure what it was for, but Sally seemed to think it was the greatest thing since sliced bread. She put it on her mother's head when she was swept up in those powerful arms. Tiffany saw that her father obviously had something he wanted to say, but he refrained. He knew the rules: no arguing in front of Sally. They were rapidly joined by other kids and their parents and relatives, and the conversation was dropped.

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That Friday . . .

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Tiffany was going through her moves at half-speed. She was scheduled to do a job for some bleached-blonde tart named Vixen. Her real name was Marcia Levinson, and she was another of John Well's new acquisitions. With the decision to quit still weighing heavily on her head, she had decided to fill out her current string of obligations before making it official. Vixen was a newcomer to the organization, and while she may have been a potential puppet of the owner, she actually seemed to care about what she was doing and was trying hard to learn. Tiffany wished she could put more energy into the practice, but she just couldn't manage it. She was just trying to make sure that they had the moves down enough that she didn't get killed. It would suck to suffer a career-ending injury just before she planned on ending her career.

After the session was over, Marcia still looked nervous. It was her first big match, and she was still confused as to why she was getting a break so early on. Tiffany didn't have the heart to tell her it was because she looked good in the pants that John Wells wanted to get into. She'd figure that out soon enough. John didn't bypass his wife to hire someone unless he had an ulterior motive. Tiffany gave Marcia a few more tips, trying to be encouraging. Then she headed to the showers.

When Tiffany was clean and dressed, she found a guest waiting for her, but it wasn't her daughter this time.

"Hey, forget about drinks tonight?" Deborah asked.

Tiffany slapped her hand against her forehead. "Oh shit, I'm sorry! I completely forgot. I mean, Sally's staying at her friend's house tonight . . . I just forgot to call you. Sorry, I've had a lot on my mind."

Deborah looked a little dejected. "That's okay. I just wanted to get out of the house. If you'd rather cancel . . ."

"No, that's okay. I'm not really dressed for anything fancy though." Tiffany couldn't help but notice how nicely Deborah was dressed. She was wearing a little black dress with a low-cut neckline that exposed a good amount of the woman's substantial cleavage. She had what Tiffany referred to as "stripper's tits," meaning they were perfectly formed, large as volleyballs and were completely man-made. But Tiffany wasn't in a position to be judgmental, as she had received breast augmentation herself, though not to the same extent. She had her makeup perfectly applied. 'I can barely put lipstick on right. How does she do it?' Tiffany thought.

"Oh this?" Deborah asked, looking at her outfit. "I've been looking for a reason to wear this, and any reason would do. How about the Park Place Grill? They've got some good drink specials."

"God, I haven't been there in . . . in like forever. Sure, that sounds good." Tiffany grabbed her bag. As Deborah held the door open for her, she couldn't help but notice how nice the woman smelled. "So, where's John?"

"He's down in Los Angeles getting things ready for the show. Looks like we've already got a good crowd lined up." When they got out to the parking lot, Deborah headed to her car. "Hey, wanna just ride with me? No need to take two cars."

"Sure," said Tiffany, already feeling a little weird. "You'll have to let me know how the L.A. show goes."

Deborah stopped as she opened the passenger-side door and stared. "Why? Aren't you . . ."

It was Tiffany's turn to look confused. "Didn't you . . . didn't John tell you? I got pulled from the show. I wrestle tomorrow and next week, but that's it."

"Bullshit! That jackass!" Deborah almost shouted, then looked around to see if there was anyone else who had heard her. "Don't worry, I'll talk to John. I don't know WHAT that man is thinking. You're better than any of the other girls except maybe . . . MAYBE . . . Francine, and you're a more solid performer than most of the guys. I'll get you back on the program."

They climbed into the car, and Tiffany decided it was time to break the news. "Don't bother. I'm quitting in a few weeks anyway."

As quickly as the car started, it stopped, with both girls being jerked forward. "What? But why . . ."

Tiffany sighed. She figured it couldn't hurt, so she gave the owner's wife the quick run down of the conversation she had with her father and grandfather. Much to Tiffany's satisfaction, Deborah actually let her get through the entire thing before saying anything.

As she started up the car, Deborah looked over at her passenger. "Well, then I guess I've got the rest of the evening to change your mind." She peeled out and headed for their destination. "First, I agree with your grandfather. You've got too much talent to stop now. Listen, I'm going to tell you something, and you have to promise not to tell anyone else, okay?" Tiffany's curiosity was piqued, so Deborah continued. "Despite his attempts to keep me out of the loop, I still found out some things that John was going to keep secret until Los Angeles. The WWE is sending a bunch of talent scouts to the show. If we get good crowd reaction, they're going to start giving our people developmental deals! We'd have big-time backing from the only big dog left on the block!" Deborah noticed that Tiffany wasn't as excited as she had hoped. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy. You could finally get your chance."

"For what? There's maybe a half-dozen female wrestlers in the world that most fans could even name these days. And I'd have to get put back on the ticket and I'd have to be given some kind of match with someone who knows what they're doing and who I can actually trust out there. You handle most of the talent acquisition, but John does all the booking. You know he'll never let any of that happen. He thinks I'm a troublemaker."

"You ARE a troublemaker," Deborah said. "And that's one of the reasons I like you!" The two women shared a laugh.

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A few hours later . . .

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Tiffany had to admit that she was feeling better than she had in months, or maybe even years. Deborah was a lot of fun to hang out with, and Tiffany learned a lot of things about the woman. She had gotten into porn when she was eighteen because she really liked sex. It was that simple. She had gotten out during an HIV scare about six years after she had started. While she hadn't actually been infected, it made her decide to move on and try something new. Unlike most starlets, she had saved her money wisely. She had met John at a strip-club that she had partial ownership of (and occasionally worked at, just for kicks). He had been quite the charmer, and they had gotten married within six months. He had been struggling with his then fledgling wrestling organization, trying to get it going while also getting his hands into minor league baseball as well as some non-sporting ventures. As Tiffany has surmised, he was a pretty good salesman and businessman. But she had been surprised about Deborah's interest in helping him with the wrestling business.

"Actually, that was one of the things we talked about. He saw wrestling . . . still sees it actually . . . as a business venture. He never really was a fan, but he knew potential when he saw it. My father actually used to be a wrestler," Deborah mentioned.

"Get out of here!?! Really?"

"Yep. You won't have heard of him. He wrestled in a mask back before the WWE or NWA made any plays to go national. He did all the little independent operations, including wrestling in Mexico." Deborah was lazily, and a tad sexily, sucking on her straw, making Tiffany a little uncomfortable in a very exciting way. Then she looked quite serious. "There's something I want to tell you. I think, considering what you're planning on doing, that you should hear it." She leaned forward, exposing that cleavage again and making it VERY hard for Tiffany to concentrate. "My dad and I didn't talk for a long time, due to my doing adult movies and all. But . . . but about three years ago, he called me. Told me he had colon cancer that was pretty well developed."