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A Starr is Born by Mistress X Chapter One I made one last look over of my gear as James' music played. Geez, how the hell was I ever gonna get off of the mid-card matched against curtain jerking jobbers like James Phoenix? Sure, I'd be going over, but against the least popular guy in the locker room, it wouldn't give me much of a push. My flame pattern boots were laced, my orange wrist tape was snug, my orange and black ankle length singlet wasn't riding up too much, everything was alright, and then my music erupted. I kissed my left index finger, and put it to my lucky star tattoo on my right shoulder, "I've got to have words with the booker about this." I grumbled aloud, and I burst through the curtain. I emerged into the spotlight and camera flashes, good crowd tonight, not the biggest arena I'd ever performed in, but it was full to the rafters, 15, 16,000 screaming dorks here to get my picture and buy my t-shirts, not bad. Still, if I could get to the upper card, better yet get a major title, I could charge a lot more for those shirts and autographs. I threw my arms up with the most cocky smirk I could manage. I was a heel after all, a bad guy, it was my job to be hated. I headed down the ramp with a fuck-off strut, running my hands through by red-brown hair, and even going so far as to twirl my mustache and goatee. "And his opponent," echoed the ring announcer over the loudspeaker. "from San Diego, California, weighing in at 224 pounds, CASEY BLAZE!" I could feel the boos echoing in my boots, and the smirk turned real. I rolled up onto the ring apron and under the ropes, jumped up, and hopped onto the second turnbuckle. I peered off into the crowd throwing them intentional dirty looks and giving them rude gestures. Cheap heat, easy, the next wave of boos came at me. We centered the ring, and Karl, the referee, stood between us. "You know the routine..." Karl said, running through the motions. I ignored him and gave James a taunting, dismissive look. It wasn't all fake either. He was an ugly little lightweight. James had a shaved head, pasty, bumpy features, a couple of bad tattoos on his back and ankle. He wore blue and green trunks with stylized Japanese writing on them that even he probably didn't understand, plain black boots, black wrist tape. He fancied himself a high-flier, but he was barely proficient on the mat, having botched as many dives as he'd pulled off. I never understood how he even got this job. He had been a little chicken skin thing up until recently, but he'd quickly put a little muscle onto that skinny frame. Juicing, for sure. He still couldn't match the mass, tone, and definition I had achieved with just some heavy iron, protein, and determination. "...go to your corners and wait for the bell." I strode to the corner and leaned into the turnbuckles easily. I wasn't actually as relaxed as I put on for the rubes. Give me a good worker like Kurt Robins, or Jackson Castle, and the show went as smooth as melted butter, but working with uncoordinated spot-monkies like James was a nightmare. The bell rang and we charged at each other and at center ring we put each other in the collar and elbow tie-up. We stood with our arms tangled and I dipped my head down so the audience couldn't see my face. "Alright James," I said. "I'm gonna give you the side headlock and you counter with a back body drop and follow up with an elbow drop." I broke the hold and side-stepped, and wrapped my left arm around the side of his head, holding it down near my waist. James put his right arm around my waist and pulled, but he couldn't actually lift me, stalling the whole match as he struggled. I sighed and rolled my eyes, and then subtly leaped backward and landed on my back, making it look as best I could like he'd thrown me. He kipped up to his feet and dropped right back down for the elbow drop, he was supposed to land with the flat of his arm across the thick part of my chest, but instead he landed with the point of his elbow uncomfortably close to my collar bone. "Gah," I groaned. "Little bastard." Then I noticed he was climbing the nearest turnbuckle. We hadn't discussed this. He got up there, turned his back to me, and did a moonsault back-flip, landing right across my chest. "What the hell are you doing James!?" I whispered as sternly as I could. Of course I already knew, spot-monkey. I rolled to my knees, and grabbed him, putting him in a front chancery face-lock. He was there, bent over in front of me, with his head in my armpit, and I grabbed him by the trunks and suplexed him over my shoulder, slamming him probably too hard onto his back. Receipt. As he staggered back to his feet I bounced myself off the ring ropes and clotheslined him across the chest, knocking him legitimately back to the canvas. He kipped right back up, ran behind me, bounced off the ropes, and came back at me, flying through the air for a cross body block, which I, being much bigger than him, caught in mid-air. "James, you've got to give me a heads up on these things dammit." I berated him. "I'm gonna give you a body slam, then a pin, you kick out and we'll go into the chin-lock." I threw my feet out behind me and fell onto the mat, looking like I squashed James under my weight, and lay on him. Karl slid down quickly next to us, and brought his hand down onto the canvas, and James popped his shoulder up. "At one James!?" I thought. "Really?" I rolled him onto his chest, sat myself on his back, and clasped my hands under his chin, pulling him backward. "Okay," I whispered. "I'm gonna give you the one-two, flying forearm, and the cross-face." "I want to get my moves in," he protested through his teeth. "I only got in one high-spot." "Let's just do this," I insisted. Making almost no show of it at all, James slid out in front of me, and put his boot on the bottom rope. "Rope-break!" cried Karl, and he came up behind me pretending to break up the hold. "1... 2... 3..." he began to count as I refused to break the hold. According to the canon rules of the match, 'kayfabe' it's called, I had to a count of 5 to break the hold. But I was a heel, a bad-guy, so holding a submission past the break is a cheap source of heat with the crowd. Besides, I liked sticking it to this little squirt. I waited until I heard the "f" on the five before I let him go. I picked him up, grabbed him by the wrist and shoulder, and sent him propelled across the ring. It's called an 'Irish-Whip,' and it's one of the fundamental moves everybody learns. I turned, stepped back and the two of us bounced off of opposite ropes, and hurdled towards each other, I leaped into the air and touched my forearm deceptively lightly to his head. James fell back and I crawled over him, flipping him onto his chest, I trapped his left hand between my knees and put the back of my hand under his nose, hooking it with my other hand around the back of his head, pulling his head up and backward. Then I felt something weird. His hand was grabbing the inside of my knee. He wasn't, was he? He pulled my legs in and turned in place, rolling over and through the hold. My green eyes turned red. That insufferable little bastard, the unmitigated gall this 50-1 loser, this canvas eating jobber had to slip MY finishing move!? That was supposed to be the go home spot, that was the end. Now the biggest loser in the locker room, had no-sold it, and turned it around, and irrevocably weakened my best move! I was steaming, I needed to catch my breath or I was gonna kill this little shit. I rolled under the ropes and onto the floor, and I stepped away from the ring as Karl began his 10-count for the ring-out. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and stewed for a moment when I heard a mild pop from the audience. I turned to see what they were reacting to when I saw James, on the top rope, right above me, and when he saw me lock eyes with him he jumped. He was doing a high cross-body, a very stupid move to do without discussing it first. My job during this move would be to catch him, and break his fall, while going to the floor and looking like he flattened me. I stepped aside. James went crashing into the barely padded stadium floor, I heard a snap, and a scream, and there he was, writhing on the ground, cradling a crooked forearm. I looked up into the ring at Karl, who had panic in his eyes. He quickly slid out of the ring and whispered in the ear of the ring announcer who was sitting by the commentators, and EMTs hustled down the entrance ramp. "Ladies and Gentlemen," the announcer declared over the speakers. "this match has ended in a no-contest." An audible groan could be heard from the marks in the crowd. I just shook my head and walked around the medics crowding around James and I headed back up the ramp, fuming. I trudged through the hallways crowded with stage hands, and other wrestlers, still steamed at what had gone down in the ring. I decided to take a walk before heading back to the locker room... and I knew just which route to take. After a roundabout walk through the cinder block hallways I came to the locker room, just not the men's locker room. I could already hear showers running and high pitched voices chatting. I walked past along the opposite wall until I reached a place where I could see in through a crack in the door. It was not an unpleasant sight. There, totally oblivious to me was Violet, a girl from Utah with a cowgirl gimmick and she was wearing her trademark boots and denim cut- offs, and nothing else. "Man, I'll have to take a swing at her sometime." I thought. Then out came Angel Madison, queen-bee of the women's division. She was a heel like me, but she didn't have to put so much work into acting the part of the bitch. "And what are you doing on this side of the arena?" she demanded staring me down with her baby-blues. I'd seen plenty of girls in my time who had fuck-me eyes, but Angel was the only one I'd seen with fuck-you eyes. Still, they were set in a pretty face. It had gotten her pretty far in life, but not as far as that body. She was dressed for a match, her pink thigh-high wrestling boots, too short pink skirt and mid-riff bearing top. It fit her super-model curves so well, especially the top, since Angel was the reigning captain of the company 'silicone squad.' It was one of my favorite NDW company policies. They paid for a limited set of elective surgeries for the gals, implants being pretty high on the list. Though they'd only spring for the old-school implants, and not the new zeeg tissue building bio-mods. "Walking off a shitty performance," I answered. "What's it to you? You looking for a good one Babe?" "Pfft. Pig," she said. "Ms. Madison, you're wanted in makeup," said a stage hand popping around the corner. "Right," said Angel. She looked back at me. "Why don't you fuck off?" Then she trotted away. "Probably should," I thought. If I hung around here too long my tights might get a little painful. I decided as soon as I got back to the locker room, I'd look through my phone to see what hook-ups I had in Cincinnati. I made my way to the men's locker room where a bunch of the other guys were changing for or after a match, or just hanging around. Some of them were cool, some of them were assholes. The one I hated most was Luke Power, the current NDW Heavyweight Champ. Why was he the champ? I didn't think he was that good of a worker in the ring, or that good a talker on the mic, no, they made him the champ because of the look. I had a fantastic bod, but Luke was a god damned super-hero, he even dressed like one. He was a 6'6", 300+ pound super-heavyweight without an ounce of fat on him. Decked out in his blue trunks and knee pads with red and white trim, black boots, red wrist tape, he looked like some genetic experiment from a patriotic super-soldier project. He had mass I'd never be capable of. That may sound like jealousy, but the look was only a small part of why I hated him. What really irked me was he was so god damned, legitimately, no kidding, no act, nice. He was the quintessential face, good-guy, and it was no act. He was the chummiest SOB you'd ever see and he was always the first one to volunteer for the charity appearances and USO shows. He made me sick. I took my bag out of my locker and pulled out a towel and my phone. I scrolled through my contacts when another stage hand poked in. "There you are," he said. "Casey, Mike wants to talk to you." "I'm gonna hit the shower," I replied. "I wouldn't make him wait," the guy responded. I just nodded in irritation. Mike signed the checks, I couldn't say no. I pulled the straps down on my singlet and wiped myself down with the towel, and threw on a t-shirt from my bag before I headed out of the room. It took me maybe five minutes to find the administrative section in this backward ass arena and I finally came across a door with the temporary name-tag on it. "Mike Chaninzki - General Manager," Mike wasn't the on air manager, that was an actor, an over the hill former wrestler named Danny Omega. Mike was a business man, and he was the real deal. He was the guy I had wanted to talk to about matching me with Phoenix but I knew if he was calling me in he was gonna be pissed. "Sit down," was all he said when I walked in. I took a seat in an aluminum folding chair in front of what looked like an old army surplus steel desk the arena had provided. Mike was a sort of portly middle-aged guy, balding, but didn't seem soft. When I describe him as a business man, he seems sometimes like the kind of guy who gets called that as a euphemism. He had the big gold pinky ring and everything. He rested his chin on his thumb, curled his finger over his lip, and stared at me for what felt like all day. "You shit the bed this time Casey," he finally said. "What the hell was that out there?" "He didn't give me the heads up on the move Mike," I answered. "Everybody in the locker room has told you about that guy. He had to get his spots in. He's a diva." "You're all fucking divas," Mike retorted. "And I'm sure that's all it was right? It wasn't because you got pissed off that he made you look bad? Well you damn sure all look good now huh? You had a win lined up and you turned it into a damn draw, Jimmy's in the hospital, you're both down heat and that costs me money. Everybody wins eh? Because you both had to do things your own way. I just sat here on the phone with Jimmy's lawyer pointing out the part of his contract what says he can't sue!" "Look Mike, I-" I began. "Don't 'Mike' me," he interrupted. "I'm moving you down the card next week and I'm docking your take from the next pay-per-view and I don't want to hear another word about it. I'd suspend you but I already gotta put Jimmy on the shelf because he broke his damn arm. Now get the hell out of here. And if I was you I'd hide in your tour bus so I wouldn't run into ME for a while!" I went out into the hall and kicked over the first equipment crate I saw. "Son of a bitch!" I spit and almost flung whatever was in my hand against the wall before I realized it was my phone. My contacts were still open. "Fuck it," I said aloud and looked down at it. "Let's see who's in town who thinks she's my girlfriend." *** Chapter Two It was early the next week and the tour buses had taken us to Cleveland. We were at a bigger arena here, which meant a bigger gate, which meant a bigger pay check, even if I was lower on the card, so my mood was up. I was in the gym working out at the free weights, pumping my guns, bicep curls and shoulder presses, when one of the booker's assistants came in and read off the card, and the clanking of iron went quiet. The big money draws, the upper card guys, the title holders, they had on-going feuds and angles, they were in the pitch meetings, a lot of thought went into their matches and just how everything would go and when they'd be on. Everybody else just got a match order and a winner announced in the gym or the locker room. I hated being on that sheet. "Alright, listen up," he called out, holding up an actual print out of fax paper in his hand like it was the damn stone-age. "Pulling the curtain tomorrow night it's Franky Stone going over Greg Gara. Second match is the Cole Brothers going over the 9 to 5ers. Third match is Casey Blaze going over Dead Ed, fourth is Cassidy going over Miami Dawn, fifth is Ryan Rogers going over Vortex. That's it for the dark show. On air it's..." I stopped listening. He moved me down the card alright, he took me off the air completely, and put me on the damned untelevised dark show. At least Mike didn't have the gall to make me do the job and lose. So it was Dead Ed I was working with eh? Ed Elliot. Not a super-star by any means, no charisma whatsoever, but at least he was a professional in the ring and knew what he was doing, unlike James Phoenix. God, I wished I knew whose nephew James was to get this job. "...and that's it for the mid-card. That's it folks, that's all she wrote," The assistant turned to leave. "Oh wait," he paused and turned around. "Casey, somebody told me Mike wants to see you." "Now what?" I said, to myself more than anyone. I put the weights back on the rack and toweled off before pulling my tank top back on, taking a swig from my water bottle, and heading for the office. I knocked on Mike's door and peeked in. "What do you want?" he asked grimly when he looked up and saw me. Luke Power was sitting in his civies in front of him, they were obviously in a meeting. "I was told you wanted to see me," I returned. "I don't know why the hell I would," he said. "Somebody's fucking around. I didn't send for you. Get out of here, go coordinate with Dead Ed and try to give the match a finish this time. Anyway, Luke..." I walked out gritting my teeth. Not only had I not wanted to see Mike right now, now my workout groove was busted. I had all day to work out spots with Ed, mostly consisting of me putting him in the cross-face and him tapping, so there wasn't that big of a hurry, I just wanted to get back in the gym and pump away some rage. Turning a corner I bumped literally shoulder to slung shoulder with none other than a cast bearing James Phoenix. It looked like he was coming out of the gym. "Whoa," I said. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be on leave," He just shot daggers at me with his eyes, stink eye like I'd never seen before, and marched wordlessly off down the corridor. "What's James doing here?" I asked when I came back into the gym. "Beats me," answered a tag-teamer named Rhett Cole. "He just poked around. Jack Castle had to chase him away from his bag. Looked like he was looking for something." "It's not like he forgot something," I said, and took another hit from my water bottle. "We haven't been to Cleveland since last winter," I took the weights back off the rack and did a few more steady curls. *** It was the next night and I was geared up for the show. I was standing behind the curtain when Ed approached me in his own ring gear, scraggly long black hair, messy eye-liner, a sleeveless black t-shirt tucked into his black tights. Grunge. "Hey man," he said. "We haven't talked about the spots." "Yeah, yeah," I said, wiping some water out of my eye. "I've been feeling a little low energy today. Not really enthused I guess. Anyway, I'll open with a lariat, the go home spot will be the cross-face, we'll improvise in between. Right?" "Whatever man," he said. "Just pretend to show some enthusiasm out there at least." "About what?" I asked. "We're both heels man. They don't even care about logic in the dark matches. Why would I want your blood? I think my character would be as disinterested as I am." I could see he was about to tell me off by his dirty look, but before he could answer his music hit. He just shook his head at me and went through the curtain. I just wiped my eyes again. I had felt lousy all day, not sick really, just unmotivated, and I had the weirdest persistent tingling in my stomach. The loudspeaker rumbled the music through the place and I could hear the muffled sound of Ed's announcement. "Introducing first, fighting out of the Bronx, New York, weighing in at 213 pounds... DEAD ED!" and there was a mild pop from the crowd, given how few real Dead Ed fans there were. It was funny to hear a heel get a pop. He was one of those guys who could never turn against the marks in the audience and make them hate him. The music died down, and I could see the lights change to a more orange color under the curtain, and my music hit. I kissed my forefingers and placed them to my star tattoo and psyched myself. Then I burst through the curtain. "And his opponent, from San Diego, California, weighing in at 224 pounds... CASEY BLAZE!" and the crowd gave a much louder boo than the pop they had given Ed. That was a proper reaction for a good heel doing his job right. I did my signature strut down to the ring, up on the turnbuckle, acted for the rubes. Routine. We centered the ring, Karl was the ref again and he did his whole spiel. We went to our corners, and then the bell rang. I ran out, meeting Ed close to his own corner and wrapped my arm around his neck at a run. I did it lightly mind you, but he threw himself back first onto the mat and grasped at his neck for effect. I bent over and slapped him lightly across the head before I pulled him to his feet. "Suplex, and then mounted punches," he whispered and I agreed. I twisted my arm around the back of his neck, grabbed his tights, and lifted... and failed. It didn't feel like Ed was at his billed weight right then. But I tried again, with a little more effort, and this time I got him up, lifted vertically over my shoulder, and then I fell backward with him to the canvas. I rolled through with the momentum of the maneuver and ended up sitting on Ed's chest. Then I began to punch him in the head. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book. The punches weren't fake per se, they landed, they were just really soft, and my hand was held in a way that looked like a closed fist from a distance, but was really half open. Ed was a brawler, so his options were limited, he began to return the same gimmick punches to my midsection which I took as a sign to make an opening. I played them up and acted stunned, stopped dead in the middle of a swing, and he reached forward, took my ankle, and rolled me over into a heel hold. Simple grapples like this could be felt through and didn't have to be discussed verbally. Of course Ed didn't put any actual pressure on it but I played it up anyway, throwing a fit like it was the most painful thing in the world. Eventually I stretched out, and put my hand on the ropes, and it was my turn to sit and wait while the ref counted to 5. When Ed let go I rolled out of the ring, classic cowardly heel tactic, but when I hit the floor I went to a knee inadvertently. I was feeling strangely woozy. Ed slid out after me and as soon as I got to my feet he had me in a side headlock. "Are you okay man?" he whispered. "I'm fine," I answered. "Just go to the ring post. I put my hand on his back and pushed forward out of the headlock, and he ran straight into the ring post, headbutting the back of his hand as to imply he struck his head on the metal post. I rolled him back onto the ring apron and gave him a deceptively soft elbow pat, and then rolled in beside him. I knelt there, trying to catch my breath. Something was wrong. "Hey, man, you're messed up," Ed whispered. "Let's wrap this up and get you backstage. Give me the Irish whip, the one-two, and go home." Ed picked me up and walked me through a wrist lock that gave me apparent control, and I gave him a light push that sent him running. He bounced off the ropes and came back. I hit him with a 'flying' forearm that didn't even leave the ground and then I dropped on top of him and put him in the most half-assed cross-face of my career. He instantly started tapping the mat, but before Karl could even call the match everything began to go white and I saw the canvas come up to meet me. *** Chapter Three I woke up, I knew not how much later, in a hospital bed. I wasn't hooked up to anything, which was a good sign, but I was wearing an assless hospital gown and I still felt like six pounds of dirt in a three pound bag. I fumbled around until I found the little switch with a call button on it, and pressed it. More than five minutes later no nurse had come, but instead in walked an older fellow wearing a full on doctor's coat. "Mr. Blake?" he said. "Call me Casey," I responded. "What happened?" "I'm Doctor Hansen. Well, ahem," he took a seat in a chair beside the bed. "We ran some tests and it appears you over-exerted yourself during a hormonal imbalance. It caused you to faint. That in itself is not so serious," He looked uneasy, which put me on edge. "THAT is not so serious?" I probed. "In the short term, we're going to put you on some anti-depressants. Have you eaten anything unusual lately? Come into contact with anything strange?" he deflected. "I can't help but feel like we're dancing around here doc," I said plainly. "It is important that we cover this issue Mr. Blake, because our tests have suggested that you were drugged, and it would help us to find out how," said Hansen. "Drugged!?" I exclaimed. "Drugged with what?" "Are you familiar with Zeeg bio-mods?" he asked. "Yeah," I answered. "Kinda. I heard they have some sort of roids that don't shrink your nuts." "That's not what you were given," he responded flatly. The Zeeg were these sort of aliens that had popped up some years earlier, not like from another planet, but some other dimension. From what I knew they were amiable enough for the most part and they were supposed to be really closely related to us humans, like frogs and toads. You'd see them around once in a while. They also had some really advanced technology. Mostly it was a lot of high-end consumer things, but they had a real special edge in the medical stuff. They supposedly had a cure for almost everything, and all kinds of drugs and chemicals that could do all sorts of things because they had figured out how to manipulate DNA and cell structure. Bio-mods were a sort of high-end chemical plastic surgery. They'd give you some sort of soup and it would make your own bodily processes make the changes for you. They could make you look younger, give a girl a bigger set of tits, change your hair or eye color, even change your race. The things that did the big changes though weren't usually freely available to the public, and you had to get your head shrunk first if you wanted to get anything drastic done. They didn't like sending too much over to our side of the curtain. Things like hair color wasn't as tightly watched, but it was an expensive alternative to a dye job. "So what's up?" I again said directly. "I'm not about to croak am I?" "No," he answered. "Nothing life threatening. Um, before we go further..." He walked right outside and left me alone, still with no real answers. But he said I wasn't dying and that was a big plus in the win column as far as I was concerned. He came back not two minutes later with a nurse in tow and she was carrying an IV bag of something clear. She was alright, had a pixie cut and that typical nurse look of having been on shift too long and was pissed about it, but she was kinda stacked up top. "This is something to make you feel a little better," said the doc as the nurse hooked up the IV to the stand by the bed. She leaned over and started doing that thing where they try to work up a vein by flicking you and I noticed I could see right down her smock. I of course did what I had always done in these situations and locked eyes with her cleavage. Why was I doing this? Yeah, they were nice, they were big, probably not real, but... I found myself doing what I'd never done before, applying reason to boobs. Why did I like boobs? Why do I look at them? Why did they give me the reaction they did? Finally, why was I pondering this right now? "OW!" I snapped out of it as I felt the needle sink into my arm, and then I rapidly calmed down as the soothing chemical goodness seeped into my system. "Oh, that's good..." My eyes half closed and I laid my head against the pillow again. "Okay Mr. Blake," the doctor said as the nurse walked out. "Call me Casey," I sung. "I'm going to ask you a few questions," he continued. "You are a heterosexual, yes?" "Um-hmm." "You didn't knowingly take anything illicit yesterday? Correct?" "Uh-mm." "Mr. Blake..." "Casey." "...are you familiar with something called gynospores?" "Nope." "Well, we've detected active spores in your system, and they're quite volatile. That's what caused the sudden drop in testosterone levels that caused your blackout yesterday. It would help us greatly if you could shed some light on how you were exposed." That got my attention, in spite of my apparent loopiness and good vibes, whatever they'd given me left me actually pretty lucid on a logical level. "Say what now? That's what I was drugged with?" "Yes Mr. Blake." "And they make my testosterone levels drop?" I asked. "Considerably," he answered. "Am I gonna have to take supplements or something?" "I'm afraid it's not that simple," he spoke with a very dour, almost threatening tone. Now I was worried. A rather tight, painful lump formed in my throat. "We've been dancing around this for a while now doc. Let's get down to brass tacks. What's the diagnosis?" "Gynospores are a rather potent and permanent bio-mod Mr. Blake," he said, still grim, still with the tone of a man who hated doing what he was doing. "Their effects are irreversible. And their effects are on going. It will be another two weeks or so until their total physical effects are complete, unless v-ray treatment is sought to speed it along. But given the strain in question there's nothing we can do to stop it or frankly, even slow it down. The counter mod simply doesn't exist." "Effects?" "They are," he hesitated. "they are a very thorough male to female sex- change mod, and they WILL run their course." Suddenly I saw spots again, the ceiling started spinning above me and everything went white. *** When I woke up again I was given the whole history and rundown. Apparently gynospores come from a genetically engineered plant from the Zeeg side and they are grown in labs run entirely by women, since the spores don't do anything to women, but are extremely dangerous to men. As they explained it the spores produce artificial Zeeg DNA segments specific to the fourth chromatid on the second X chromosome, the one guys don't have. It takes a guy's DNA and alters it from the ground up to change his Y chromosome into a second X, and then it goes about altering his cell structure, then physical structure from there. They couldn't make a counter-mod because, they said, it was easy for the spore to target a single Y chromosome, but when there were two Xs, it was too hard to get the thing to affect just one. So in about two weeks I'd have the whole package, tits, pussy, even womb and ovaries, monthly visitor and all. It would be the whole package, delivered to the wrong address. What's more it was meant for Zeeg, and Zeeg aren't quite the same as humans, so there were more side effects. Zeeg guys, funny alien heads not withstanding, are more like human guys than Zeeg chicks are like human women. From the neck down, they were pretty much the same, but the girls have all kinds of differences. For one thing, they were naturally hairless, and I don't just mean bald like all Zeeg are. From the eyebrows down they didn't have a hair on them, except for pubes, I could attest to that from some curious internet browsing I had done. Their skin was also softer and healed more perfectly than any human's. They didn't get scars or tan lines, not for long anyway, it would all even out, and cuts healed up a lot faster. Finally they emitted a sex pheromone that worked like a natural aphrodisiac for guys. They work on Zeeg guys better, but it was supposed to work on human guys too. They made a pretty penny bottling that stuff into perfume, or so the rumor goes. I was happy to learn it only really worked when they were sexually aroused because as it turns out, all these traits get passed on to a guy who gets exposed to gynospores and changes; 'Gynomorphs' they're called. What I was less happy to learn was that the changes were more than physical. They changed things mentally too. They didn't erase your memory or brainwash you, I was assured, but they made adjustments to a more natural female brain structure and brain chemistry, a natural HETEROSEXUAL female brain chemistry. As it turned out there were no carpet munchers among gynomorphs. *** I was sitting in my hospital room staring at the wall when the door crept open and in poked a toe-headed face. "Hey man... um, uh, Casey," he said. I slowly turned my head and glowered at him, knowing full well my eyes had dark bags the size of pillows under them. It was Nigel Cullen, my agent, and being like me, a player of his part, he would often come off as too upbeat and chipper. He was trying to hold it back at the time, temper it so he didn't seem thrilled, but not adding to the depression either. He was also the only guy I ever met named 'Nigel' with an American accent. "So um, I've actually got some good news," he said taking a seat beside the bed. I just rotated my face around and looked back at the wall. "Of course," I said flatly. "How could there be any other kind?" "Well, it's..." he began before chesty nurse came in and interrupted him, she was carrying a little paper cup and a glass of water. "Time for your medication," she said and handed me the cup with two pills in it and the water. She stood over me and stared, making sure she saw me take them. I looked up at her disapprovingly for a moment before I downed the pills, chasing them with water, all without breaking eye contact. Then I opened my mouth and lifted my tongue contemptuously. She took the glass and left. "Those uh... happy pills eh?" questioned Nigel trying to break the tension. "I don't know about that," I said. "But I haven't thrown myself out a window so they're obviously doing something," I tossed the leftover paper cup in the trash can in the corner of the room. "Look," he said. "I do have news. They turned half that arena into a damned quarantine zone looking for whatever infected you. Hazmat suits, bio-chemical doohickeys, it was the Andromeda Strain in there for a while. They found it in your water bottle. Nothing outside, everything else was clean." "This helps me how?" I said. "Well they found fingerprints on the bottle, yours and someone else's," he answered. I turned an icy, impatient gaze back toward him. "They were Phoenix's, they busted him." I shook my head and sighed, my lip curled in a moment of lucidity and understanding. "That little shit would," I said. "Apparently he'd been gassing," Nigel explained. "he got a small dose from his steroid dealer. He's gonna go away for a long time for this, but um... you're gonna have to testify." I sighed again. "I don't have that much to say," I said. "I saw him in the arena that day, coming out of the gym. Probably then I guess." "Well," he went on. "I just wanted to give you the news, I'm not here to talk about that, I'm a contract lawyer, not a criminal attorney, you're gonna have to talk with someone else about that. We shouldn't discuss it. But I am here to talk about something else." I looked at him again, slightly puzzled. "It's your contract with NDW," he said. "What about it?" I asked. "What contract? I'm done, my career is over." "Well..." he hesitated. "No. You still have two years left on your contract. In light of recent events they're willing to renegotiate terms but... Look. I've already talked with them, they're not willing to release the contract." "What the hell are you talking about?" I demanded, my voice finally picking up, my emotions showing. "I can't wrestle. That's done man, it's DONE." "Except they're willing to make concessions, on everything but contract length. That gives them a much higher chance of winning in court Casey," Nigel retorted. "I could potentially argue that this constitutes a career ending illness but I have no confidence that they won't still find you in breach, because..." he trailed off. "Because what?" "Because NDW does have a women's division, and their staff has already made it clear that that is on the table." "Fuck no!" I yelled. "No damned way!" "They're making all the concessions Casey," he said. "That gives them a strong position. You can fight them in court, probably lose, lose out on a ton of money in legal fees or... you could do the two years, and get paid, maybe even get a pay increase." I brought my hand up to my chin in contemplative frustration, and realized how smooth it was, my goatee and mustache were already gone, and my skin was softer than it had been since I was six. "GRAHH!" I screamed and tried to throw the bed control against the wall, but it just sprung back on its cord and clattered against the side of the bed. I laid my face in my hands and cried. *** Chapter Four It was a couple days later, and I was out of the hospital, but still on my medication, I was frankly scared not to take it, as bad as I felt on the anti-depressants, I didn't want to think about what I'd be like without them. They had told me the gynospores worked fast, and boy they weren't kidding. It had been less than a week and I was already a different person. I was standing in an office building lobby wearing sweats and a sleeveless hoodie, looking nothing like I ever had. I had been a specimen of masculinity, built, cut, a triangular torso, ripped even by average pro-wrestler standards. Now I looked like a pretty defined body- builder tomboy and I was fading fast. I could almost see the mass steaming off of me and I really wanted to get in the gym and mitigate the loss as much as I could, but instead I was standing here waiting for a meeting. Nigel came up behind me and patted me on the back. "Hey Casey," he said. "how's it han... ging...?" I glared at him, eyes like saucers, pupils pin-pricks, brow furrowed. "Oh man, I'm so, so sorry. I wasn't thinking," he pleaded. It was at least still hanging, for the time being, just, not so low as before. "Let's just get this over with," I said in my weird, high-pitched, almost prepubescent voice, which I'd been cringing over since before I even left the hospital. We were here now to talk about my contract with the NDW lawyers they'd sent up to Cleveland, so now we were heading into the office they had rented. "Just make sure you ask them, first thing." "I'm telling you Casey, they're not gonna go for it," he said. "They've already said it's off the table. Ironically I'm pretty sure they're trying to avoid a wrongful termination suit." "I'll give my consent under oath. I'll have it recorded," I insisted. "Nope," he returned. "We already talked about that. They know you're on the anti-depressants. It could be argued you weren't in the correct state of mind. Besides, it's not just you they're worried about. If word got out they'd terminated the contract of a... of a transgender wrestler, they'd leave the office that day and find their cars on fire. Doesn't matter what you'd said, there's people who'd still want their blood." "Excuse me," interrupted a dark haired, professionally dressed young woman with frameless glasses and a tablet. "Mr. Cullen? They're ready for you now." "Showtime Boss," said Nigel as he strode through the doors. I kissed my shoulder for luck and followed. Inside was a pretty cheap-o office room, typical as a daily rental, and in the center was a long table. At the opposite end of it were five suits I didn't recognize, a skinny hipster guy with a poorly kempt beard and thick glasses who I recognized as one of the show writers, another pretty well build guy wearing one of the NDW trainer's polos, and a computer monitor which displayed Mike sitting in another arena office. Obviously Mike couldn't be there in person because the booker has to go on with the show, and they were in Detroit by now. Mr. Blake, Mr. Cullen," stood the bun wearing lady in a black suit near the middle of the group. "On behalf of Next Dimension Wrestling we'd like to express our condolences for the terrible crime you've been victim to, and we hope the following necessary proceedings can go as smoothly and easily as possible. Please," she motion to the chairs in front of us. "be seated." Nigel pulled out a chair and was about to sit down when I elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "Ow! ...oh, right," he moaned. "Um," he stood upright and faced the group. "My client would like to begin by repeating his desire to be released from his current employment contract with Next Dimension Wrestling." The same lady, now sitting, tented her fingers and spoke. "I am... afraid we're not currently authorized to do that. Although we have been given discrepancy to offer very favorable new terms." "Huh, fine," I groaned. "Let's talk. But I'm not promising anything." We sat down. "First of all," Nigel began. "My client demands a 25% minimum yearly salary increase with continued options for merchandising, bonuses, and percentages of gate sales. Non-negotiable." The suits huddled and whispered with each other, having a very public secret conversation. "We're amenable to that," finally answered the lady. "In addition," Nigel continued. "my client wants a guaranteed title reign of no less than one month within the first two years, barring injury, and an advertised match in at least one pay-per-view event each fiscal quarter, or numerical equivalent. Again, barring injury." "What are you doing!?" I whisper yelled in his ear. "I don't want that kind of exposure!" "What are you talking about?" he returned. "That's gonna increase your merchandising and bonuses by a ton. Besides, it justifies the pay increase if they utilize you more." "They already went for the pay increase you moron!" I snapped. "Besides, I'd rather they didn't, I'd rather you just play hard-ball enough that they let me out of my contract." "Casey," he argued. "You like wrestling, you always wanted bigger matches, titles, more exposure, what's the problem?" "I DON'T WANT TO BE SEEN LIKE THIS!" I shouted completely aloud. One could have heard a pin drop. There was an awkward silence in the room for a good ten seconds after that. To my dismay the suits didn't display the appalled expression I would have expected, not all of them anyway. The lady in the middle just cracked a subtle, amused smirk. "We appreciate your concern," she finally broke the silence. "But the fact is we already lost one useful piece of talent in this debacle, and you are a gifted ring worker as I understand it. You were a good utility that went, underutilized. We're willing to correct that now." "But I don't..." I warbled. "I just..." I threw my hands down in frustration. "If I may?" interjected the writer guy on the side, who had, up until this point, been typing at his computer, likely actually working instead of paying attention. "We've already given out the dirt sheet on this whole thing in the locker rooms, but we haven?t made a public press release yet. If it's your public image you're worried about, all they know is you got sick." "What are you proposing?" Nigel questioned. "We could just invent a new persona. We do it all the time," he answered. I hadn't considered that. It wasn't like my name was actually Casey Blaze, we did characters. I knew guys who'd gone through three or four in a career. I knew one guy with a chiropractor shtick who put on a dinosaur mask for a year and a half, and by the time he took it off again, nobody knew who he was, and I was gonna look way more different. Wrestling fans were stupid. I could make this work... if I had to. "You're damn right we are," Mike spoke up from his computer screen. "We're doing that anyway. No way I'm booking 'Casey the Tranny Wrestler.' But that might be a problem," He pointed at his computer screen, which didn't translate correctly into physical space, but I instinctively knew what he meant. I looked over to where my hand was scratching my star tattoo. It was sort of a trademark, identifiable. "Nah," spoke the trainer casually. "There's a thousand ways we can fix that. Sweat resistant makeup, tattoo removal, cover ink, hell, something as simple as the right outfit." "No it's an opportunity," said the writer with a little excitement in his voice. "You were gonna need a new name right? I've always been a name guy but everybody comes in with something already in mind. Star," he said holding his hands up as if he were picturing something. It was an odd thing to do for a sound. "We'll call you Star." "I don't want to be called fucking Star," I insisted. "It sounds like a stripper." "No worries," he said. "We'll add an extra R. Makes it sound like a surname. But you'll need a new first name. Guessing you don't want to go too fem, so something neutral, something that sounds good..." he contemplated. "Got it," He snapped his fingers. "Sam. Sam Starr. Snappy, great alliteration." I put my hand on my temples and sighed. *** We were sitting in Nigel's car after the meeting. By the time we were done I had guaranteed rights to a title, a minimum number of matches, minimum air-time, an action figure, a new t-shirt design every other fiscal quarter, pay-per-view appearances, a 33 1/3% pay increase, etc. All under the name, Sam Starr. Whoopty-do. Under a doctor's recommendation, and due to my own still changing appearance, as well as Sam Starr's need to have her own move-set, I would be going back into training instead of going into the ring right away, but they wouldn't be sending me back to developmental. I'd go back to touring with the show, but I'd just be back-stage practicing. They had to rearrange the whole tour bus order to make that happen, now I'd be riding in a car and staying in a hotel room until the changes were done, and then I'd be bunking in one of the women's buses with a couple of lady wrestlers named Violet and Cassidy. Cassidy would also be my training partner for a while, along with my new coach, the trainer from the meeting, a guy named Jerry Norman. He'd been a minor league wrestler I'd never heard of some fifteen years ago as it turned out. Cassidy was part of the main roster, so I knew her. She was, let's say, bottom heavy, but was still pretty damned agile. Liked to do high-spots and a lot of flips. She was a decent worker in her own right, even if she didn't gel with my preferred style. Nigel slammed the door closed as he adjusted himself in the driver's seat and then he held the box of french-fries he had in his hand out to me. I grasped a few of them and started chewing on them. Damn my diet, I was hungry. This whole process had my metabolism completely out of whack. "That went better than I expected," he said. "We got a great deal." I started crying. "Aww, geez," he said. "Look, I know you're going through something unimaginably hard right now. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to make a bit of a silver lining. We just got a deal former world champions would kill for. It's what you always wanted isn't it?" "I wanted to do it!" I screamed at him, sounding like a pissed-off teenager yelling at her dad. "I, ME, you get that!? Not, Sam Starr." "So what? You don't want the persona?" "It's not about fucking personas," I said, almost realizing it as I was speaking. "Casey Blaze wasn't a persona. Casey Blaze was me. He wasn't some damn character. That swaggering, self-absorbed asshole, was all me," I rolled my eyes at my own hilarious, morbid confession, not even to Nigel, but to myself. "That's what I mean, me. I wanted to be famous, I wanted to be on top, as myself. I'm not FUCKING ME anymore! Sam Starr is NOT ME! Casey Blaze was me. I'm more nobody than ever." *** Chapter Five I sat on a bench outside the rental car place looking at my phone. I noticed the time, and reached into my bag for my medication. I shook out a couple pills and downed them dry before putting the bottle back. "Casey?" said the voice above me. "It's Jerry, we met at the contract meeting," He reached out his hand. I stood up and shook it with disinterest. Jerry was a bit of an older guy, but he still kept the wrestler bod in some ways. I could clearly see the outline of his pecks through his polo and it irritated me to realize, at the rate I was fading away, he was already bigger than me. Worse still, the thing that really turned my stomach, was as I shook his hand, I realized how much bigger his was than mine, encompassing it almost. "I guess we're riding together. Come on, the car's over here." I picked up my bags, he had a roller, and I followed him to the car. It was a basic A to B sedan, into the trunk of which he put his luggage and I threw my bags in the back seat. He settled in the driver's seat and started the car, triggering a monotonous little ping. "Seatbelt on," he said. I just looked forward with my arms crossed. "Look it's not gonna stop pinging until you do it." I sighed and pulled the strap over my shoulder, clicking it in place. "Whose business ith it but mine ifth I go fthying through the windthield?" "Excuse me?" he looked puzzled. I sighed much harder, frustrated. "My lipth are swollen okay," I declared defiantly. "They say I'll geth usedth to it in a day or two." "Yeah I guess they are," he said with a disengaging tone, and put the car in drive before pulling away. "Dinner?" he said after a while. "Whath?" "It's more than 150 miles to Detroit. Where do you want to eat?" he explained. "I don'th care," I said, frankly pouted. "Well let's see if we can find a steakhouse. It's good to keep those protein levels up," He pulled out onto the highway and we sat there in silence for a long time before he broke the tension again. "Look, uh, I know you're upset. I know what it's like to have a career altering mishap..." "I don'th care about my damned career!" I insisted. "No, that's not what I meant. It's, it's to have everything you are and worked for flipped upside down, and nothing you can do about it. You ring workers, you're body proud, and you had to work to earn it, and to have it torn out from under you, I get it. It's rough." "You don'th know whath ith's like," I grumbled staring out the window. It was about an hour later when Jerry took an off-ramp and pulled into the parking lot of a roadside eatery. He put it in park and got out of the car. "You coming?" he questioned, poking his head back inside. I jerked the door handle and stepped out, still obstinate, but still hungry as hell. Inside was this weird countryfied place where the waitresses wore wicker stetsons and fiddle music played over the sound system. It was the kind of place that was too good to have peanut shells on the floor, but not so nice as to keep the red and white pic-nic blanket checkerboard pattern off the tablecloths. "Whath the hell ith thith?" I said. "Never been to a roadside steakhouse before?" Jerry asked. "I've seen a lot worse than this." "Just the two of you?" asked a girl who had cowgirl boots poking out from the bottom of an apron bedecked sundress, holding a stack of menus across her chest. "Uh, yeah, that'll be it," Jerry said. "Right this way," she responded, and she led us to a table behind a wood and glass partition about the middle of the place. Looking at the wallpaper I figured this used to be the smoking section back when that was a thing. Jerry and I sat on opposite sides of the table and she handed us each a menu. No sooner had she wandered off than an identically dressed girl, with slightly longer red hair, as opposed to black, came up. "Can I take your drink orders?" She asked. "Uh, yeah," said Jerry. "I'll take a medium cola please." "Bourbon," I said flatly. "Um... okay," she said. "I'm gonna need to see some ID then." "Soda," I acquiesced. "Thmall," As much as I'd been starving lately, I just couldn't put nearly as much away. Time was I could eat a pound of roast chicken in a sitting before a workout, but already I couldn't stomach a fraction of that. "Alright," she said, returning to chipper. "I'll be right back with your drinks and to take your food order." "Crap, I hope you're not a vegetarian," Jerry said as he flipped through the menu. "This place takes the steakhouse thing seriously." I fortunately was not. Of all the changes that were happening to me, my taste-buds were thankfully not among them. Still, I wasn't in the mood to work too much for my meal so I didn't want something I needed to cut up. The small cheeseburger looked good. "Hi," said the waitress when she returned and placed two glasses of dark liquid down on the table. "Two pops." I wrapped my puffy lips around the plastic straw, some of the soda dribbling out the side since I didn't quite know how to use them. "Ready to order?" she asked. "Yeah," Jerry answered. "Um, I'll take the small t-bone, medium, and the baked potato with that." "Great," the waitress said taking notes on her tablet. "and what will your daughter be having?" My eyes tried to escape my head as I glared. Jerry looked embarrassed and the waitress was clearly confused at the sudden awkwardness we were displaying. I seized a napkin holder from the table and gazed into the reflective metallic surface of it. I saw big, bright green eyes, short, wavy red hair, a rounded jaw, a little button of a nose, thick, peachy lips, perfect skin, I even did look a little younger. When did this happen? I knew my features were changing but this still felt like it had snuck up on me. I flung the napkin holder across the aisle where it landed in the pleather cushions around the table across the way, and I tore out of my seat and ran through the eatery; I heard the sound of Jerry profusely apologizing behind me. When I got outside it had started to rain, it was cold even through the fabric of my hooded jacket. I got in the car and balled up in the passenger seat, my feet up on the cushion, and crossed my arms and sobbed. It was a good few minutes later when I heard the driver side door open, and in came Jerry. He sat down, and put a paper bag with a big yellow 'M' on it on the center consul between us. I looked at it, puzzled, which he noticed. "I didn't want you sitting here by yourself. So I walked to the McDonald?s across the street instead. I didn't know what you liked so I just got you a plain burger, but there's ketchup packets in there." "You didn'th have to do that," I sniffed, but I nosed into the bag anyway. I pulled out a small package and began to unwrap it, and Jerry did likewise. "No I really did. She was out of line in there. There's no way I'm old enough to be your father," he smirked, and I glared at him dead eyed. "Justh give me the ketchup." *** It was well past dark when we made it into Detroit, and Jerry found a hotel for me to stay at while he headed for the arena. He said he'd pick me up in the morning and left me there with nothing but a bag of soggy french fries and my thoughts. "Back to training tomorrow," I thought, sitting on the hotel bed. My T levels had pretty much bottomed out at that point, and so the doctors said it would be okay to start exercising again. I wouldn't have the same energy as before, but I probably wouldn't pass out again. I stuck my arm out and looked it over. It was so much thinner than before. It still had some muscle on it, but was nothing compared to how it had been. It looked like something I could have snapped with my thumb before, but that was smaller too. "The rain in Thpain fallth mainly on the plain," I said. Now that nobody was listening I was determined to get my speech back in line, though I did still cringe myself just from the pitch of it. "The rain in Thpain falls mainly on the plain. The rain in Thpain falls mainly on the plain. Thpain, Thpain, Sss-pain. S-pain, Spain," I slowed down. "The rain in... SPAIN, falls mainly on the plain. FINALLY," I declared, and I licked my lips. They felt distractingly funny still, almost like a chipped tooth you can't help but run your tongue over. Though they were dry. My tongue was dry. The one sip of soda I had gotten at the steakhouse was all I'd drank all day. I pulled my wallet out from my back pocket and retrieved a few bills, hid the wallet in my bag, and headed outside. Outside my room I wandered the halls looking for a vending machine, these cheap hotels usually had a few somewhere. It took a couple of turns but I found a couple side by side, and I bought as many cans as the bills I brought would afford me. In truth I'd overdone it, because I was struggling to keep them all under my arm without them slipping out. I sat there juggling cans for a good minute before I heard a voice behind me. "You need any help?" it said. I turned in place to find some frat looking dude-bro eyeing me over. He wasn't so big but he was big. Big in the way that five days ago I'd of thought nothing of him, except that maybe he looked like an ass-wipe, but now he was bigger than me, noticeably bigger than me, and he was a stranger approaching me in a strange hallway in a strange city. "Um, no," I answered almost timidly, and I trotted past him in a wide berth leaving a couple of cans rolling across the floor behind me. "You dropped a couple," he called down the hall. "Keep them," I shouted back without turning or slowing my pace. "You here with friends?" he called, but I ignored him and went straight for my room. I fumbled my way into the room and slammed the door behind me, and hurried right past the first bed and over to the second, where I dumped the sealed cans and climbed up against the headboard. I wasn't conscious of it at the time, but I've thought it over since, that when I was a kid, a small kid, when I traveled with my parents, they'd always make me sleep in the bed furthest from the door. It was safer, they said. It was the weirdest sensation, a sort of sick feeling in my throat. I wasn't used to it. I looked over and saw the TV remote on the stand and picked it up. I flipped through, found the local channels, and eventually came to a show from one of the local indy wrestling promotions. Amateurs, they were, trying to get into the big-time like I had, once upon a time, not so long ago really. These guys had the same problem most indy scenes I'd seen had, the same problem James Phoenix had. James Phoenix, I almost spit at the thought. I'd kill him if I ever saw him again. They were spot-monkeys. They liked big flashy moves and they had to get them in; they had no concept of ring psychology, or how to tell a story during a match. Hell, most of them couldn't even chain grapple unless it involved eleven back-flips and ended in a head scissor takedown. Eventually I calmed down enough to gain the presence of mind to actually go lock the hotel room door, and then I returned to my spot on the bed. I curled my feet up against my chest and soon calmed down more. I popped the top on the first soda can and downed it, albeit much more slowly than I formerly could have. I continued watching the show, and drank another soda, and another, and another. I woke up to nature's call, not having remembered falling asleep. It was more like nature's bullhorn because I had to piss like a terrified race horse. I rolled out of bed, flipped the TV off as I went, and made my way to the bathroom. In the privy I kicked the toilet seat up and unzipped my pants, I reached for the little nub I had once so proudly called my dick, aimed as best as I still could, and let loose. "SON OF A BITCH!" I cried, piss soaking all over my hand and the front of my pants. "What the hell!?" It took me a moment to put it all together, even after having seen it visually. Vaguely I recalled being warned about it, but at the time I'd been too emotional to process it fully. In a man, the urethra was channeled through the glans at the head of the penis, but in a woman the glans is at the clitoris, and never the two shall meet. My urethra was currently making a break for it, which threw off the plumbing somewhat. It appeared my days of standing to pee were at a very final end. I slammed my fists against the sink and slumped down onto the filthy hotel bathroom floor. *** Chapter Six A pounding at the door woke me up. I rolled again out of bed, this time wearing nothing but a pair of very ill fitting boxers, and staggered over to the threshold. I looked through the peep hole to see Jerry standing there, so I unlocked the door and swung it open. "Good morn," he began. "WHOA!" He looked down over me and then averted his eyes, probably out of some sort of reflex modesty. I looked down at my already more hourglass than triangular, thin frame, the boxers riding high on my hips, the slight tenting in my chest with much more pronounced, protruding nipples. "Yeah, grow up Jerry," I said dryly. "I don't have anything you haven't seen before," Then I thought back to the events of the previous night. "Or maybe I do." "Yeah well," said Jerry at the door, his hand up flat against the side of his head like a horse blinder. "Get dressed, um, dressed to work out, we have a long session this morning, and a couple of meetings," I threw on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, both of which were loose as hell, except around the hips. "My shoes don't fit," I confessed. "I mean I can wear them, but they're too floppy to work out in." "Um, okay," Jerry said. "We'll see about borrowing some when we get to the gym. But come on we're gonna be late as it is." We piled into Jerry's rent-a-car and he drove us over to the arena, in past the big rigs that carried the equipment from show to show, they brought the gym equipment too so it would probably be set up near them. When we got into the gym a lot of other people were already working out, I shrank into myself slightly, being embarrassed to be seen the way I was. "Anybody have some shoes or boots Casey can borrow?" Jerry called out. "Yeah," answered one of the junior trainers. "What size?" "Shriveling," I answered. I stared for a moment, then paused. "I don't know," I admitted. "I'll see what I can find in the spare gear," the guy said. The first fifteen minutes of my workout session were taken up by trying to find some footwear that would fit me. Ultimately I had to settle on some knee high lace up boots that were made to resemble tall sneakers, women's sneakers of course. We came to one of the rings that had been set up for practice in which a couple of low-card guys were standing. "Hey fellas," Jerry called. "We're gonna need this ring," Being one of the senior trainers, Jerry's word had a lot of pull in the gym and the two abandoned the ring, and we climbed in. "Alright," Jerry addressed me. "First things first, blowup drills," I wasn't shocked but I was still disappointed. In wrestling 'blowing up' was the term used for when somebody got winded or gassed, too tired to put on a proper match. Blowup drills were meant to build up stamina; they were very repetitive, very boring, and it was a lot of what we did in the gym. It wasn't all about weightlifting. "Let's start with bumps and kips," he said. "Fine," I said unenthusiastically and I centered the ring. I bent slightly at the waist, then threw myself backward and slapped the mat with the palms of my hands as I impacted back first. That was a 'bump,' a back bump, the act of throwing one's self to the ground to emulate being knocked down. But instead of kipping up, springing back to my feet, I just writhed. "Come on Casey kip, you don't have to sell the back," Jerry instructed. "I'm not," I complained. "That hurt. I don't think I landed right." "Crap," Jerry said. He stepped over and helped me up. "Your center of gravity must be off. We'll figure that out. Um, let's just run the ropes instead." Another blowup drill, running the ropes was an exercise where we'd run back and forth across the ring, hitting the ropes with our backs and bouncing off, over, and over again. Ideally you'd grab the top rope, tuck that arm over it, push your shoulder blades into the rope on the turn, and bounce off. Then you'd repeat, again and again across the whole ring for as long as the drill went on. I positioned myself on one side of the ring, and started the run, I took three big steps, reached for the top rope, but it was out of range, my hand ended up going under it, and on the turn I missed the top rope altogether and fell between the top and second ropes, falling out of the ring completely and landing on my head. "Casey, Casey, are you alright?" I heard a warbling voice say, and then a bright light hit me in the eyes. "Nnngg," I moaned. "I don't see any signs of concussion," said the EMT as he emerged from behind his flashlight. "But you might want to put some ice on that and sit it out for a while." "Is the rest of my life okay?" I said rubbing the aching knot on my skull. "That was my fault," Jerry apologized as he helped me over to a bench. "Can somebody get an icepack over here? Look, you're shorter than you were. I think you need to take an extra step and hit the ropes with your feet closer to the apron." "Can we not do this Jerry?" I pleaded. "And maybe kick your feet up more on the back bump, that'll get better rotation through the lower center of gravity." "Jerry, can we not do this? I don't want to do this, any of this." "I'm sorry Casey," he said. "But that's what contracts are for, and we both have to do our jobs. They're putting a lot on you. I can give you a few minutes, but then we're gonna have to walk you through those rope runs again. WALK." We spent a good 45 minutes getting me used to one of the most basic things in wrestling again. Learning the ropes was a term as applicable to pro wrestling as it was to sailing. "That's it Casey. That's where I want your feet when you hit the ropes."Jerry said. "Try hitting them a little faster now," I ran it this time, this time FOUR steps, and hit the ropes successfully, bounced back and did it again, and again, and again. "That's good Casey," Jerry cheered. "We'll be doing the universal spot by the end of the day at this rate. Let's do this for another three minutes, then we'll move on to the latigo spot." The latigo spot, or Mexican whip, was a wrist lock chained into a hip toss, which you were expected to roll through and end up back on your feet. We'd lock back up into the collar and elbow and then apply it again, taking turns throwing and being thrown. Jerry, to his credit, actually had a lot of gas in the tank for a guy his age, but I was already destroyed. I was huffing, and puffing, and doing whatever I could to get air into my tiny lungs. "Ca... can't bre... breathe," I huffed. "That's what the blowup drills are for Casey," he responded. "I'm ima..." "Okay Casey, one more minute and we'll work on figuring out the bumps problem. You're rolling good so far." I managed to somehow stick it out through the last minute and at the end collapsed on the mat sucking air. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so wiped out; it was like my lungs were actually too small, my chest wouldn't expand. I felt like my ribs had been crushed. "Alright, up," Jerry demanded, but I just lay on the mat huffing. "We're gonna have to work on your wind. Come on, I mean it get up, let's work on those bumps, unless you want to do another minute on the latigos." I struggled to my feet reluctantly. "Okay, like I said earlier, your center of gravity is lower and your back is... well, it's less... flat, so you need to throw your legs up more in the bump," Jerry explained. I twisted around and tried to get a look behind myself. It probably wasn't a good sign that I could see the edge of my own ass. They had told me that I would inherit the Zeeg hips, which were larger because they were born with bigger heads. They grew up and died with bigger heads too from what I'd seen, but the point was I was gonna be pretty thick around that section. Hell I already was. "Come on now. Give it a shot," Jerry clapped. I, still slightly gasping, dipped forward a little bit, then threw myself backward again, making sure to tuck my chin and slap the mat like usual, but this time throwing my feet up in the air further than what was normal for me. It didn't hurt this time. "Good," said Jerry. "Now kip up." I pulled them up again and rolled back onto my shoulders, put my palms to the mat behind my head and pushed off, my feet landed flat on the mat, but I was a long way from upright and I fell to the floor again with my feet folded under me. "Maybe we'll save the kip up for another day," Jerry relented. This was so humiliating. Not only did I no longer look like myself, I couldn't do anything right anymore either. There were things I used to be really good at, I used to be a top level performer in the ring, now I flopped like a green trainee on the first week in school. I used to be good in bed too, I was a real lady killer and now I didn't even have working equipment. Not that I'd be interested anymore if I did. That brought on a dark thought, and I scrambled to my feet and threw myself into another bump. I had to work, I had to do something physical to run away from the realization I'd just had. I got up and threw myself into another bump. "That's a good idea," said Jerry. "Just focus on the bump right now. Give me another 50." *** I went back to my hotel room that night, tired and sore. I didn't dare use the gym shower and I was delighted to find the shower in my room worked pretty well. I stripped down, turned on the hot water, and looked at the 'girl' in the mirror. She was a looker for the most part I had to admit. She had pretty green eyes, short red-brown hair, short because gynospores don't do anything to the hair, what with both Zeeg men and women being bald up top. She had fuller lips than I would have expected already. She was a little curvy too, towards the bottom anyway, didn't have all that much to speak of up top but that was slowly changing. All things considered, except for the bits and pieces still down stairs, I would have given her a poke back in the day. She did nothing for me. Not a stir, even if the thing still worked, but it was more than that. Yeah, she was pretty, but that was academic. I knew what pretty was from observation, from comparison. This meets the standard, this does not; it was all just rationalization. I had no SENSE of pretty. I had to try something. I went back to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed, still naked as the day I was born, and I pulled my phone out of my bag. I got on the internet and went to some of my bookmarks. Porn. I browsed through porn. I started with softcore and solos. Every girl on there was the picture of sex, and I got nothing from it. I moved on to masturbation pics and vids, nothing, all the same. Then I went on to lesbian stuff, nil. Then to straight sex, boom. We had a winner, that got me. I suddenly got butterflies in my stomach watching a busty brunette get plowed by an eight inch cock. Nothing stirred between my disturbingly smooth thighs, but my nipples tightened up and poked out like the thermostat had just bottomed out. Something climbed up my throat as I listened to her moan and a troublingly similar sound emerged from me. I clicked it closed immediately. There were still experiments to be done however. I looked up the same model, made sure I found her doing softcore solos, masturbation, and lesbian stuff. Nothing. This didn't gross me out per se but it was akin to watching two jell-o molds slap together. Then another test. I found the male model from before, and took an adventure to the edge. I found a video of him laying pipe in the butthole of another guy and hesitantly I clicked it. That butterfly feeling was back, not as strong as before but it was there. I closed it again. I spent a good half hour then looking through things, and what I had been told, what I had feared seemed to have come true. I could get aroused on some level, but a necessary factor in that arousal was guys. Seemingly I couldn't have any sexual reaction anymore to anything but men. I tossed my phone back into my bag and I walked into the bathroom. I slummed down next to the shower, and then reached over to the nobs and switched it from hot to cold. *** When I woke up the next morning I found my boxers were even tighter around my hips, and there was enough on my chest to move when I did. They were real boobs now, still small, but unmistakable. I'd heard of girls sprouting overnight but with the rate of these spores it was literal. It was supposedly even faster with v-rays to feed the metabolism. I made sure to dress this time before Jerry came to pick me up, the clothes fit even worse. I laced up the boots, I hadn't returned them the day before, having left my own shoes behind instead. Even these didn't fit as well as the day before. There came another knock at the door. "Come on, we're burning daylight," I could hear Jerry calling through. I opened the door, my clothes hanging off of me, and then locked up without a word. "Did you have breakfast yet?" he asked. "We have a day ahead of us." "Any chance I can hit the weight room today?" I pleaded. "Nope," was all he said as he headed toward the parking lot. *** We got back to the gym, and got another ring to ourselves. "Okay," said Jerry. "Your training partner is supposed to meet us in about an hour. You got your bumps down pretty well yesterday so let's get back to blowup drills." "I wish I could get my 'bumps' down," I grumbled under my breath. "What was that?" questioned Jerry. "Come on, let's do... waist lock and break. We'll do some rotations. Start in the collar and elbow." We centered the ring and tied up, which was harder than it should have been, Jerry was much taller than me at this point. I wasn't supposed to lose so much height, but I had. I put my hands on his shoulder and inner arm, he did likewise to me, and we pushed against each other, or at least we pretended to. I took my left arm, pushed up his left arm, and slipped under around his left side, stepping behind him, locking my hands around his waist and dropping my stance low. He grasped my wrists, drove forward, appearing to pull me forward, but I was actually following his lead, until he caught the ropes, bouncing off of them at the chest, and pushing me off where I did a back bump on the mat, then rolled through and back to my feet. He turned and we tied up again. Now it was his turn to lock, and mine to break. He pushed my left arm up, you always go to their left, and he slid around behind me. It was harder for him because he had to go comparatively lower. He cinched his hands at my waist and pulled, I felt him impact against me, and I felt... something poke me. I hit him with a stiff back elbow to the side of the head. "Ow!" he yelled rubbing his face beside the eye. "What the hell Casey? That's not the reversal." "Drop your weight and clear some space god dammit!" I berated. "I don't want to feel that on me!" "Okay, I get it," he admitted. "But that is not an appropriate reaction," He was right of course. It's not the first time I'd been poked by a dude in the midst of a close grapple. Hell it was even worse in real collegiate wrestling, but at that time I wasn't feeling the most secure with my sexuality and I overreacted. "Who taught YOU to waist lock dammit?" I continued. "Bend your knees, get low, make a gap for Christ's sake." "I know," he confessed. "It's a bad habit, my move was always the waist lock takedown though. You've got to pull up with it," Again, he was right. His move was still sloppy, but show me a wrestler that didn't have at least one bad habit in the ring and I'd show you a pink unicorn. "Just, just run the ropes for a while," he instructed. "I've got to go check on something." He rolled out of the ring and walked off, I sighed and started bouncing back and forth across the canvas. I was still more winded than I felt I should have been, and I was getting a lot of jiggle in places it disturbed me to get jiggle, but that wasn't my most immediate concern. I'd been going for a good five minutes when I somehow stepped on the inside of my sweat pants and smashed face first on the mat, my pants around my knees, my underwear, thankfully still on. The noise of the gym changed. It was the only sound worse than laughter, the sound of people pretending not to laugh. "Those don't fit right," I heard a voice say from ringside. "No shit," I answered. A body climbed into the ring and a dainty, dark skinned hand reached down and offered itself to me. I took it and she helped me up. She was a little shorter than me, with wild, black hair, in sort of a loose afro; she was wearing a high cut singlet over a set of color coordinated tights. Her expression was one of bemused pity. "You're Casey right?" she said. "I'm Cassidy." "We've actually met," I responded, pulling my pants up. "Yeah, I guess we have haven't we?" she realized. "You look different." I nodded sardonically. "I'm supposed to practice with you," she said. "First though we gotta find you something that fits you, and gives you some support." I looked down at my boobs knowing precisely what she meant. "I'll be right back," she declared, and she was gone as quick as she'd shown up, off doing I hoped not what I thought she was. While she was gone I noticed the gym go quiet, and there in the door was a booker's assistant reading the night's card. Jesus. Had it really only been a week? Seven days? It felt like an eternity since I'd heard this last, right before Phoenix dosed me. Everything, EVERYTHING had been so different then. What's more, it marked only roughly the half-way point in my transformation. The more outward changes were supposed to slow down now, but the more private alterations would speed up. "I'm back," I heard Cassidy announce. "Did I miss anything?" "Uh, yeah," I answered, still half-way lost in thought. "You're doing the job to White Tiger in the last match of the dark show tonight." "Oh man," she said. "I hate the dark show, I hate losing too. Anyway, come with me a minute," She held up a bundle of yellow and metallic silver cloth that scared me to think about. "Nooo..." I said. "Fine, keep falling out of your pants. Just get down here," she insisted. "Dammit," I cursed. "Fine. Let's make this quick." I followed her out of the gym and into an adjacent locker room where she handed me the material and I went behind a tile partition near the showers. "Are you fucking kidding me?!" I exclaimed as I unfolded it and saw what it was. "I can't wear this!" "It's all I've got that'll fit you," I heard her echo back. "You need something elastic right? Something that forms to you." "This wasn't exactly made with my anatomy in mind," I insisted. "Wait," she said. "I thought you..." "Not yet!" I answered. "Oh," she said quietly. "Then that's gonna look funny." "No shit," I returned, struggling. "How do I even get this on?" I knew how to get it on. I didn't know why I even said that, it was a singlet, I'd worn them before, and this one had a more open neck than most. "Aww, man," I moaned as I emerged red-faced. It was a yellow sleeveless singlet with integrated metallic silver tights, it was cut in a 1980s workout fashion with the hips of the leotard raised super high and it rode up my butt like a drill-sergeant on PMS. The neckline was low too, peaking down near my solar plexus. It was still a little loose up top, Cassidy had bigger boobs than me. The most, or debatably least disturbing part was the little bump that poked out where they were designed to display a flat smooth valley between the legs. "I can't wear this. It's almost indecent exposure!" "What choice do you have?" she asked, choking back a giggle. "I don't..." I looked at the bundle of my gym clothes in my hand. "Cassidy, go find me some scissors, please." She came back almost ten minutes later and handed me the scissors she'd found. I took them and made some hasty alterations to my grey sweats and ended up creating what amounted to a pair of little almost legless gym shorts. I didn't know why I cut them so short as that, it went with the rest of the outfit better I guess. I pulled them up and tugged the draw- string tight, so now neither my front junk nor my silver clad ass were poking out quite so noticeably. I held up my hands and looked down at myself. Cassidy kissed her hand and made the 'O-K' sign. "Let's get back to the gym, I've got to do our set and then I gotta go talk to Asano (White Tiger) about our match," she said. I reluctantly followed her back to the gym at a creeping pace and made it back to the ring where we found Jerry waiting. "Where the hell have you be..." he began but he trailed off and his eyes widened at the sight of me. "... ahem. Um... Don't, uh, don't run off during practice again," His face turned red. "She had a wardrobe malfunction," Cassidy said. My heart skipped a beat and crawled up into my throat. "She?" That was the first time anyone had called me that, and it hit me harder than I would have thought. Truth told, it triggered the realization that people had almost been avoiding calling me that for a while now, avoiding gender pronouns whenever possible in reference to me. "Well, um," Jerry began. "You two get in the ring and work on some sets." Cassidy warmed up a bit as we did some drop down rope runs. Basically one of us would run the ropes while the other kept dropping to the mat and standing back up, forcing the one running to leap over them. It was pretty basic but good for breaking a sweat. We were actually working pretty smoothly together when Jerry called and interrupted us. "Alright, you're doing really good," he said. "Starting to get your legs under you again. Let's give you a test though. I want you two to give us a few rounds of the universal spot." The universal spot was a bit of showmanship that pretty much every professional wrestler the world over knew and practiced, hence the name. It was a tad complicated, but it was drilled so much pretty much any real pro could do it in their sleep. It involved a lot of the drop down rope runs with other moves thrown in. The sequence was, rope run, rope run, hip toss, rope run, rope run, shoulder block, rope run, body press, and throw off. We came off of opposite ropes, I ducked under, she leaped, bounced off the ropes, she went under, I leaped, we bounced off the ropes, I hip tossed her, she went to the mat, I ran the ropes, she went under, we ran the ropes, I went under, we bounced off the ropes, she stopped mid-ring and planted her shoulder into mine, I did a back bump, she ran the ropes, and dove down on top of me for a pin, I pushed up on her, and she rolled off. Smooth as silk, the next set would be the same thing but in reverse. We came off the ropes, she ducked, we came off the ropes, I ducked, she hip tossed me, I went down, she came off the ropes, I went under, we came off the ropes, she went under, but when it came to the shoulder block I stopped short and didn't make contact. She still bumped out of habit, but it looked terrible and the whole sequence ground to a halt. "What's going on?" asked Jerry. "You were doing great. You feeling sick again?" "I don't know," I said sheepishly. "Not sick," I realized I couldn't hit her, even fake hit her. There was a time when men and women could be matched against each other, but the sports commissions had really cracked down on that years before (Why they get to oversee pro-wrestling I'll never understand) and I'd never had to do it. It still happens in wrestling schools pretty commonly, but there weren?t any women in my school when I was learning. "I uh, I don't think I can hit her," I mumbled. "What?" she said amusingly astonished as she crawled up off the mat. "You getting chivalrous on me? Come on lay into me," She steadied herself in the middle of the ring, ready to take the impact. "Come on," I stood still. I could see the irritation growing on her face. "Well you're gonna have to get over that," she insisted, and she hit the ropes. She came back at me and landed a solid shoulder check, actually putting force into me. I didn't bump but I stepped back, she had legitimately pushed me backward which kind of surprised me. She did it again, and again I just took a step back. "Come on dammit!" she yelled, actual scorn showing through, and she slapped me across the face, stiff, hard. I don't know what I was thinking, I wasn't thinking, but I slapped her back; it wasn't a semi-closed wrestling fist, but an open handed slap, actual contact. It was a typical lady wrestler exchange. I stared at my stinging hand, shocked. "You feel better now?" she questioned. "Not really," I admitted. She shook her head incredulously, then like a flash she had hooked my inner thigh, grabbed me around the shoulder, tucked my head in and deposited me back first onto the canvas. She had body-slammed me. She had LIFTED me, unassisted! A body slam was generally a team effort, done with both parties working together, it was called posting; it would have been impossible at my rightful weight, the strongest girl on the roster couldn't have done it, but by then I'd lost all mass. I just lay on the mat, starstruck. "Come on, I haven't got all day," she said standing over me. "Cut Casey some slack," Jerry demanded. "Cut me some slack," Cassidy retorted. "She's cutting into MY time. I gotta help her, then I gotta prep for a match tonight, then I gotta get dressed, DO the damn match, shower, get dressed again, then take a 250 mile trip to the next show in Toronto." She? Her? I got to my feet, I stood in front of her, I'd had enough of this crap. I slapped her again, stiffer this time, harder. Intentional. She stood there, slack jawed, a redness welling up in her cheek. She wanted to hit me back, I could tell. "Are we done with this shit now?" was all she said. I did a rebound off the ropes and shoulder checked her, stiffer than was my custom. That was my answer. "Alright," said Jerry with strained patience. "Let's try this again please," and we did the spot. *** Chapter Seven Practice ended early that day, as it often did on show nights. We had to give the road crew the opportunity to tear down the gym. I pulled my t- shirt on over the gear Cassidy had given me and headed to the car. We went back to the hotel, I showered and re-dressed while Jerry checked me out of the room. It was a hot shower this time, no more experimenting, ever. Then I gathered my things and headed to the car. I obviously wasn't performing in the show so we could get a head start to the next town. Toronto was a good market. There were a lot of die-hard wrestling fans in Canada, and after Toronto, and maybe a couple of other spots up north, the tour usually took us into New England. New York was a huge venue, the gate was always immense, it would almost be a shame to miss it. It was about a four hour drive between Detroit and Toronto, that is when it's a straight shot. With food, gas and still very confusing bathroom breaks, it took us five. It wasn't so bad for me, I slept most of the way, completely gassed. The real pain in the ass was the boarder. I didn?t exactly match my passport photo anymore so we had to sit there in a pull away zone waiting for fingerprint verification and a consultation with my doctor. As soon as I hit my hotel room I stripped down and collapsed in the bed. I woke up early the next morning, I didn't want to wear that thing Cassidy had foisted upon me again, so I produced some cheap scissors I'd bought at a gas station and made some modifications to my own gear. Snip here, cut there, tie here. "Sam come on," I heard as Jerry banged on my door. For kayfabe reasons Jerry had to call me Sam in public. I was grateful for it, it kept who I really was out of public knowledge. What I was less grateful for was having to cut one of my own expensive workout shirts instead of one of the free Ts the company gave me because those all had my picture on them. "Okay, okay, I'm coming," I called and I threw the door open. Jerry was more red faced than the day I came out almost naked. "What are you wearing?" he asked. "What I absolutely have to," I answered with a sigh. Again, I'd modified a pair of my track pants into a set of little shorts, completely without underwear I might add, and now, in order for it to not look like a night gown, I had to slit one of my shirts up the middle and tie it below the chest, exposing my whole midriff. The knot pressed up on my boobs, bigger again today, and made them stick out. "You know it's Canada right?" he questioned. "And it HAD to be summer," I replied. "Believe me, if I had any other clothes I wouldn't trip over, I'd be wearing them. This thrills me less than you." "We could send one of the temps out to get some stuff, we do it all the time," Jerry suggested. "I'm a shrinking boy Jerry," I responded. "I don't know my sizes and even if I did they'd be different by the end of the week. Let's just go, please." When we got to the gym I headed straight for the practice ring, Jerry lagging well behind. I actually heard a wolf-whistle as I crossed the floor. Whoever it was must have had a thing for the murderously pissed- off look. The two low-card nobs from the other day were in there again. "Hey assholes, out of the ring," I demanded. "Whatever you say ma'am," said douche-bro the first with a condescending grin. I curled my lip and walked around the ring as they climbed down and I headed over to the wall of the gym. I found a stack of aluminum folding chairs and took one, as the guy hopped out of the ring I swung it across his back as hard as I could, ringing out with a noise that brought the whole gym to a halt. I jumped up on the ring apron and held the chair up. "Next shit-stain who so much as looks at me, gets it across the knees!" I shouted. "Jesus Casey what are you doing!?" pleaded Jerry as he helped up the loser writhing on the floor. There was a right way to hit somebody across the back with a chair, and I didn't bother. "I don't want to be here, I don't want to do this, but since I have to, I'm not taking any extra guff from anybody for anything!" I yelled. "I have had the shittiest week you can imagine and I don't need it getting any shittier! Do you get me!?" the question was addressed to the assembly more than Jerry personally. Without instruction I got into the ring and started hitting the ropes, hard. *** It was another 20 minutes before Cassidy showed up, and by then my anger had burned through a bit, I was stewing instead of exploding. Jerry figured working on my stamina was good and all, but I needed to keep the rust off as far as coordination went, so he had Cassidy and I work on a few basic moves and spots. I threw a clothesline, which she ducked and took me into a waist lock, much better than Jerry's. She threw my arm over the back of her neck and gripped me under the knee; I knew what this signified. She lifted me up high off the mat, a feat which still astonished and disturbed me, and brought me down into an atomic drop. Typically an atomic drop is supposed to look as though the victim lands crotch first onto the attacker's knee, but you really plant your feet early and leave space so nothing gets squashed. I would have liked to blame Cassidy for not being used to delivering atomic drops on guys, but the truth is I didn't yet have a good enough grasp on the length or strength of my legs. "SON OF A MOTHER F... K!" I screamed, as I writhed, smacking the mat hard with my palm repeatedly to signify a genuine injury, tears streaming down my face. "Somebody get an EMT over here!" Jerry shouted as he sprang into the ring. A couple of guys in the blue medical uniforms ran over carrying a stretcher and jumped up into the ring as well. "What happened to her?" the first questioned. "Him," Jerry corrected. "What?" the tech returned. "Him," repeated Jerry. "Him. This is the talent with 'special medical needs.' You should have been briefed." "Right," the tech realized, still a little put off. "What happened?" "I think he squashed his nuts," Cassidy interjected. "What?" the tech questioned again as he leaned over me. "Testicular trauma," the other tech clarified. I just nodded my head vigorously with my eyes sealed tightly shut. They put me carefully onto a hand stretcher and took me to the infirmary where they put me on a table. "Okay, um, Casey was it?" the tech questioned. "Yes," I answered. "I'm gonna have to cut these shorts off, is that okay?" "Yes!" I screamed, still in a ton of pain. He took a pair of little crooked scissors and cut along the leg of my shorts and peeled them away. Even in my distraction I could see the confusion in his face. He waved the other tech over and they whispered to each other, both while looking down between my legs. "What is it?" I demanded. "Um..." the tech hesitated. "Casey are you sure you impacted your testicles?" he asked. "Pretty damn sure Doc," I insisted. "Why?" "Um... because... I'm not seeing any testicles." I tilted my head up, then I saw spots, and then it all went black. *** I spent the remainder of the day, and much of the night in the hospital, first waiting several hours in an emergency waiting room, then even longer waiting for a specialist. Thankfully the pain pretty much subsided on its own before we even got there. As it turned out it wasn't all the consequence of the botched move. The pain was, surely, but as far as damage done it had just helped the twins along on a trip they were already taking. They were inside me now, migrating to a new home and transmuting themselves along the way. While I was there I inquired about something stronger than the anti-depressants I was already taking, but they wouldn't give me anything. So things continued on this way, my body changing, the tingling in my stomach slowly subsiding as it did, the shape of me slowly settling in to a new norm. About halfway through week two I got a real start, as things began to open up. It was pretty sickening if I'm being frank. As the second week went, and we moved on to Buffalo, the tingling stopped, my flesh and bone had settled in, and the rest was history. The only good thing was I wasn't so damn hungry anymore. I knew what the spores were and what they were meant to do, but that didn't explain why they had to take all my muscle. Some girls, on the roster particularly, were pretty toned in their own way, and I felt a little gypped in the exchange. All in all, I had a decent shape to me though. Soft yes, curvy though, at least around the bottom. I had those unmistakable Zeeg hips and thighs, not altogether unlike Cassidy's, and she was known for them. I wasn't quite as stacked up top though, I was smaller than her upstairs and she wasn't the top heaviest girl in the locker room by a long stretch. I was short too. Not short for a woman, that's not it, not even short for lady wrestler who average taller than the norm, but I was about average for them, which is still a bigger drop than what was typical of gynomorphs from my understanding. Adult gynomorphs tended toward the tall side, and I had missed out on that. Silver lining was I could finally get some clothes I wouldn't shrink out of any time soon, though I had every intention of putting some muscle back on in short order. We had been running through a routine in the gym, just like normal. "Alright good," said Jerry kneeling beside the ring apron. "Let's move on to some corner rolls." "Uh-uhh," Cassidy responded. "We're done today." "Hey now what do you mean?" Jerry demanded. "We got things to do, and she gotta shower," she pointed to me. "And I know she don't wanna use the shower with everybody else. We gotta get a early start." "What are you talking about?" I questioned incredulously. She took me by the arm and led me toward the ring ropes. "Come on Girl," she said. "Please stop calling me that," I begged, and not for the first time. "Alright," said Jerry. "I'll cut you some slack today. But eat some protein because since your body structure has stabilized we're using the weights tomorrow." "Yes!" I pumped my arm. "You happy now?" Cassidy asked. "Come on." *** "I got some clothes for you to wear," Cassidy called to me from outside the shower. "What is this about?" I demanded, soaping myself. God this still felt so weird. My body moved funny, and the water felt so much more ticklish running over it. I almost felt dirty touching myself this way, and I was only being as thorough as necessary. "You're all done right?" she yelled over the running water. "So you're moving into the bus tomorrow. If you gonna be rooming with me, you need some clothes." "No," I insisted. knowing full well she was right. "You gonna need some new workout gear, and some new walkin' around threads. Maybe even some clubbin' outfits." "HELL no," I responded. "Suit yourself. But you at least gotta get something that fits." "Fine," I said emerging from the shower with a towel wrapped daintily, and probably incorrectly, around my chest. "But I'm shopping at the sports wear place, not the boutique." "It's your money Honey," she said presenting a folded heap of dark blue- grey denim and pale pink cotton. "What is this?" I pointed. "I'm borrowing you some clothes," I picked up the shirt, it was pale pink, matching Cassidy's ring boots, there was a picture of her doing a leg drop off the top rope on it, the background was a stylized picture of a tiger that matched a large tattoo that she had covering her right thigh. Personal tattoos are frequently used as branding in this business. "It's not my color," I insisted. "Hey, I posed for the thing, I didn't design it," she said. "If I'm borrowing you something it's one of the free ones, not my good stuff." I dressed while she took her turn in the shower, which was longer than I'd taken by a good bit. These clothes felt so strange, they fit weird. I'd never worn jeans this tight in my life. They were girl jeans obviously, but at least they were jeans. I could have done without the floral pattern in the stitching though. The shirt was odd too. It was weirdly tight around the mid section, leaving the area just below my bellybutton exposed, it was looser in the chest though due to my smaller bust. It wasn't really a t-shirt, there were no sleeves to speak of, just these really short protrusions over the tops of the shoulder that gave the vaguest impression of sleeves. "Shit," I cursed. "What's the matter?" Cassidy popped her head around the tile wall. "My tattoo is exposed," I pointed to my right shoulder. My star was kind of squashed and it was supposed to fade some, but that hadn't happened yet and it was still pretty recognizable. "I'm not supposed to show it in public. And remember to call me Sam," I reminded her. "Well I don't wear sleeves," she admitted as she stuck her head back into the shower. "Except for my winter jacket, and I don't even have that with me," She poked her head out again. "But I might have an idea." *** We walked out into the parking lot, I couldn't help but try to cover myself with my arms. Cassidy led me to one of the tour buses and pulled the side door wide open. "They moved us in here last week," she explained. "shuffled the whole arrangement around just to get you in here for tomorrow," She climbed up the steps and leaned in. "Violet, you here?" she called. "Must still be at practice. Come on up." I stepped in, the layout was the same as any of the tour buses we rode in. Driver and passenger seats were up front, den area behind that, with couches, tables, a TV etc, closets behind that, bunks behind that, and a tiny bathroom in the back. The decor was decidedly different though, and it smelled a hell of a lot nicer. Cassidy started digging in one of the closets. "This is Violet's stuff," she explained. "Not that you'd want to wear it any more than mine, probably wouldn't fit as well anyway, but that's not what I'm looking for," She pulled a little case out and placed it on the table. "Ah, here it is. Sit down a minute." She opened it up to reveal a small makeup case. "What the hell are you doing!?" I panicked. "Relax you big baby. It's just to cover up that ink on your arm," she reassured. "I can't use mine, it wasn't made with your skin tone in mind," She began to sponge some cold goopy stuff onto my shoulder. "Her's wasn't either I guess," Violet still had a slightly paler skin tone to me. "Oh well, it'll look like a birthmark," She popped back to the bunks and emerged a moment later with a purse. "Come on, let's go. "I didn't bring my wallet to training," I realized. "Shit," she returned. "Okay, it's on me, but you're paying me back the moment I drop you off back at your room. Plus, I get a say in what you buy obviously." We took a taxi to some local mall; I still nervously covered myself the whole way. We made our way to one of the sports gear shops, stopping three times along the way so Cassidy could sign autographs for approaching fans. It was clear now why she actually had me wear that shirt, she was easier to recognize walking next to a shirt with her picture on it. Autograph hounds were a thing I'd had to deal with frequently in the past, but obviously not today, and I was, not for the first time, thankful for it. When we did get there I found myself very tempted to go into the men's wear section but I knew how childish and pointless it would be. The women's section was like another planet. Nothing there looked or felt right to me, and a ton of the garments were cut similarly to what Cassidy had had me wear the week before. The truth was most of them were, it was what was in fashion at the time, very throwback vogue. "Hey, those might actually fit you this time," said Cassidy returning from a vanishing act I only now realized she had pulled. "You know, without any weird bulges." "You saw to that," I grumbled. "Where did you go anyway?" "I was picking up these," she held out a couple of plastic packages, women's undershorts and sports bras. "They look about your size." "Oh God," I moaned, my knees feeling wobbly. "I don't think I can do this." "Well you don't want me doing it," Cassidy remarked. "I was being gracious with these, but if you make me pick out your wardrobe, I'm gonna have fun with it." "I can't wear any of this stuff," I complained. "It's not exactly neutral. Even if that wasn't a concern none of it's sports casual so I can't exactly wear it in the street." "There are other places Sam," Cassidy pointed out. "This is the only sports wear store in the mall," I objected. "That's not what I'm talking about," she said. "No, I already said I'm not doing that," I insisted. "Come on Girl, there's no need for that. There's plenty of perfectly ordinary, plain ass stuff that'll fit you." "PLEEEASE stop calling me that," I actually begged. Tears started running down my face. I still wasn't master of my own hormones. "Huh," Cassidy sighed. "Okay... Okay. You go sit outside in the plaza. I guess I'll take care of this." "Please don't buy me anything weird," I pleaded like a little girl. "Don't worry. I ain't a bitch," she said. *** I sat outside the food court, looking through a planter full of ferns, watching people eat. I was still rubbing the half-dried smear off my face and struggling not to scratch my shoulder. You never have an itch like the place you know you can't scratch, but I didn't want to reveal the tattoo. I felt such a burdensome weight of frustration. It was just like that itch I couldn't scratch. My whole life had been turned upside down and dipped in dog shit and the worst part was I knew there was nothing to be done about it. I was swimming in it and there was no land in sight. They had told me the anti-depressants were a temporary measure, that I'd adjust, that it was part of the process. Not just a normal adjustment, but like the thing with my orientation. The spores were supposed to alter my brain as well as my body and I'd settle into it. I felt like there was about as much chance of that as there was of a cruise ship suddenly sailing out of my butt. "Hey, you about ready?" I heard Cassidy say. I hadn't noticed her walk right up beside me. It had been bugging me what was taking her so long, and I figured it out when I saw she was holding shopping bags from three different stores. "How much did that cost?" I asked, not really all that interested. "Didn't cost me nothing," she said. "'Least not once we settle up." *** We made it to my hotel and I gave her a couple of bills without really counting. I threw the bags on the bed and sat down. I picked up an ad from the lobby, called in a delivery for a chicken dinner. It wasn't as much protein as a steak, but it was cheaper and I was more in the mood. I decided I might try to work out some frustration. I got down on the carpet and started on some pushups. God they were hard. Before all this I could do a set on the fingertips of one hand, now the regular kind were way harder than I could ever remember them being before. I did a couple of sets before I realized they weren't serving the purpose I started them for and gave up. I sat down on the bed and turned my attention over to the shopping bags. Inside I was relieved to find some pretty plain, mostly white t-shirts and jeans. Again, they were women's but were observably less girlie than what Cassidy had had me wearing all day, and I still was for that matter. There were also the sports bras as well as boy-shorts and regular cut women's panties. I'd often tried to get into them but this was not the meaning of the phrase. In the one bag was of course the women's workout leotards. Three sets. I couldn't really blame Cassidy, there wasn't much to choose from, and at least she'd chosen less appalling colors. There were even a couple of pairs of tennis shoes. Trying them on I found they were close enough to a proper fit to work with. She had a good eye for sizes it seemed. A knock at the door caught my attention, and looking through the peep hole I saw it was the delivery boy. After dinner I let it digest, engaged in a little aerobics, and took another shower. I fell asleep that night wearing a set of grey boy shorts and a sports bra. *** Chapter Eight The next morning I realized I didn't have enough room for all of this new stuff in my bags. Well, it wasn't like my old clothes were any good to me anymore anyway. What had once been a shirt that hugged tightly around my chest was now a tent, and I had little choice but to consign them to the hotel's lost and found. I finally changed into one of those damndable workout suits, the blue and white one, but I covered them with my home-made shorts and one of my new white Ts, and waited for Jerry to pick me up for the last time. I packed my bags into his car and he took me to the stadium. I carried my stuff through the parking lot in the crisp morning air and found the same bus Cassidy had brought me to the day before. Rapping twice on the door I stood and waited and it finally swung open. There before me was the same brown eyed bombshell blond I'd spied on in the shower a few weeks before. She was taller than me now and was currently wearing a set of lacy pajamas. "Oh, hey," said Violet groggily. "You the new girl?" "I'm the new bunk-mate... I guess," I answered uneasily. "Oh well, come on in," she said with her exaggerated drawl. "I'm Dotti, but everyone calls me Violet." "We've met before," I pointed out. "Have we?" she questioned. "I don't remember you." "Violet you idiot," came Cassidy through the curtain to the bunks. "You've been told about this. About her... condition." "Oh shucks," said Violet. "I know. You know it's just a character I do." "It's half a character," Cassidy jibbed. "You can call me Sam I guess," I said. "Sam Starr is the name they gave me." "Anyway, come on," Cassidy addressed me. "You get the bottom bunk on the right side, and you can put your stuff in the right closet," She looked at Violet. "And you get dressed, ain't nobody wanna look at that." Sadly true. *** After I got my stuff moved in we headed in to where the gym was set up, we wouldn't have to use the ring today, which was fine by me because I was finally able to get back to weight training. I stepped up to the free-weight rack, lamenting the lost progress on my now scrawny arms. I looked at myself and sighed. I wasn't so foolish as to think I could go right back to using 70 pound dumbbells, I'd probably never be able to use those again. Deciding to be more conservative, I elected to start with 30. I grasped one of the 30 pound weights from the rack and pulled upward. "Casey, what are you..." Jerry began. I heard a pop, and felt a sharp pain in my shoulder, and I screamed. *** "What the hell am I going to do with you?" groused Mike as he sat across his desk from where Jerry and I were sitting. I had my arm in a sling and was holding an ice pack to my shoulder. "Been back in the gym for less than two weeks, and it's already hurt itself three times. Had to go to the hospital for chissake. Jerry if I didn't know better I'd have to ask if you knew what you were doing." "Relax. Mike," Jerry insisted. "People get hurt in this business all the time, you're not liable." "That's not the point god dammit!" Mike slapped his desk hard. "I gotta make use of this talent, you understand me? The executives are making me use it, I've got to make that work and you're not making it easy here." I really wanted to tell Mike to stop calling me 'it,' but frankly I wasn't any more keen on the alternative. "Look, Mike," said Jerry. "It's an adjustment period. This first month or so was always gonna be the roughest, but there's a lot more to work with here than if you pulled some raw kid off the street. Hell, she knows more than any wrestling school graduate you're gonna find. It's the body is all. She's gotta get back into shape. It'll work out by the time she's scheduled to go back in the spotlight." "You know I have other responsibilities here right?" Mike huffed. "I've got two shows to book this week, the weekly show here in Buffalo, and the pay-per-view in Manhattan. That's one of the biggest shows of the year. I gotta keep this whole circus organized, and I don't have time to be holding your hand, and I don't have the patients to have you disrupting the whole gym every five minutes. I've got no choice but to let you get it in shape, but please, Jerry, no more headaches for me? Alright?" *** By the time we were back in the gym, and I was allowed to work on my remaining good arm, Jerry was already hammering into me the adjustments to my workout, lifting technique in particular. "Look, Casey," he said. "you're not gonna be able to recreate the body you used to have. You don't have the T levels anymore and you can't take in the calories. Look over there," He pointed across the gym to where Luke Power was working out with a barbell that weighed more than I ever did, and next to him was a 98 pound trainer with a clip-board, who looked like he was about one sandwich above blowing away in the wind. "You have to understand, that from here on out, there's a much bigger difference in testosterone levels between you and that trainer, than between that trainer and Luke. You can't lift what you used to, and you can't put on the mass you used to. And the execs wouldn't like it even if you could. So what we're gonna do right now is focus on wire strength. Let's get you fit enough to earn the paycheck, then we'll worry about making you look good for the hard-cam. So, let's stop acting like we're slipping on some beach muscles. I want you to pick up something lighter, something lighter than your first instinct, and we're gonna do two or three times as many reps with it as you?re used to." It's impossible to describe the kind of disappointment I felt, not entirely due to its depths. No, it was different. This was something I'd been looking forward to, but on some level I already expected to be let down. I had been lying to myself, and not very convincingly. Par for the course. I wanted to reach for the 15, but I heeded what Jerry had suggested and reluctantly picked up a 10. "Okay, now pump it, nice and smooth," Jerry instructed. I started curling. "A little slower," he said. This was a little humiliating, but it was surprisingly heavy. By no means was it giving me the kind of strain I was used to, but it was still offering more resistance than I would have guessed. By the twelfth rep it was actually starting to burn, but Jerry pushed me to the full 20. After that we moved on to leg curls, which were easier, and I did a full set of 30 before Jerry had me lie on the floor doing situps. Then it was back to the free weights for another 20, this time though he made me extend my arm over my head at the top of each curl, which added a lot more to the workout. That's how it went for a long time, rotating around different body parts long enough to give one a rest, then start over. I was pretty wobbly by the end of it in truth. "You look pretty wiped out," Jerry remarked. "No problem," I said, my, what I hesitate to call, bicep quivering. He knew what he was talking about, but I couldn't very well admit to being wrecked by a workout like this. I had to preserve what little pride I had left. "Good. Then you can hit the treadmill." I stifled a moan. "Gotta get that stamina up to snuff too." *** I practically crawled back into the bus and fell onto the couch. Running with an arm bound up sucked. At least it was a show night, and the girls were working, so I had the place all to myself. I looked up and saw my pitiful reflection in the black TV screen across the little room. "Channel 818," I commanded, and the TV turned on. The camera was panning over a crowd of people who I could hear as a faint buzz from where I was lying. It focused in on the ring, and a set of dancing spotlights to keep people's attention before the live show started. After that it cut to the commentators, who were busy hyping up the matches on the card for the night, as well as 'speculating' on what consequences those matches would have on the PPV in Manhattan. You always have to bring up the big money show. I didn't have much else to do, or the will to do much else, so I just settled in and watched. The first match was the debut for those couple of nothing guys, fresh out of developmental, that we'd been fighting over the practice ring with. They were still raw, and pretty meh. They hadn't developed any personalities to speak of and were pretty interchangeable as far as I was concerned so I didn't really care who won, not that that really mattered anyway. The next match was Cassidy teaming up with another girl named Ruby against Terri Vixen, and Bella Donna. They all had experience, but Donna, fresh off of a face turn, couldn't play the good-guy to save her life. All in all it was solid. Cassidy finished it up with a top rope leg drop for the go home spot, and went over. That is to win, in layman's terms. After that they cut to commercial and came back to a back-stage interview section where they asked the queen bitch herself Angel Madison how she thought the last match went, which she used as an opportunity to talk herself up and hype her own match later on the card, and again, the PPV. Nothing to complain about really, it was her job and she did it well enough. It was probably pretty easy to do since her actual personality was so close to her character. Next up was actually a pretty good match. It was a 'No Holds Barred' match between Kurt Robins, and Black Hat McCoy, two passed their prime ring generals who never had much charisma, but had enough experience between the ropes to pull off the really dangerous looking moves safely, which was really the point of the no holds barred gimmick. These two could do piledrivers and brain busters all day without worrying about anybody actually getting hurt. It was a real piece of work and I was really more interested in the good ring psychology and professional work than who won or lost. I had to admit, it was good booking on Mike's part, he'd really utilized their strengths to their fullest. Now we were moving up the card, with the first real feud match of the night. Violet was announced, followed by Angel, carrying that gaudy as hell pink strap they called a Ladies' Title. Oh man I was not looking forward to having to be seen carrying that thing. At any rate, the match itself was nothing to write home about. It was non-title, just set-up for the title match at the PPV, which usually meant one thing, a gimmick finish. Sure enough, as soon as it looked like Violet had the upper hand, Angel roll through the middle rope and to the floor where she put on an 'I'm hurt' act a four year old could see through. She had to, four year olds were supposed to. The only person who was supposed to be fooled was the ref. Violet stood in the middle of the ring while the ref 'checked on' Angel, and Miami Dawn emerged from under the ring with what looked to me like a wiffle-bat, smacked Violet in the head with it, and ran off. Violet played dead. Of course the ref 'didn't see any of it' and Angel 'mysteriously recovered' just in time to jump back in the ring so the ref could count to three. Never mind of course that she'd suddenly gone from winning the match to unconscious, and that the bat was still lying in the middle of the ring. Now the stakes were set up in the minds of the fans. "Oh Violet could have won if Angel hadn't cheated, what'll happen at the PPV!?" Uhh. I happened to know Angel was going to retain at the PPV. Then came another commercial break, and then another backstage interview. This time it was to set up the main events of both tonight and the PPV in Manhattan, Luke Power vs Tsunami Akimoto. The ring reporter stood between Luke, who was giving his all-American golden boy shtick, and Genbo. Genbo was Akimoto's mouthpiece. Aki spoke English alright, but he wasn't quite fluent enough for mic work, and the crooked manager going along with the strong, silent heel was a recipe as old as the pyramids. Ironically Genbo was a native born Hawaiian, so he actually played up the Japanese accent. I wasn't really paying attention to what they were saying though. I was sort of zoning out. Had Power changed his gear? I couldn't put my finger on it but those little blue and red trunks looked particularly tight on him tonight, especially with those big, cut-marble columns he called thighs sticking out bare beneath them. Also when he talked he would pump those huuuge boulders of biceps up and down his tree trunk arms. Wrestlers are taught to use a lot of body language in their promos, and he did. When he talked his colossal rock-hard pecs would flex, bouncing up and down the title belt he had resting on his shoulder, so that the strap would hang down and tickle that steel grill of out of this world abs he had. My fingers brushed lightly past my knee and rested on my thigh. They moved slowly, almost of their own accord, upward and inward, further, further... Ka-chunk! The door to the bus opened up and my hand snapped back like a bungee cord. "Hey," said Cassidy popping in from the night, back in her civies, her hair still wet from the shower. "Hi," I returned nervously, not fully conscious of what I'd been doing. "They uh, they didn't need you anymore tonight?" "Nah. It was just one and done, so I showered and walked over," she said. "But I stopped by the catering table on the way out," She held up a paper plate full of cookies. I sat up and gave her some room to sit down, and she dropped down, stretching her back as she did. "Oh man. I know I hate losing, but damn, I kinda hate winning too." "Nobody made you take the leg drop as a finisher," I remarked. "It's not conducive to a long career," I sneaked a cookie. "I know, I know," she confessed. "I gotta phase it out pretty soon," she popped her neck and then opened her eyes. "You actually watching this?" "Well, what else am I gonna do?" I asked. "So how'd Violet do? She look good?" she inquired. "She did alright," I said. "Your match was better." "Oh I know Honey," she said smartly. "But I ain't a six foot blond with big tits, which is why I'm not in the title scene. And don't tell her I said this, but she ain't a six foot blond either. That girl's hair color is about as natural as Angel's boobs." "Well I'm not a six foot blond with big tits, and I have a guaranteed title coming up," I insisted. "Yeah well I ain't a six foot blond, AND I ain't got an agent with some leverage," she said. "Half the girls on the roster have boob jobs," I remarked. "Way more than half Honey," she corrected, and munched a cookie. "The vast majority of us belong to the silicone squad, including yours truly. I just went more modest. I know which side my bread is buttered on," and she shimmied her hips a little. "Besides, I'm gonna have back problems as it is." I giggled at that, honest to God, I did a genuine, stomach turning giggle. Cassidy smirked at it. "Anyway," she handed the plate of cookies off to me stood and stretched her back. "you think they'd let me renegotiate my contract if I faked an injury? If I'm gonna take this much pain, I'm gonna need to get paid more." "I've looked into the injury thing," I said. "Believe me, I've looked. They have it covered solid. If anything it works in their favor." "Poo," she said dropping back to the couch. She took another cookie. "So what are they doing now?" "They're doing the tag-team feud," I answered. "But all the commentary is talking about is the main event." "Right. Aki was supposed to jump Luke Power during his promo right?" "Yeah," I answered. "He did it right after you came in. Now it's all 'Will Luke Power be in any shape for the main event match? Will he be in shape for the title defense in Manhattan?' You know how it goes." "Sometimes I wish I could find a bookie willing to take bets on pro- wrestling," she mused. Ka-chunk The door came open again and in came Violet. "Oh hey," she said as she saw us. "Oh, you're watching the show? Did I look good out there?" "I'm sure you looked fine," Cassidy answered. "So where are we?" Violet asked as she plopped down right between us and snatched a cookie. "They're about to start the main event," I told her. "Oh good," Violet nibbled on the cookie. They introduced Akimoto first. He was a huge Japanese guy in black tights that had the image of one of those Japanese wood block paintings wrapped around the right leg. It was the one with the wave crashing over the mountain. He was a former legit sumo champion, that's not to say he was a tub of guts mind you. Yes, he had a barrel for a torso, but he was surprisingly fit and defined for a guy his size. While he didn't have quite the same solid marble, sets Greek goddesses to drooling, rippling physique as Luke, and honestly, who does, he did have the size to portray a convincing opponent for him. He also kept his hair up, kept it looking nice, because even though he was booked as a heel in North America, he was always a baby face in Japan, and he had to be able to play off the good guy. Quite honestly, I could see it. No introduction was bothered with with Luke. In a bit of wrestling story telling, as soon as his music hit, he rushed down the ramp and to the ring, sporting a fake limp to sell the revenge angle for earlier in the night. He slid right into the ring and they began trading pulled punches, starting out not as a wrestling match, but as a brawl, already swinging before the bell rang. It was a good start. In an excellent bit of physical narrative, Aki repeatedly attacked Luke's faux injured leg to make him look cut-throat, and to give Luke some vulnerability. At any rate they got into a professional swing, really selling the hate for each other and soon it was a showcase of two big... sweaty... glistening... bulging... hunky bodies slamming into each other. "Hey Sam," a voice called. "Huh, eh, what?" I questioned. "Sam?" Violet repeated. "Yeah Violet, what?" "Ain't Luke sexy?" "Violet, don't ask her that," Cassidy berated. "Will you introduce him to me?" Violet requested. "Huh?" I said puzzled. "How should I? I don't know him. I only talked to him a couple times." "Jerry's your trainer now right?" she said incredulously. "Yeah." "Well he's Luke's trainer too. He's the one who taught him to wrestle," Violet explained. "Really?" Cassidy questioned. "Yeah," said Violet. "I heard he's his uncle or something." "Huh," said Cassidy. "I guess they do kinda look alike," She wasn't wrong, once I thought about it. Jerry did sort of resemble Luke, just fifteen years older, half a foot shorter, and just as much narrower across the shoulders. Jerry was in good shape but Luke was... I bit my lip lightly. *** In the end Genbo and Aki pulled some manager interference shenanigans and ended the match in a disqualification, thereby preserving the heat for the title match. The road crew tore down the ring that night and we were off, to the next exotic New England location, but we were all in our bunks by then, pretty tired from the days events. I was lying in my bunk, feeling the road moving beneath me, and watching the lights moving across the curtain of my little sleeping pod. I had my good hand behind my head and I was thinking of the show, and the matches, and I couldn't help but feel like I actually wanted to get in the ring again. *** Chapter Nine The PPV went on as planned, Angel retained the strap, there was some storyline gimmick that led to the tag-team titles being in contention, thereby extending the feud, and Akimoto pinned Luke for the title after Genbo 'tasered' him while the ref was distracted. All I could do was sit in the bus and wait while everybody else was working. When we got to Boston I was contacted by a lawyer and I had to miss a day of training so I could tape a deposition for James' trial; by the time the show went to Jacksonville I had to fly back to Cleveland to give testimony in person. My part therein was mercifully short. Sitting up there in front of people and staring across the courtroom at the face of the person I hated most in the world, without jumping out of my chair and strangling him in front of the judge, jury, and God himself, was the hardest thing I'd ever done. Fortunately I was only required for a few days, with the possibility of being called again, and I caught back up with the tour in Orlando. It had been over a month now since James had dosed me, and almost a month since my body stopped changing, on its own anyway. In that time I had regained considerable stamina and coordination and I was finally starting to put on the tiniest bit of muscle. It was still too soon for anything easily noticeable, but I could feel that the progress was underway. "So have you thought about a finisher yet?" Cassidy asked sitting beside me on the ring apron, toweling off the back of her neck. "No," I answered. "Well you should," she said. "I kinda noticed you've been trying to stick to your old moves. You really want to not be recognized, you gotta change it up. The finisher especially," she mused for a moment then spoke again. "How about an inverted deathlock? It's still a submission, it's different enough that it won't be recognized, and few enough people use it that it'll stand out." "I'll think about it," I said. "You feeling alright?" she asked. "You've been kinda sluggish today." "No, I'm fine," I said with a dubious lack of enthusiasm. "I've actually been feeling better lately. Been, getting a feel for it I guess," I thought for a second. "Hey how do you know my moves anyway?" I asked. "Well enough to know I hadn't changed them I mean. You a fan or something?" "Nah," she said. "But we got that game console in the bus. We got the video game from last year; I've been practicing with you. You know you was kinda sexy." "Thanks, I feel loads better now," I grumbled sarcastically. "Hey Casey!" a familiar voice called, and I looked up to see a crowd being led over by Jerry. The voice was Nigel, and he was among a bunch of suits and writers from the company. "Nigel, what are you doing all the way down here?" I asked. "Oh, business, business," he answered, and scanned his eyes up and down me, I knew he was trying to get a lay of the land. I'd changed a lot since we'd last seen each other. "Wow," he muttered more audibly than I'm sure he meant to. "Um, anyway, some of the execs wanted to check on your progress, and I insisted on being here for it. Truth is I tried to get them to push this back to next week." "Why?" Cassidy interjected. "Because next week we're in Miami," I answered for him. "Casey, these are some people from image and marketing," Jerry explained. "They wanted to come take a look at you." "Would you and your friend here be willing to climb between the ropes and give us a bit of a demonstration?" asked one of the execs, a lady with fogged over glasses whose suit, hair, and posture all said the stick up her ass had a stick up its ass. "I'm a little tired today, but I think we can make a go of it," I answered. I knew the dance and how to dance it. "Come on Cassidy, let's give them a short demo." The two of us went into the ring, Jerry followed after us to act as referee. "Um, Mr. Cullen, you see that bell over by the table?" Jerry pointed out. "Would you mind ringing that when you're ready?" Cassidy and I whispered the opening to each other as he walked over and picked up the striker. DING Cassidy made a quick step and hit me with a lariat. A lariat is akin to a clothesline but the implication is that it's more of a hook than a strike. I did a back bump, and Cassidy lifted my foot in preparation for a toe hold, but she stopped to gloat for the imaginary crowd first, and I put my foot into her hip and kicked her off. She stumbled back and did a butt bump, landing sitting up. I kipped up (It took me too many weeks to be able to do that again) and bounce off of the ropes into a low flying shoulder check, knocking her flat. I picked her up and put her in a sleeper hold, a rest-hold choke. We frequently use it to catch our breath and call the next few moves for each other, which is what we did. The ropes were too close behind us for her to do a heel hook escape so she instead fought her way to her feet, and then dropped to her butt again, hooking my head into a stunner, I bounced back into the ropes and hooked them, not having the space to run out. Cassidy got back to her feet and Irish whipped me into the corner, I made sure to go in back first and lay in to drive home the impact. She then cut the corner of the ring, came off the ropes and charged into me, jumping and turning at the last moment, hitting me with a flying butt thump, one of her signature moves. I tumbled out of the corner, giving her some space and acting dazed. She leaped onto the second turnbuckle, her rear towards me, looked back, and jumped backward. Hooking my neck with her arm she dragged me down into a flying DDT. I rolled all the way through the impact and back up to a seated position, giving her a free position for another rest hold. She put me in a dragon sleeper, a variation of the sleeper hold where the attacker's arm is hooked the opposite way around and the head is pulled back instead of pushed forward. It was truthfully more of a neck crank than a choke. We called out next set and in an inverse of the spot earlier, I now fought to my feet. I slipped out from her hold, hooking her wrist along the way, and pulled her arm behind her into a hammerlock. I pushed her off, she did a chest bounce off the ropes and straight back where I was waiting with a waist lock that I transitioned immediately into a bridging German suplex. I lifted her into the air, leaned backward, and slammed her shoulders into the mat while maintaining the waist lock and pointing my toes, thereby forming my own body into an arch. With her shoulders down Jerry dropped to the mat and slapped down counting "one" before she kicked her legs signaling the kick out and I released the hold. We both stood up, clinched into the collar and elbow, and we called the final spot. I shot under, hooking her arm along the way. I applied some touch leverage to the back of her shoulder 'forcing' her to the mat face down, and then put her in the crossface. She began slapping the canvas immediately with her free arm signaling the submission and Jerry called the match. DING-DING-DING Nigel struck the bell thrice and Cassidy and I stood up, catching our breath, and looking out over the audience. The suits and the writers were all huddled up whispering to each other, one assistant filming the whole thing with his phone, and I watched them as I took a pull off of my water bottle. After a while they seemed to come to a consensus and a doughy looking greasy guy stepped forward. "We've seen enough ring work for the moment," he said. "But how about your mic work? Can you talk for us Honey?" I narrowed my eyes at him, my contempt crawling up my spine. "Honey?" I said, venom dripping from my voice. "Honey!? There's nothing 'honey' about me!" I shouted. "I'm not in the fly catching business here Porky; that smells more like your job. I'm in the wrestling business, I'm in the ass kicking business, but even if I was, I'd be ALLLLL vinegar," By this point Jerry had caught on and approached me handing off a dry erase marker to stand in for a microphone. Contrary to what a lot of people think, neither wrestling matches, nor promos, tend to be scripted. We would usually be given the broad strokes, the intent behind it, yeah, but the words themselves had to all come from us. Pro-wrestling was one big improv show at the end of the day. "But if it's honey you want, you better be prepared to get sticky, because I'm about to jump out of this ring and STICK my boot laces up your flabby ass!" I leaned over the ropes and leered at him. "Unless, you wanna try buttering up, squeezing through these ring ropes, and taking a tour around my house," I flicked the marker at him, bouncing it off his doughy chest, and walked back to center ring. Again they huddled up and discussed, again the aide filmed it all, again I watched. "We'll have to talk this over at greater length," said glasses lady finally. "We'll be in touch shortly," and they all walked toward the door, Nigel giving a silent thumbs up as he followed behind them. "That was solid work," Jerry said. "Smooth as silk. They're not gonna find anybody in the indies that could hold up a half a match like that." "They already said they were gonna use me," I pointed out. "Yeah, but now they have to decide HOW they're gonna use you," he said. *** "Wait, wait... how do you pin?" I demanded as I desperately mashed buttons on the video game controller. "Don't worry about it," quipped Cassidy next to me, showing a much greater mastery of her own. We were back on the bus after practice, and she was showing me the video game she'd told me about. I'd remembered getting scanned for it, blew a whole weekend in a suit covered in silver balls to make this thing, and I'd never played it before. Naturally I was playing as myself, my old self, my good old, handsome self. Cassidy was playing as Jackson Castle, a solid upper-middle card worker. "I thought you were practicing with me," I complained, secretly certain she could have trounced me playing as the ring announcer. "Yeah I was," she said. "But I usually play as Jackson, when I can't play as myself that is." "Why him?" I asked. It wasn't that he wasn't a good worker, but as far as game stats he was pretty average. He had a really built, muscular physique, REALLY good now that I gave him another look, kinda... nice. The problem was he was on the small side, a bulldog one could say, and it didn't lend to the intimidating presence that would have taken him further. That and he wasn't the best talker. "I don't know. He probably would have been offended if I picked somebody else," she said. "What do you mean?" I asked. "Well it's his game," she said. "I sort of stole it out of his apartment one time." "Wait," I began. "are you saying you dated Jackson Castle?" "Well," she said. "I wouldn't call it that personally. I fucked him a couple times, but it wasn't too serious. A lot of us girls have dated guys from the locker room. All that prime man-meat walking around, it'd be a waste to do otherwise." "You all always treated me like crap," I complained. "No offense Honey... but you were kinda slimy," she said. "You was good lookin' and all, but you had kind of a asshole rep." I looked at her slack jawed. The voice on the video game counted out "1... 2... 3!" "It's not like you weren't damn sexy or anything," she pointed to my digital form laid out on the computerized canvas. "we just like some dick. We don't need it to be all dick." I dropped the controller and walked back to the bunks. "Where you goin'?" she asked. "My stomach hurts," I answered. *** "Hey Sam, get up," I heard Violet's voice say. "You're gonna be late for practice." I just curled up into a ball in my bunk and moaned like a dying cat. "Come on Girl. What's the problem?" Cassidy came in. "Get up." "Nooooo!" I groaned. "What's the problem?" Cassidy slapped by pantied butt. "My stomach HUUURTS!" I wailed. "So what?" said Cassidy. "We all gotta work through it now and again. We both did since you moved in." "Yeah," confirmed Violet. "Mine was kinda heavy too." It took me entirely too long to realize what they were talking about, my eyes grew wide when I did. "No, no, no, no, no, no..." I chanted as I rolled out of my bunk and on to the floor. I crawled out to the den area, literally dragging my sheet with me and I stuck my face in the couch cushions, hiding in my blanket like a frightened child. Cassidy stood in the curtain, arms crossed, fingers tapping in frustration. "Huh," she sighed. "Violet, you got any pads?" she asked. "I don't want her staining those sheets," She came and pulled me up, guiding my pitiful, blanket bedecked form back to the closet, tears streaming down my face. "Come on. Let's get you some clothes, and Violet will take you inside and find you a nice secluded shower stall that you can get good and hot." "What are you gonna do?" Violet asked taking my wrist. Cassidy headed through the door to the outside and stopped in the frame. "I'm gonna go tell Jerry she's probably not gonna be any good for the rest of the week." *** I wasn't COMPLETELY useless the whole week, but it wasn't a very productive one. I did eventually manage to get into the gym, wearing some new sweat pants I'd bought, and mostly doing the lightest things I could. Thus began a new and horrible chapter in my life, wherein I had to actively apply knowledge I had never wanted to gain. "I can't do this every month," I said sitting on my knees in the middle of the ring. "It's not always like this," Cassidy reassured me from her perch on the top turnbuckle. "A lot of the time there's no cramps at all, it's just bleeding." "Well that's no fun either," I said, looking down and fingering my water bottle. "That's rich, coming from someone I happen to know took a razor blade to their own forehead just to better sell a chair shot. Just think of it as getting color." "That's gross," I said. "And that's different, that's... part of the job." "And this is part of life," she retorted. "Not my life," I grumbled under my breath. "Oh, I'm sorry," she chided. "I forgot you were special." "Well I'm not exactly normal!" I snapped. I put my face in my hands and moaned. "I need to call the pharmacy." "Just go to the infirmary," she said. "They can give you something for that." "No I mean..." I paused. "For my anti-depressants. I... I didn't get my last refill on my prescription. I kinda feel like I need them right now." *** Chapter Ten It was a couple of days later when Jerry and I got called into the conference room. Sitting there around the meeting table were the same people from the demonstration in the gym, Nigel, the suits, the writers, plus some new people. "Please be seated," requested the Glasses Lady. We sat down across from them and she continued. "We've looked over your ring work and decided you have plenty of potential, and we'd like to discuss your future with NDW productions," It was a stock address if I'd ever heard one. I already had a guaranteed contract with the company that even I couldn't get out of, I'd tried. "We need to talk about your image, your persona. We feel like, while you perform more than adequately in the ring, and your demonstration on the microphone was quite good, other areas need improvement." "Such as?" I probed. "Your presentation," she said. "Your body language isn't yet what we're looking for, and frankly, your look needs work. That's why we've brought Gabriela here in to consult with you on that," She motioned to one of the new people, a really made up lady with teased hair and about half the Sherwin Williams catalog on her face. "She's going to be your style coach." "You're sending me to finishing school?" I questioned. "It's nothing so formal," said Glasses Lady. "She's just going to help you with appearances. You've made quite a lot of progress on that as it is from what I've seen." "Say what?" my jaw slackened. "You already carry yourself in a pretty feminine manner," Gabriela interjected. "But there's still certainly room to improve. That swagger and confidence hasn't carried over and that's something you'll need." I was dumbfounded. I hadn't really paid attention to how I moved, to my mannerisms outside the ring anyway. My moves between the ropes were all I'd been focusing on. Had all that really changed too? "I'll help you bring that out. And I'll help your look too. We must do something with that hair. Are you married to the short length?" "Kinda," I said. "It doesn't grow very fast anyway. The... the gynospores stunted the growth rate. It's a side-effect." "Well I think we can do something sassy with it anyway," Gabriela said. "What do you know about makeup?" I swallowed hard. "Nothing." Gabriela took some notes and then leaned over and whispered to another new person; a young lady in glasses with long straight hair covered with a beanie. "Oh this is a colleague of mine, Nikki," Gabriela said. "She designed a lot of the ring costumes for the talent, almost all of the women. We consult with each other fairly closely." "Do you have any padding requirements?" Nikki asked with a low, shy, almost croak. "Um, knee pads and one elbow pad I guess," I told her. She took down her own notes and then looked back up at me. "I'll need you to come back in and take some measurements sometime," she added. "She's not in ring shape yet," Jerry butted in. "She's still got some weight to put back on." "Yes, concerning that," said Glasses Lady, conspicuously adjusting her namesake feature. "We've consulted with marketing and Gabriela here, and we think it would be wise to... let's say, focus her weight in a... particular area." "What are you saying?" Jerry asked. "We're suggesting that Ms. Blake consider some, augmentations," she said. I was paralyzed. "We've already discussed it with her agent, Mr. Cullen. The company would of course pay for the procedure, and offer an increased percentage of merchandising rights, as well as a substantial bonus should she agree. Add that to our increased sales projections due to said alterations and, we're all looking at a considerable bunce." "Y... y, you... want me..." I stammered. "to get..." I sat there stunned with my hands out in front of me, palms in, open wide. "It would be a fairly minor change compared to what you've already gone through," she said. "And could be a boon to everyone involved." "Would you please excuse me for a moment," I said wearily, and then I walked out of the room. *** "What's going on?" I heard Nigel's muffled voice coming through the wall. "She's feeling a little sick obviously," Jerry's voice reverberated as well. I leaned over the sink, still trying to spit the taste of puke out of my mouth, and I looked myself in the mirror. Standing there on the other side was a very pale, very unhappy lady. They really thought they could market THAT on her looks? God, no wonder they thought she needed augmentations. She really didn't have the biggest top floor I'd ever seen, it was true, but the very idea that they'd ask that, with everything I'd already been through, it was so... out of touch. "Well I need to talk to her," Nigel said. "It's the ladies' room," Jerry countered. "Don't be weird." "Stop me," Nigel said. "I can stop you," I heard Jerry announce, and then there was a loud bang. "Knock it off!" I demanded as I emerged out into the hall, finding Nigel climbing out of a planter and Jerry standing over him. "I'm not in any mood for this shit." "Jesus Casey, get this goon off of me," said Nigel, knocking potting soil off of his blazer. "I should sue." "You're not gonna do that," I told him. It was a definitive statement, not a request. "Both of you just cool off." "I need to talk to you about that deal Case," said Nigel. "It's a good deal." "Oh fuck right off Nigel," I said, crossing my arms. "Look, I know, it's hard. It's not what you'd have picked, but that's the name of the game. We both stand to make a lot more money this way and if you don't... we could lose a lot." "What the hell does that mean?" I demanded. "It's a loop-hole in the contract," he said. "They have a right to reset the conditions of the contract if you don't meet certain marketing stipulations. We could lose that pay raise if you don't do it." "God damn it Nigel!" I kicked over the planter and put my hands on my head. "I'm in no mood for this today, I am not." "I know," He pleaded. "It's not so bad though right? Against everything else?" I shoved him aside and walked down the hall back toward the parking lot. "Meeting's over... I'll think about it," is all I could say. *** The next morning I woke up and stretched my arms high above my head, arching my back like a cat. My cramps had finally subsided and it felt like finding the pot of gold at the end of one shitty ass rainbow. All things considered I was in comparative heaven. I poked out into the den section of the bus where Cassidy and Violet were already trotting about, making coffee and raiding the mini-fridge for a quick breakfast. Like me they weren't dressed. Violet was wearing the same lacy getup from before and Cassidy had on a pair of loose pajama bottoms and a cotton tank top. I couldn't help but give attention to how their breasts moved as they did. They were both bigger than me, both 'augmented.' There was no sexual interest in my examination. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been turned on by any part of the female anatomy, it was just, casual, academic. "Hey," Cassidy looked at me. "you want some coffee Hon?" she asked. "No," I thumbed toward the back of the bus. "I was just about to brush my teeth," It amazed me how casually these women paraded around half- naked, in the same room as a half-naked me. More accurately, I was amazed at how NOT amazed I was. It all had this weird, dream like, natural quality to it. "Cassidy?" "Yeah Hon?" she answered. "Do you..." I began. "Do you think I'm pretty?" All activity in the bus stopped at that moment. Cassidy looked at me for a brief eternity before she spoke. "Yes Casey. Yes I do," was all she said at first. Her tone was staggeringly matter-of-fact. It was as if someone had asked her if she thought it would rain today. "At any rate you look a hell of a lot better than you did the last few days. What brought this on?" "I don't know," I blushed. "Just... image consultant." "Oh I get it," she said, pouring steaming brown liquid into a small mug. "Nobody makes you feel uglier than those people." "They want me to... never mind," I said. "They just, I gotta meet with somebody else today. So, you're on your own with practice." "That's cool," she said, and she took a sip. "I need to spread my wings anyway. But we still gotta work on getting you some new moves." *** That day instead of going to the gym I was directed to another conference room, but I had been told to still wear my workout gear, one of the same leotards I had been wearing. The unease at how they showed off the lines of my body had been fading with each workout. Inside the office I found that the conference table had been moved against one wall and none other than Gabriela was sitting cross-legged upon it. "Hello Darling," she said. "Today I'm gonna teach you how to walk." "I already know how to walk," I said crossing the room, almost as if to prove the point. "You know how to put one foot in front of the other," she corrected. "There's more to it than that," She stood up. "Yes, you can get from point A to point B, you even walk like a girl," that statement put a knot in my throat, but I kept silent. "but you move like a mousy little thing. You lack confidence and that's unbecoming of a member of NDW talent," She strode around me, her head held high, her shoulders deliberately back, her hips swaying with every step. "You are supposed to be one of the baddest, most self-assured women on the planet, on either planet, and your body isn't saying it." I looked down at myself. Oh man, I realized how right she was. I was standing like a school-girl being dressed down by the headmistress. My toes and knees were together, my hands were clasped down in front of me, my shoulders were hunched up, my head was buried in them. "Now don't worry," she said. "We're not gonna turn you into some sort of vixen. I'm not teaching you pole dancing here, that's not your character. You, are the pure athlete. You're not the girl who's up there in the ring because she looks good in a pair of vinyl booty-shorts, you're up there because you're one of the best sportswomen in the world." My heart actually soared at this. It was a weird kind of relief not quite like any I'd ever felt before. It was like I was eased of a weight I didn't know I'd been carrying, alleviated of a worry I didn't consciously think of. "But that comes with its own kind of confidence, its own swagger." "Then why do they want me to get..." I held out the air in front of my chest. "If you asked them," she stopped in place. "they'd probably lie to you, but it's because they want to sell tickets and merchandise to teenaged boys... and 20 something boys, and 30 something boys, and middle-aged boys. But me? I think you could use the confidence boost." "The what!?" I demanded. "Look at you. You are a cute girl, no doubt about that, but that's what you come off as, a girl. You have nice hips, true, but between the regenerative skin, the weight loss, and the self-doubt, you look more like a lost kid. We need a grown, mature, self-confident WOMAN. It goes beyond the self-assuredness looking sexy will give, and believe me, it will, and that IS a big part of it but... look. I know about the spores, how they weren't your choice. That was forced on you and I know that was wrong, but I don't think you're reading this the right way. Yes, the spores made you female against your will. FEMALE. Listen to the language I'm using," she faced me and took me firmly by the shoulders. "There's no going back, we both know that. But what YOU get to decide is where you go from here. You can stay the mousy little girl the spores made you, or you can CHOOSE to be a WOMAN." *** The rest of the day was spent walking circles around the conference room. Every loop I made Gabriela would correct me on something, and then make me do it again, and then again the other way around. She taught me different walks, and different stances, and by 'taught' me I mean she explained it and I would completely blow it. She even produced a pair of heels, insisting I learn to walk in those, claiming it would help the rest if I could do that. It wasn't the impossible task I was led to believe, a heel slip every now in then being the worst of it. I could get around in them, but I was sure I was far from the picture of grace. I crawled into my bunk that night a nicer kind of tired. Every muscle wasn?t screaming in pain like most days, my back wasn't a road map of bruises like sometimes, but man did my feet ever hurt. I lay there in my pod thinking about what Gabriela had said to me, and watching the orange twilight rays creep down below the gap in my curtain. It was like I was trapped in a tunnel, the entrance collapsed behind me, no way back. I could stay where I was, or move forward. This was maybe the first time I could remember when I had a choice in something, and she had reminded me that it WAS my choice. I reached into the little alcove next to my bed and pulled out my phone. The screen lit up the bunk as I scrolled through the numbers, and I listened to it ring on the other end, nervous, steeling myself. "Nigel Cullen," I said when the secretary picked up. "Nigel? Yeah, it's Casey," I said. "Yeah. Look I'll... I'll do it." *** Chapter Eleven "There's a real privilege to working with it," said the doctor as he probed me. "It's like Italian marble, the best material there is," I had flown home to California while the tour went along as planned. Zeeg and Zeeg women in particular were still very much a small minority on Earth- side, and they tended to use bio-mods for cosmetic purposes, so there weren't many plastic surgeons qualified to work with my rare type of dermis. There was only the one in Miami and a couple on the West Coast. So here I was, standing topless in a doctor's office, my arms above my head, with pen marks all over my chest. "It heals quickly, it doesn't scar, it has perfect elasticity. You're actually quite lucky." "Luck had nothing to do with it," I told him. "Yes, of course I'm well aware of the artificial nature of human gynomorphs, it was a turn of phrase only. Um, do you understand this procedure as I have explained it to you?" "As well as I can," I told him. "Excellent," he beamed. "We can put you on the schedule for the end of the week." *** I walked into my house, it felt almost like an alien planet. Everything had changed so much since the last time I'd been there. Everything was so much bigger than it had been. I walked through my living room, running my hand over the big black leather couch, looking at the scuffs on the glass coffee table where I used to prop my feet. My feet couldn't even reach it from the couch anymore. Was this place always such a disheveled mess? How had I left it this way? The couch cushions were hanging halfway off, the carpet was matted, and the only decoration in the place was four month old dirty laundry and beer stains. How had I lived like this? I didn't know why I did it but I spent the rest of the day cleaning up and straightening the place. Even then it was all so big, and sterile. My home gym was the worst part, it smelled of stale rank and there were still sweat stained workout clothes hanging on the equipment like laundry lines. I was an animal. I thought about doing a quick workout, but decided it would be too much hassle to switch out all the weights. Instead I sprayed a whole can of deodorizer in there and hung a pack of those pine tree car things from the barbell. By the time I was done changing the sheets on my frankly enormous bed, all I felt like doing was crawling into it. So I stripped out of my outer clothes, lost myself in my silk quilt, and settled into the soft spot in the mattress. *** I woke up moaning, feeling a soreness like I'd never experienced before. It wasn't a good kind of sore like after a really hard workout, or even after a beastly hardcore match, it was a really shitty kind of sore. "You're awake?" a voice said from somewhere in the room. Focusing my eyes I saw a nurse standing at the end of the bed, much more chipper than the one from Cleveland. I finally remembered I was in the hospital. I tried to sit up but I got a lancing pain in the sides of my chest. "Hey, don't try to move so much, you're gonna be pretty tender for a while," she cautioned me. Instead I just lifted my head and saw a hospital gown covering the curve of what, from my perspective, looked like a small mountain range sitting on my chest. "I know they don't look like much now," she said. "but wait until you heal up and the bandages come off, you'll love them, I promise. Do you want some pain-killers?" I nodded affirmatively. "There's my star patient," came the familiar voice of the doctor as he came around the corner, where the door to the room was. "I thought I'd do my rounds and check in on you. So what do you think so far?" "They're bigger than I thought," I croaked hoarsely. "Well," he said, putting his hands to his sides. "part of that's swelling, part of it's just a matter of perspective. We were able to go a bit bigger than what's normal for the first time with you because of the unique properties of the tissue. This size compliments your hips better. Balances your overall frame. We discussed this, remember?" I nodded weakly as the nurse plugged an IV tube into my arm. "Unless you have any other questions I'll let you res..." he began, but I was already blacking out. *** It was a while before I was able to see what my second transformation had wrought without the bandages. They were a little purple and bruised, the swelling was going down, but they still seemed awfully big to me. They weren't melons that labeled me instantly as a porn-star or anything, but they were big enough for one to get by on for sure. I turned slowly to get another angle, and I didn't want them moving, because it would have still hurt and they looked and felt like they could gather some inertia. Yes these babies were gonna be able to move. They weren't those fake bubble tits you see sometimes that are just these protrusions on the chest, they were free and independent. I was gonna have to talk to Nikki the wardrobe girl about these because these were gonna constitute an unstable load. Though, if she really designed the outfit the contained Angel Madison's twin beasts it would be fine because I still didn't stack up to her. Cassidy and Violet might be jealous though. *** I was medically cleared to get back in the gym a week before the tour came to San Diego, but in lieu of paying for another plane ticket, the company just decided to give me another week off and come to me. It was fine by me, I was happy to have the down time, and I wasn't exactly eager for my first experience with swelling silicone inside a pressurized airplane cabin. I walked across the parking lot of the stadium with my bags in my hands looking for the tour bus. I couldn't help but notice I was getting more looks than I once did, my top didn't exactly cover everything the same way anymore. Cassidy was standing outside under the awning when I found it. "Hey!" she said and hugged me out of nowhere when she spotted me. Though having done so, she seemed to feel some things before seeing them. "DAMN Girl, look at YOU!" she said finally eyeing me up and down. "I knew what you was doing but DAMN. Welcome to the Silicone Squad Girl. Violet is gonna be jealous." "Um, thanks?" I said not really sure how to respond. "I hope them things aren't gonna throw off your balance or anything, 'cause I'd hate to see all that practice go to waste," she said. "I mean, I definitely feel the weight of them," I consciously adjusted the new twins. "but I don't think they're gonna change my form or anything." "I was kidding Girl," she said. "Come on Big Sis, put your stuff inside and let's get to work." *** For the next month Jerry, Cassidy, and I worked on altering my in ring style, and coming up with a new move set. We decided it would be a good idea to step away from power moves and more into a technical wrestling style, more shoot moves, leverage, and agility. I retained my trademark flying forearm shot, though I had to alter the delivery somewhat, and Cassidy insisted I change my finishing move to a Butterfly DDT. Bumps were an entirely new experience. Yeah, my boobs had moved when I bumped already, and they made a front bump more uncomfortable, but now that was multiplied by ten. I really needed better support upstairs. I finally started showing some more muscle as well, I finally started looking like an athlete, and Jerry gave the go ahead to get measured for my gear. In the indies you'd just wear whatever store bought stuff you could cram yourself into, but here in the big leagues your gear was custom made in house, nobody else wore what you wore. I kept practicing with Gabriela too, changing my body language, which she insisted I stay method with at all times, as well as my style. She fixed my hair to be a little more feminine, short though it was, and helped pick my casual wardrobe. I insisted on jeans of course, but she picked some more stylish ones and expanded my selection of tops to include more tanks and even a couple of halters. She had had a point about confidence too. The better I carried myself, the easier it became, and more naturally I stuck to it, and my mood improved along with it. I let my prescription lapse on my anti-depressants, and didn't renew it. Even when that time of the month came around again, I didn't bother with the quarter of a bottle I still had left, and I was able to work through it better, though it still sucked. I thrust my foot forward into a toe kick to Cassidy's gut, and she bent forward for the set-up. I hooked each of her arms with my own, lifted them, and clasped my hands behind her back so she was bent down with her head against my ribs, I threw my legs forward and back bumped, she drove her shoulder into my stomach and rolled through onto her back as if her head had actually impacted the canvas, and I climbed on top of her and hooked her leg, rolling my weight across her upper body. "One, two, three," counted Jerry as he stood ringside, slapping the apron with each count. "That was a good Butterfly DDT, much better, much safer, but I still want to see a little more snap in that toe kick." I leaned against the ropes and nodded. "Hey, Uncle Jerry," called a deep, but somehow sweet voice across the gym, and over strode a rippling tower of perfect musculature, barely contained within a straining under-armor workout shirt and a pair of tauntingly tiny gym shorts. "Hey' Lucas, what's up?" Jerry answered him. "Hi Luke," I waved my fingers at him. "Hey Sam," he returned. "So, um Uncle Jerry, I just came out of a meeting with the marketing guys. They asked me to send you two over to them when I got here." "Sure thing kid," Jerry said, and slapped Luke on the back as he went to his own workout. "Come on Casey, the money wants to see us," he said, and he headed toward the door. "Sure thing," I called. "Let me just towel off first," I turned to see Cassidy lying on her side in the middle of the ring, with her head resting on her hand, grinning. "What?" I asked. "Hi Luke," she said with mocking coquettishness. I gave her a slightly befuddled look. "I saw you hanging them big balloons of yours over that rope to show 'em off. You a fast learner Girl." "I DON'T know what you're talking about," I told her and I took a towel off the turnbuckle. "Oh don't even act like I ain't seen you giving the goo-goo eyes to every other guy in this gym," she said getting to her feet. "You are imagining things," I insisted. "Oh, I think you the one imagining things," she giggled. "I have to get to a meeting," I said and hurried off rubbing the towel over my neck and holding a less confident expression than I would have liked. I found my way to the office, where Jerry was waiting, and we went inside. There we found Gabriela, Nikki, and Glasses Lady, who I'd learned was named Mrs. Carpenter or something. I noticed Nikki was holding a black cardboard box. "So Ms. Blake is set to re-debut, or rather debut in a couple of months," said Glasses Lady. "We need to get ready with some promotional material. Give her some build-up before her proper introduction. Please go put this on and then meet the photographers in the arena for your first photo shoot," she motioned to Nikki who handed me the box, and I heard some rustling when she did. "The ladies' room down the hall should be available." I was surprisingly not nervous, as I headed to the bathroom. I guess I shouldn't have been it was something I'd done before. I'd done a ton of photo shoots before, back as the old me and they never bothered me then. I went in the girls' room and put the box on the edge of the sink, and pried it open. Inside was a pair of tall wrestling boots, and a thick opaque envelope. I held up the new boots like they'd just come out of a sewer. "White boots? Eh," I complained. Then I picked up the envelope and unfolded it, peeking inside. "What the hell?" Carpenter and Gabriela were discussing something business when I burst back in. "What the hell is this!?" I demanded and cast the racer back crop top across the room at them. I held aloft the little HOT PINK trunks with trails of light pink glitter metallic stars trailing along the sides, like something off of a twelve year old girl's trapper keeper. "That's your gear Darling," answered Gabriela confused. "But it's, it's..." I trailed off. "Yes?" "Pink. Really, REALLY pink," I sighed. "And I was at least hoping for tights." "I'm afraid not," said Glasses Lady, lifting the top off the floor. Like the trunks it was made from hot pink vinyl. "We feel your hips and thighs will be more marketable in trunks." "I had to fight to get them to accept full trunks," Gabriela added. "And the... PINK?" I questioned. "We think it fits with the character we're trying to establish," said Glasses Lady. "What character?" I asked. "Okay, I get why, say, Angel Madison wears pink. She's the captain of the cheer squad mean girl type, it works. But how am I supposed to be bad wearing a hot pink two piece?" "Bad?" Gabriela said incredulously. "Darling, didn't I tell you? We're turning you baby face." "F, fa... Face!?" I almost choked getting it out. "I don't know how to play baby face! I've only ever been a heel, I only know how to be a bad guy." "Well you're not a guy of any sort anymore," said Gabby. "And you're handling that alright. This should be a walk in the park. The truth is we have a dearth of good faces in the women's division. White Tiger is the best we have in that regard, Donna isn't working out well. Another heel isn't really an option right now. It's one of the reasons corporate really wanted to maintain your contract," She took the top from Carpenter and handed it back to me. "Come on, don't keep the photographer waiting." I sat in the ladies' room, mostly dressed. Pink spangly trunks, pink crop top that showed, frankly, a lot of cleavage, a pink elbow pad, pink knee pads with a bigger version of the same stylized star on them, neon pink wrist tape; I didn't even know they made it in that color. Except for the tape, all of it was really glossy. Vinyl had never been my thing. It looked good on Luke, but I'd always worn spandex, it works with darker colors. I finished lacing up my boots and held up the last bit. Bright pink kick-pads with the same star pattern running down the center, like a continuation off of the knee pads. "I don't even kick," I grumbled. After spending way too long figuring out how to put those on I headed out. Walking through the halls like that, I felt naked, worse than naked. It wasn't like there weren't guys who wore less in the ring, but this outfit screamed 'look at me,' and I felt like every pair of eyes I passed did. When I reached the arena proper, there was a whole photography crew, something like ten people, and lights, and backdrops down by the ring. I swallowed hard, and went to introduce myself. "Hi. I'm Sam," I said, holding my hand out to the guy who seemed to be giving the directions. "I guess I'm here to get my picture taken," He looked me up and down, judgment in his eyes, then he snapped his fingers at one of the assistant girls. "Julie, she is not ready," he said to her in a smooth Australian accent. "She just showed up Mr. Wuhur," she said and then took me by the arm and dragged me away. She dumped me in a folding chair under a stage light and opened what looked like a tackle box. "I can't stand these conditions," she said pulling out a little brush. "What's your color Honey?" I wasn't ignorant as to what this was, I worked in TV, I'd had makeup put on before, but I'd never been asked for input. "Uhhh..." I stammered. "Come on Sweetie, we don't have all day," she said. She knelt down and looked at me in the eye. "You're definitely an autumn." Without hesitation she slathered powder over my face like Bob Ross made a skyline and then started sponging something on my cheeks. She was back to her box then, and came out with a little brass tube. "Definitely peach," she said and twisted out a stick of pale pink stuff. "Chin up," she instructed, and physically tilted my head up before smearing the stuff on my lips. "Come on, pucker for me." I did as I was told, and tasted this weird chemical taste I'd never gotten from any pre-interview powdering before. Back and forth she kept at it, going at an erratic pace. Soon she had me close my eyes, and I felt her brushing something over the lids, then she told me to be very still, and I felt her seemingly drawing on them with a pencil. "What do you think?" I heard her ask. I opened my eyes to find her holding a glaring hand mirror. Turning my head to get a good look at it I saw something I hadn't imagined. This was not me. Not in a million years would I have guessed I'd ever see that in a reflective surface. She was this, doll in a pink vinyl getup and glossy pink lipstick, her boobs pushed together by the slightly too small top, her eyes lined in black with pale copper shadowing, her cheeks ever so subtly blushed, and she was pretty. When Cassidy had told me that I hadn't really believed her, but there it was, right in front of me. "Wow..." was all I could say. "Hey," said Julie proudly. "give me more than five minutes and see what I can do. Anything else?" "Umm..." I pondered. "Oh, uh, yeah," I looked close in on my right side. "There's this tattoo. I'm not supposed to show it off. I need it covered up for the photos." "Relax," said the boss as he strode over. "We were informed. We'll remove it digitally," He knelt down and inspected my face. "Yes, yes this will do. Come, pose for me," He dragged me out of the chair and toward the entrance ramp. "Are the lights for the stage ready?" he called. "Yes? Excellent," Up on the stage he positioned me under the videotron and directed me. "Show me some fierceness," he said as he lifted his camera. I slipped easily into one pose I'd practiced with Gabriela after another. He had me copy the same ones time and again, and shot me from different angles. Then we did it all again while he taped me with a video camera. After that we did it all again in the ring, and again in front of a green screen. It was actually kind of fun at first, but after it had gone on for an hour it started to feel tedious and I just wanted to get out of that outfit. *** "Mm-hmm, yeah, I'll wait," I said, sitting on the bus den couch, my phone to my ear, Violet sitting on the floor painting my toenails. "Oh, you do? You do? ...Great! Do you do cover ups? ... It's a Nor Cal star. ... A nautical star, yes. ... about, oh, three inches. ... Uh huh. ... You're open today? ... You take walk ins? ... Great! Bye," I pumped my arm. "Yes! I gotta cut this short Vie, I got business. Where are my shoes?" I took a taxi a few blocks into town and found the place I was looking for. It had taken over a dozen phone calls to find a place that met the specifications I needed. I was almost out of time, I had my first house show tonight and it was gonna suck as it was. The bell chimed as I walked in. "Hello, I called here a few minutes ago," I announced. I looked around at all the framed strips of small pictures. All kinds of things were up there, animals, people, asian lettering, tribal designs, a lot of skulls. "Yeah, what can I do for you?" asked a guy in a loose tank top with a nose ring and more random ink than skin. "Yeah," I answered. "You said on the phone you carry Zeeg-side F?" He looked me over suspiciously. "Yeah," he said. "But it's more expensive. That's rare, premium ink and uh, you don't look like a Zeeg." "This isn't some code for a drug deal I'm not aware of is it?" I said. "Look, I've had some bio-mods. It gave me Zeeg skin," I pinched my arm and watched it snap back instantly into place. I turned my right side to him and rolled the sleeve up. "It leeches the ink out. Makes it fade. But it won't go away completely, I need the Zeeg-side F. It's supposed to be the only kind that stays." "You want a touch-up?" he questioned. "No, I need a cover-up, on the quick." He walked around the counter and approached. "Let me take a look at that Mama," then he slipped on a surprisingly classy pair of reading glasses. He looked over my shoulder for a moment. "Hmm... pretty sharp lines," he said. "Might have to get creative. So what are you thinking?" "I don't care," I said. "I just need it unrecognizable." "So not another star I guess. Covers up a lot of the shoulder as is," He produced a cloth measuring tape and laid it over my tattoo. "I think I've got something for you," He went behind the counter and began to file through something in a low drawer. He crooked a finger at me, drawing me closer, and then looked at my arm again, comparing it to a card he held. "Yeah, this'll do right here," he said, and he showed me the card. "That's a butterfly," I said. "Yeah," he answered. "It's the right size, and it covers the black in all the right places. I have the stencil for it right here. If you don't like it, give me a couple days, and I can come up with something else." "Dammit, I don't have time," I told him. "I need it done literally today." He took his glasses off and looked me in they eye. "Today? Well... Normally I don't like to put on that much black ink in one sitting but... F doesn't really bleed into the system so it should be safe." "Should be?" I questioned. "I ain't a doctor Lady." "Fine," I said. "whatever, let's just do this." *** I stood behind the curtain in my new pink duds, waiting for my introduction. This wasn't gonna be my official debut, this was a house show. It was a small crowd, at a small venue, untelevised. They did these now and then when they needed some extra footage, they sell a few tickets to a few townies, and let local jobber number seven put a big time promotion pay-check on her resume. A jobber was a wrestler who 'did the job,' lost. 'Enhancement Talent' was the PC term for it. Real jobbers made a career out of it. Their place was to make the other talent look strong. Now they weren't necessarily jobbers in their own promotions, but if you were being called up from the minor leagues for one match you were doing the job. This match, and a few more that would come along like it, were just to get some back reel of me for usage on the main show. They'd basically be making a highlight reel of me kicking the shit out of some local birds so they could put it on the videotron and have a record of me. I just hoped they knew how to work. "And introducing her opponent..." I heard coming from the bassey sound- system. "From San Francisco, California..." Uh, I couldn't believe they were billing me from Frisco. "Sam Starr!" I kissed my fingers, placed them to my right shoulder, then cussed out loud because it hurt like a bastard. I headed toward the ring, it was a surreal scenario. A smaller room, tiny crowd, shorter walk. Strangely enough, the most alien part was marching to the ring with no music. I hadn't done that in years. Still, it took considerable concentration to break my normal routine on the way to the ring, even after all that down time. The hardest part was probably being positive with the crowd. Being a baby face did not come naturally to me, but I tried my best to engage with them and pump them up. There I stood across the ring from some pudgy girl in an off the rack blue singlet and white boots and knee pads. I'd never worked with her, never even seen her before that afternoon, but now I had to put on a show with her. This was the nature of the game though and I had to play it. Normally, given the circumstances, I'd have made this a squash match. Basically, a squash match is a quick, one-sided affair designed to make one participant look dominant. The rest of my house matches before my actual debut would be squash matches. However, since I still had my shoulder bandaged I thought I'd take advantage of it. I'd told her before hand to target the arm, make it look like it was an injury she was taking advantage of. It was cheap heat at which a heel would never get a chance. The only problem was it was actually gonna hurt. The ref was a sort of squat bald guy I hadn't worked with before. He went into his pre-match spiel and then stepped back. The bell rang and we went straight into the collar and elbow tie up. She took me into a wrist lock on my right wrist, normally you almost always do this with the left arm, but it let me sell the 'injury' without actually hurting my fresh tattoo. Then... she hit me right on it with her forearm. I didn't have to sell that, the scream was genuine. As I was grasping my arm she kicked me in the back of the legs and I bumped; she started stomping at my bandaged shoulder. She leaned down and took me by the back of the head. "Lay off you bitch," I chastised her, and she lifted me to my feet. She actually pulled my hair and slapped me hard on the shoulder. My first instinct, which I followed, was to clothesline her solidly across the chest, knocking the wind out of her. I didn't want this to turn into a shoot, a real fight, she had a good 25 pounds on me, but if she forced it, so be it. She got to her hands and knees, I wanted to kick her, but that would have been a heel move when she was down, but a stiff double axe-handle to the back, that was fair game. I sent her back to the canvas and very nearly went for the cross- face but I straddled her back and put her in a chin lock instead. "You gonna play nice?" I demanded. All she did was shriek at me so I cranked back on her head hard and she began to desperately slap at my kick-pad. The ref called the match and the announcer declared it. "And the winner, by way of submission, Sam STARR!" I stood up and rubbed my tender shoulder. "God damn this was a wasted day," I muttered. "What the hell is her problem?" I asked the ref. "She thinks she deserves the world title," he said. *** A buzzing woke me up the next morning. I reached over and picked up my phone. "Yes?" I answered. "Yes. That's me. ... How long? ... Thank you," I hung up and put the phone away then I pulled back the curtain and sat up, leaning out of my bunk. "Huu..." I gasped. Water started rolling down my cheeks, then I began to openly sob. "Hmm..." Cassidy roused. "Hey, Case, what's the matter?" she rolled out of bed. "What's wrong?" "No... nu, nothing," I gasped. "They, they sentenced him. They put that sick bastard a, away for what he d-did to me-e-eee," I was crying openly then, and Cassidy just hugged me on the floor. I still didn't know what had driven James to do what he did, or think he could get away with it, I just wished I could never think of him again. I would endeavor not to. *** After that I had three more house matches, all of which went swimmingly, and we'd finally compiled enough footage for my promotional tapes. I was eventually called into the office when the show was in Oakland. Gabriela was there along with an older grey haired fellow with bushy eyebrows. "Good morning Sam," she said as I walked in. "Hi Gabby," I greeted her. "Sam, this is our audio-visual head. He's gonna help you with the technical side of your entrance routine." "Walter," he announced and lifted his hand. I shook it. "I know," I said. "We've actually met before." "Really?" he said. "You don't seem familiar." "I've been getting that a lot," I told him. "So, anyway," said Walter. "we have a lot to go over. We gotta figure out your lighting, cut together a video package for the videotron, and pick your entrance music. Have you thought about that?" "Not really," I admitted. "I do have a question though." "Yes?" Gabby responded. "Who decided I should be billed from Frisco?" *** I spent the next four days sitting in the AV truck with Walter cutting together footage from the house shows and video the photographer had taken, and mixing it with effects packages to create a video to accompany my entrance. Walter, I understand, spent another week working on tertiary effects and lighting. After Glasses Lady shot down my first eleven music choices, we finally settled on something and I spent the next three days practicing my entrance. The sad part was I knew we were just gonna re-cut it all two months after I debuted and when we had some better footage to use. *** Chapter Twelve My nails tapped nervously on the armrest. "Yo, what's wrong with you Girl?" Cassidy nudged me from the next seat over. "You scared of flyin' or something?" "Hmm? No," I said. "I'm just a little on edge." "Well I'm excited," she volunteered, almost kicking her feet with giddiness. "Why are you so hyped?" I questioned. "It's almost my first televised match in half a year, my first one ever in this body." "Oh I ain't talking about that," she clarified. "It's the European tour Girl. We get to stay in swanky hotels instead of that damn bus for a change," She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. "And I hope that blouse fits good. Or them balloons of yours gonna pop a button when this plane takes off." I looked down at my chest and tapped my fingers. *** "Oh man that plane ride was a bitch," Cassidy stretched as she dropped her bags and crossed the hotel room. "I am just happy to have a real BED for a change!" she sat down on the corner of one of the two mattresses and began digging in her suitcase. "I got first dibs on the shower." The first leg of the European tour was Naples, and we were all put up in a local hotel, men on one floor, women on another, and Cassidy and I were roommates again. At least I wasn't alone, like in the last few hotels at which I'd stayed. I sat down on the mattress and leaned back, listening to the water running in the other room. This was a much nicer hotel room than the ones they had set me up with before. I figured they had to provide the established stars a level of expected opulence, for appearances if nothing else, and I would be an established star again pretty soon. Looking down, I was also relieved to note that, besides maybe some slight tightness in my bra, the twins had given me no trouble on the flight; maybe they contributed to a stiff neck. I unfastened the top button on my blouse and stretched out on the gold colored sheets and took a cat nap until the bathroom was free. Once Cassidy gave the all clear I took my chance to use the little girls' room, I'd had to pee since landing, and then I started my own hot shower. It felt so good to get under that steamy cascade after stewing in a pressurized aluminum tube for so many hours, and I'd grown to appreciate the way the water moved over my perfect, unblemished, skin. It was like ribbons of warm satin flowing over me, down my neck, over my big, round breasts, tickling my amazingly sensitive, bullet like nipples, washing along my tight belly, caressing my itty-bitty clitty, and running down my tender thighs. That water loved me, and it touched me like it loved me. I perhaps stayed in the shower longer than I needed to, having all the time I required for once, but ultimately I left it feeling... frustrated. Realizing I'd forgotten my clothes in my bag, I wrapped a towel around myself with flourished ease, momentarily checked out my butterfly tattoo in the mirror, and went back into the main room. There I found a sight I didn't expect. Violet was there, and she and Cassidy were both dolled up in mini-dresses and heels, and Cassidy was digging through my bag. "What are you doing?" I demanded. "You really don't have a single skirt do you?" Cassidy neglected the question. "I guess some of these jeans could work and... O-M-G... you are definitely wearing these," She held up my metallic blue halter top and matching panties. "I didn't even know you had these. Now we just gotta find you a decent pair of shoes." "What are you talking about?" I asked flatly. "Nothing..." Violet said sing-song. "Me and Vie are just two innocent American girls looking for a good time in a strange European city and it's... well truth is it's safer the more of us go together, so you commin' with us." "WHERE!?" I insisted. "To the hottest club we can find," she said with a tone that suggested the answer should have been assumed. "I don't like this," I told her. "Come on Case," she said. "We wanna have some fun and you NEED to have some fun. You ain't been doin' nothin' but workin' since you BEEN you. So put on these sexy blues, wriggle into your tightest denim, and let's go have some FUN." "Huh..." I sighed. "I'll go have a drink, and regret it later." *** We stepped out of the taxi and into the watchful orange light of a nearby streetlamp. The street here was busy with small cliques of people crowding in and out of the doors of a nearby building. Judging from the music thumping from inside and the dress of the people going to and fro it was indeed the nightclub the taxi driver promised. I looked around self-consciously and adjusted my top. "Do my nipples show through this?" I inquired tentatively. "He-he, yeah," Vie chuckled. "Why'd you buy that anyway?" Cassidy questioned. "I don't know," I answered. "It was because it's cute wasn't it," she pushed. "Yes okay," I admitted. "Can we just move along please?" "Sure thing," she answered. "Dammit," she said suddenly as we stepped directly into the circle of light beneath the lamp. "I can't believe I didn't notice that at the hotel." "What?" I asked. "Just hold still," Cassidy said opening her hand-bag. "You really need to get a purse by the by," she pulled out a liner pencil and a mascara brush. "Close your eyes." "Why?" I begged. "Because if you gonna be clubbin' with me you're gonna look good doing it," she insisted. "Now close your eyes, it'll only take a second." I capitulated and I felt her fooling around with my eyelids. "Violet, do you have any lipstick you can borrow her? I ain't got nothing in her color." "Sure thing," Vie said and tossed me a tube that I barely caught. Knowing there was no arguing I applied the salmon color blindly, pressed my lips, and handed it back. "You look great," Cassidy commented. "Now let's get our drink on." Fortunately for we three musketeers the place was pretty big and the line was moving briskly, so it wasn't hard to get inside. I had definitely had harder times getting into clubs as a guy. "Alright, now this place is bangin.'" Cassidy said as we stepped through the threshold. Countless human bodies were swaying with the bass that was reverberating through the air. The dim lighting did little to mask the hard contrast between ancient architecture and modern furnishings. "I'm gonna be at the bar," I enunciated over the too loud music and shimmied off. On the way we cut across the corner of the dance floor, which was segmented glass overlooking an old dry Roman reservoir that had been converted into more club below. The place really was fancy, and the bar was no exception. It was about 70 feet of marble and laminated black wood that separated the clubbers from what looked like a liquor warehouse framed with mirrors and LED displays of writhing human silhouettes. "Cosa ordinate?" said the bartender leaning over the counter at us in what had a distinct questioning inflection. All three of us just looked at him dumbfounded. "Um, we don't understand... you," admitted Violet embarrassed. He looked us over, and his gaze seemed to catch on my jeans. He snapped his fingers in the air, summoning an identically dressed other bartender over to himself. "Americane," he failed to whisper to the second man. The second server then took his place. "What do you want... to drink?" he asked in a stilted, heavy, Italian accent. "Oh," I said. "Um, bourbon," I answered. "Double that," said Cassidy, holding up two fingers. "Um..." Vie began. "Can you make a blue Hawaiian?" He gave an affirmative gesture, and without a word went to work. Cassidy and I got our drinks first and clinked our glasses before leaning our backs to the bar and downing our first sips while watching the dancers. There was no need to leave the bar, we weren't done with it. It wasn't long before it began to hit me, I hadn't yet really imbibed with my new alien body weight and I was probably going too fast. I was still sure though I was only two sheets to the wind at best, when a guy in a dark grey silk shirt and black slacks approached us. He was an olive skinned fellow with midnight eyes and the most carefully planned mess of casual stubble. "You are American ladies?" he asked in his own very Italian way. "I like Americane." Then another guy came up beside him, looking like his slightly shorter doppelganger with poofier hair, and spoke to him in their local tongue, unintelligible to me. "Scusi," the shorter guy said turning to us, his hand on his heart. "I am Giulio, this is mi brother Pietro. I, um... I tell him you famous. You on the television. You um... lottare..." he grasped his hands together and pulled tight. "Ah! Wrestle? Si?" he pointed to Cassidy and Violet. "But I do not know your friend..." he looked at me. "La Farfalla," Pietro interjected. "Si," said Giulio. "This is Sam," Cassidy announced loudly, over the booming club music. "You just watch the show this week. Then you'll know who she is." "Si, Si," said Giulio. "Bravo. You do show here in Naples?" "Yeah," answered Violet. "Come," added Giulio. "You must let us buy you a drink, we celebrate!" So the five of us mingled. I should say, Vie Cassidy and Giulio mingled, whereas Pietro stood over me, hemming me in in fact. I stood against the bar, while he stood close to me, with his hands on the counter on either side of me chatting to me. His English wasn't as good as his brother's, and he didn't even bother most of the time, just going on in incomprehensible Italian and buying me more drinks. I'm not sure I'd have been listening even if I could understand, I just looked at him, though there was something I would catch here and there. "What does 'La Farfalla' mean?" I stretched up and put to his ear. He took a step back and rested his finger on his lip as if contemplating. "Is... um..." he began. Then he put his hands together at the wrist and made a flapping motion, before just touching my arm. I looked over and was reminded of the black Zeeg-side ink there under my skin. "Butterfly?" I asked. "Si," he answered. "Butterfly." I felt my face grow hot at this, and didn't quite know why. "Hey, we're gonna go dance," announced Violet, with her arm around Giulio's. "You go play. Just stay where I can see you," Cassidy quipped, and the two went off to dance on the glass. Pietro said something in his smooth Mediterranean lingo in my ear, and before I knew it I was being propelled along behind them, and I was on the dance floor as well. Pietro was behind me, and he had his hands on me, swaying against me. I didn't know how to be the woman in a dance like this, and I don't know why I went along with it, but I did. I could feel the smooth silk of his shirt against my bare back and I could smell his cologne, but mostly I could feel his hands. They were on my hips and moving up, they were soon on my belly, beneath the metallic satin of my top, and his finger trailed like a faint breath in a circle around my bellybutton, and I felt a quiver, like nothing I'd ever felt before, inside me. Then I felt him pressing his palm flat into my abdomen, forcing me back, and I felt the crotch of his pants pushing against me from behind. I pressed back against him. We were lost in the crowd now, the dance floor was filled and we'd gotten separated from Violet and Giulio. I could barely see the bar now, much less Cassidy. I was starting to get dizzy, things blurred together. He whispered something in my ear, it tickled my hair and cheek; I didn't understand it, but I knew it was a question. "Mm-hmm," I nodded. The next thing I knew I was no longer feeling the warmth of a hundred moving bodies, just the cold night air, and one arm around my waist. We were outside, and Pietro was leading me toward the curb. I saw a car pull up, and then I felt the faux leather seat against my back, we were in the back seat, Pietro was all over me. He was so close I was practically sitting in his lap, his hands on my hips and denimed thighs, bristles on my neck, I could almost taste him, and I knew he could taste me. The car moved, it rumbled beneath us, he rumbled above me, and before I knew it we were stopped in a quieter part of town. I got out, Pietro paid the driver, and then took me inside a walk-up, all but carried me up the stairs, and through a white numbered door. Inside was a small living space, a bachelor pad. The whole place smelled of European coffee, with a fresh hint of the salt Naples air wafting in. I didn't know where I was, and as for the notion of why I was there, I was aware on some level, and becoming more sure by the moment. He led me by the hand into another room, and there, faced me toward a low mattress. He whispered the sweetest indecipherable nonsense into my ear as he wrapped his arms around me. Then I heard a button pop, it was my own, from the front of my jeans, he had his hands on the waist of them, thumbs inside. My fingers ran up the inside of his slacks, and to the front, then they brushed over the most telling bulge. I heard a zipper, his hands were still on my jeans, then my hands went from one tab to another, another zipper, and then down we tugged. Chilled air washed over my thighs. One of his hands pressed against the front of my hip, the other pushed at my upper back I bent down without resistance, resting my elbows upon the mattress. Something hot touched the naked part of my butt. Two hands crawled over my belly, one went forward, scooping under my top, and formed its way around one of the pendulous orbs of flesh and silicone that brushed ever so close to the sheets. Broad, rough fingers found their way to either side of my protruding nipple and the hand squeezed gently. I leaned back slightly and pulled my flimsy top off over my head, exposing my breasts fully. His other hand found its way in the opposite direction, and sneaked into the delta between my thighs. A single finger traced over the narrow depression in my satin panties, and I was suddenly being bombarded with electricity. My hips bucked fully outside of my control and I heard the most cloying, most feminine moan of contentment. His hand regretfully withdrew, and I heard buttons popping behind me, and a clump of dark grey silk flew over my head and landed on the mattress in front of me. Then I heard two muffled thumps, and then a buckle jingling, and a third thump clunk against the floor. I lifted my feet, each in turn, and pulled off the low heels Violet had lent me, and I heard a package tearing, and the sound of latex lightly snapping. The blissful feeling of the hand returned, only this time the lower hand found its way inside my panties. The rugose digit flowed smoothly over the bedewed crevice. The moan came again, higher, louder, sharper. His wrist turned and the metallic blue satin was yanked down and clumped around my ankles. The coffee smell of the apartment was joined by the familiar smell of womanly arousal, so well acquainted, yet so much more appreciated now. Then the hot thing touched me again, this time smoother, ever so slightly cooler, and I could feel his knuckles around it. His free hand came to my hip, and the thing trailed along the flesh of my ass, finding its way to the steaming gap, it pressed so slightly against the stimulated lips of my labia and held for an aeonian instant, before pressing inside. Something burst, a sharp pain lanced through me, dulled by alcohol and distraction, and a warmth trickled down the inside of my leg. Mercifully he was not deterred. He thrust into me until I felt his hips press as far into the yielding flesh of my ass as they could. He held it there for a moment, I could feel it pulse inside me and then he withdrew again almost to the tip before driving it in again. Faster and faster he pumped, driving my thighs into the side of the bed and my face into the sheets, muffling my screams. One of my hands clawed at the linen while the other came up to my tits and squeezed my firm nipple. His hands crept up my sides, tickled my ribs, and cupped my breasts, lifting me off the sheets and arching my back as he pulled me against himself. His naked chest rubbed against my back as he continued to thrust into me and he leaned in to kiss at my neck. I reached my arm around behind his head and twisted my neck around; I felt the sensation of his breath on my mouth as I went in to suck on his lips. He tasted so good. Almost as a reaction he pushed me back to the mattress, and pulled out of me. He seized my leg and threw it over, flipping me onto my back, and in an instant he had plunged into me again. I pressed my hands against his firm chest as he bent down and penetrated my lips with his tongue. I drew hard upon the dorsum of his pallet, and at this he drove into me even more fiercely. Soon he managed to extract himself from my mouth and worked his way back down my neck, and to my chest, where he engulfed my nipple. His tongue swished wetly around it and I bucked my hips into him at the intolerable pleasure I found myself locked in. He then turned me around so that I was fully on the bed and he climbed on top of me. I coiled all four of my limbs around him and pulled him into another kiss, my tongue this time probing him. We danced together inside his mouth and I could feel the bristles of him against my cheek. Eventually he extricated himself from my arms and sat upright, pulling my hips into the air with him. My fingers curled around the rails of his headboard as he pounded me into the mattress, my round white globes heaving and bouncing in rhythm to the energetic ramming I was taking. All the while a strange sensation had been building in my belly and in my sex. It had been growing stronger little by little, and it was accelerating, it was like a rocketship pushing its way to light-speed, faster, harder, stronger, faster still, more speed on top of more speed until it could go no faster and then. "AHHHH!" My pussy spasmed, it quivered and it clasped, grasping desperately over and over at his cock, trying to draw it in further. The headboard creaked and he moaned, and then he slammed into me harder than he had before, his hands digging into my hips, his pelvis welded to my own, I could feel him swell inside me, and then his heaving weight atop me. We two lay there together, gasping for air and glowing with satisfaction. *** The sunlight hit my eye with the force of a splitting wedge against my temple. I groaned and recoiled from it physically, only for my back to meet broad, firm, hairy, flesh. An olive toned arm came around me and cupped at my naked breast. I panicked, I flung it off and shot to my feet, finding myself in an alien apartment. There beside me, sleeping in the same bed I'd just exited was the swarthy form of a young Mediterranean man, fully nude and exposed. I looked the sleeping man over, I couldn't help but look him over. He was tall, and fit, and sheened with post-coital perspiration. His cock was standing at casual morning attention, not throbbing but just erect enough for me to get a good sense of the size of it, and his body was covered in salmon colored smears and lip prints. My hand shot to my own mouth and came away with almost nothing, just the merest hint of salmon pink, but the hand reeked of sex. It all slowly came back to me as I surveyed the aftermath. Pietro had picked me up in the club, brought me back to his apartment and fucked me stupid. He completely reamed me, he even kissed me, no... I kissed him! We played tonsil hockey and I'd gotten all the way to the net. We'd done everything, we went three or four times and it was... I looked down and saw my clothes piled in a heap. I gathered them up as quietly as I could and dressed in a hurry. After I'd covered myself I found my way down stairs and out into that malicious sunlight and looked for a taxi driver who spoke English. *** I finally got back to the hotel and walked into the lobby. It was a circus in there. Cassidy and Vie were standing there, still wearing what they were the night before, talking to this crowd of Italian guys in Hugo Boss looking suits. Jerry was there on his phone, even Mike was with them. I approached them to ask what was going on but Cassidy darted through them and right at me. "Oh God, there you are," She hugged me so tight I thought my fingers were going to lose feeling. "Where the hell have you been!?" "Hey, Lucas," Jerry said to his phone, his tone expressing quiet alleviation. "come on back to the hotel, we found her. She's alright." "I... I was..." I stammered. "Are you okay Miss?" one of the strangers approached and asked in a thick Italian accent. "You have not been mistreated or held against your will?" "What? No, I'm fine," I insisted. "I was out is all." "You see?" said the man. "Just as I told you." "You don't run off like that by yourself Girl," Cassidy admonished me. "You don't know this city." "In other parts of Europe, this is sound advice," said the man. "Though my district is very, very safe." "I thought I told you to stop making trouble for me," Mike loudly butted in. "You're the one in trouble now, running off and disappearing, getting everybody all worked up and the police involved. Well we're not having that again. Rest of the tour, you're under house arrest. If you're not workin,' you're in the hotel, got it?" "Yeah, whatever," I conceded. "Well, if there's nothing else," said the main cop. "I think we just call this a false-alarm, eh?" "Yeah, yeah," I said. "I've had a weird night, I'm just gonna go take a shower," I parted the crowd on the way to the elevator. Then I stopped, my head was throbbing. "Second thought, coffee first, then shower." *** I stood by the hotel room window, looking over the city, my coffee cup held high in front of my face in both hands, where I could feel the heat off of it. I was playing over the events of the previous night in my head, again, and again. "Hey Sam, you sure you're alright?" Cassidy's voice rang out as I heard her walk through the door. "WHOA, why aren't you wearing any pants?" she asked. "They had a stain on them," I answered casually, without looking. "Case?" she said, her voice coming closer. "You're actin' funny. Are you... Case you have blood on your leg!" she gasped. "Are you..." she paused. There was urgency in her voice now. "That guy? Did he!? Oh my God, I'm calling those cops back!" "No don't," I swiveled. "Don't do it." "Case, no," she said, the hotel room phone already in her hand. "It was the Pietro guy wasn?t it? He took advantage of you!" "It wasn't like that," I told her. "Case, you were drunk!" she insisted. "I know I was Cass," I said. "I know. But I'm not now and I don't... I don't regret it. Cassidy, it was AMAZING." She had a stupefied look on her face; the phone clattered to the floor. "Cass, we all knew what I was. We knew from the beginning that gynospores make hetero women. I got a dicking, I'm not ashamed of it. The truth is... I'm embarrassed I was ever afraid of it at all. I don't know what I ever liked about girls, guys can be sexy, I... I like cock. Wow," I almost spilled my coffee with how giddy I was at saying it out loud. The admission was the most liberating thing I'd ever done. "I like guys, I got fucked and I enjoyed it, it was... I released a lot of frustration last night, I feel great Cassidy. I feel better than I have since this whole thing started." "Case..." she stammered. "I haven't seen this side of you, it's weird, I'm kinda freaked out." I stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. "Don't be," I told her. "It's alright, this was a long time coming. It's just, the dam broke, that's all. I did something I couldn't lie to myself about anymore, it helped," I stretched my arms out and tilted my head back. "I am woman, hear me roar..." I looked back at her. "And I don't hate it. I never hated it, not really, I was just angry, and frustrated. I feel so much more in control now. I kissed a boy and I liked it," I sang, paraphrasing an old song. "You sure you're okay?" she questioned, still very clearly taken aback. "Cass," I said. "First thing we're gonna do when this house arrest is lifted, hell, maybe before, is go to the salon, go shopping, buy us a pair of new dresses, and go cruising for guys. Damn, I don't want to wait, do you have another dress I can borrow right now?" "No," she said, then she cracked a sly smile. "But I have some stuff you can try on after you take a shower." *** I sashayed through the hotel hallway wearing a miniskirt and a pair of thigh-socks I borrowed from Cassidy, and I didn't care who saw me. I was too big upstairs now to borrow any of her tops but fortunately for me she had hips to spare, like me. It was so much fun to finally quit stressing out over my circumstances, it was almost like I'd been holding my breath for half a year, and then suddenly realized I could just breathe. I could finally do what I wanted, wear what I wanted, be who I wanted, and it was okay that all that was not what it once was. It was just as good, just as valid, just as real. I liked who I was, and I liked what I did; I was a woman, and that was a perfectly normal thing to be. From now on it was going to be a perfectly normal thing for me to be. "Hello rest of my life," I said aloud, enthusiastically. I turned a corner and spied a lone figure struggling with a vending machine. It was one of the new guys on the roster, the one I had to keep chasing out of the practice ring, the one I had hit with the chair. "And hello studly," I whispered to myself. I crossed my arms behind my back and skipped over toward him girlishly. "Hiya," I said. "Having trouble?" "Yeah, it's the damned exchange rate, I don't underst..." he turned and looked at me. "Oh..." "I think we got off on the wrong foot," I fluttered my eyelashes at him. "I'm Sam, you're one of the new guys right?" "Yeah, pretty new," he said. "I'm Nate." "Nate, right," I muttered. I wasn't really interested in his name. I was scoping him out. He had the look of a college frat guy, but maybe a football player. I decided right there to start watching college ball again. I watched as the vein popped up in his brawny arm as he moved it nervously and I got a tiny shutter. He was by no means the same kind of smoking hot beefcake I had been, but he was still bigger and in better shape than Pietro was. "You bunked up with your friend?" "Uh, yeah," he answered. "We came out of the same wrestling school, we train together. They're thinking of putting us in a tag-team." "He in your room?" I inquired. "No, he's out right now. Hey what are you doing here anyway? Aren't the women supposed to be a floor up?" "Perfect," I whispered, ignoring his question. "So, um about that whole incident with the chair... from before..." "Yeah?" I strode up and pressed my girls against his chest and ran a finger down his arm. "I'm real sorry about that, and I'd looove to make it up to you." *** Chapter Thirteen "You ready for this Girl?" asked Cassidy wearing her full ring gear. She had silver booty shorts and a matching top, headband, elbow pads and knee pads along with cotton candy pink wrestling boots. "You just try and stop me," I enthused shaking my shoulders loose. "I'd love to stop you," she said. "But they booked me to get my ass kicked tonight." "Well I gotta come out of the gate strong," I told her. "Let's put on a good show for 'em." It was my debut night, my first televised match as the new me, and I hadn't been so hyped in months. I'd been booked to go over Cassidy and we'd been talking about it all day. Now it was moments away and we were waiting behind the curtain. I could hear the crowd buzzing, just on the other side and I couldn't wait to go out there. It was like my first match all over again. "The following match is scheduled for one-fall," a voice came over the loudspeaker, which was followed by the repeated Italian version. "Introducing first..." then Cassidy's music hit. "See you on the other side," she said and then blew through the curtain. "...fighting out of Chicago, Illinois, USA... CASSIDY!" "Hey Sport. How you holding up?" Jerry said as he approached. "I'm chomping at the bit Jerry," I admitted. "I'm ready to get out there and get to work." "You've done a lot of work already," he said. "I know. More than I realized," I said. "Thanks by the way. You were a really big help to me, and you were really nice when you didn't have to be, when I might not have been." "I thrive vicariously on the accomplishments of others," he said. "And I pulled you away from a main-eventer to train me," I said regretfully. "I'm sorry about that." "And introducing her opponent," the loudspeaker rang out. "for the first time ever, fighting out of Santa Monica, California, USA..." "You'll be a main-eventer soon," he said, and my music played. "You already are in my eyes." I reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you Jerry," I said, and then turned and broke through the curtain. "...SAM STARR!" I was on the ramp, the lighting, the music, the very scale of the arena was so much different from what I remembered. The heat from the crowd was entirely different as well. It was lesser, but that was to be expected, they'd never seen Sam Starr before, but it was more than that. I was a baby face now, they weren't supposed to hate me anymore... and I started to like the idea. I trotted, almost skipping, down the ramp with girlish enthusiasm, waving to, and high-fiving the crowd as I went. When I reached the ring I circled it once, and then climbed the steps. Instead of rolling under the bottom rope as was my old routine, I bent at the hips and stepped under the top rope. It showed off my butt in the spangly pink trunks, and I was absolutely cool with it. Once inside I climbed the turnbuckle and sat on it, throwing my legs back over the ropes in a sort of side- saddle pose and pointed out at the crowd in acknowledgment, then I leaned back, did a falling back-flip, and landed on my feet. I'd been practicing that little stunt for weeks, that was the first time I actually had fun with it. My music stopped and we centered the ring. The ref was a guy named Jay, who I'd worked with a few times before, but he mostly ran the women's matches, so I'd be seeing him a lot more in the future. He went into his whole officiation routine for the audience, and then we went to our corners. I looked across the ring at Cassidy, and I couldn't help but smile, I just hoped it looked like smug confidence and not like she was actually my best friend in the world. The bell rang, and Cassidy came storming out of her corner and forced me into the turnbuckle pads. The plan was she was going to press the attack early, make her look like she didn't have any respect for the new girl. She was a heel so it would work, and would give her some nice easy heat to work with. Then I'd make a fighting comeback and win the match. That way Sam Starr got her first win, her heat would get a running start, I'd look strong, and Cassidy didn't have to look weak. She shoved me against the ropes and gave me a knife edge chop across the chest, which I have to tell you feels remarkably different with a couple pounds of polymer hanging off of it. She did it again and then grabbed me by the back of the head, leaning in as she did and whispering "moonsault," She threw me away from the ropes and I bieled, making sure I went down landing on my back and perpendicular to the turnbuckle. She jumped up onto the second buckle with her back facing me, and did an arching back flip, landing on top of me with just enough of a gap as to not actually hurt me. Still, I sold it for her, and gripped my stomach like she'd crushed it. Cassidy took the opportunity to work the crowd, shouting obscenities at them, and then dropped to a knee, putting me into a rear chin-lock, and the other knee into my spine. "Fight loose," she whispered. "Boston Crab." I grasped her hands, and then began to act as though I was giving the struggle of my life. Slowly I pulled her hands away from my chin, and hooked her near boot, and pulled her onto her back. I popped up, grabbed her by both feet, then flipped her onto her stomach as I stepped over her legs, and sat on the back. I tucked her feet under my arms and pretended to really crank on her knees. She scrambled to the ropes and grabbed on as if for dear life. Jay tapped me on the shoulder as if to warn me of the rope break. Normally I'd have held on for the four count but I was a face now so I let go and walked to center ring. Cassidy hugged the ropes and looked back at me with faux shock in her eyes, as if to say she didn't expect such fight from a green newcomer. She stood up and approached me with mock caution, indicating her confidence was shaken, and we tied up in the collar and elbow. "Take the kick, dodge in the corner, then give schoolboy," she passed on to me, and then rammed her boot laces right into my thigh, breaking the clinch. After that she whipped me into the corner and charged at me. I stepped out of the way just as she had warned me, and she bounced off of the turnbuckle affecting a stupor. I rolled to the mat behind her, reached between her legs, hooked her thigh nearest my head, and pulled her over onto the canvas, shoulders down. Just as Jay's hand hit the mat for a count of one Cassidy stretched out her body to break the pin. I went immediately for another cover, and whispered "combo alpha" to her, indicating a sequence we'd worked out together, and she kicked me off again. I picked her up, and as soon as she reached her feet she kicked me in the stomach, and then went for a wide clubbing punch, which I blocked. I reciprocated, she blocked, she tried again, I blocked. I went for a thrusting front kick, which missed, she went for a jumping sole-butt, which I ducked. She over rotated and I hit her with a jumping drop kick in the back, sending her headlong into the corner. I followed after her and put her in a rear waist-lock. "Push off, dodge the back fist, chin breaker, shining wizard, take the punch, move on to the spot," I said setting up a long sequence. She pushed off the turnbuckle, forcing me backward and then shooting around and reversing the waist-lock at center ring. I spun around, swinging my fist backward, high and wide to give her plenty of breathing room. She ducked, then put her hands to my head, and dropped to her knees. I followed her down, pretending she was pulling me down and stopped just before my chin hit the top of her head. I butt bumped and sat, while Cassidy got back to her feet, ran the ropes, and gave me a light kick to the chest as she dropped to the canvas. She dragged me to my feet, then I slapped her hand away, gave her a feel nothing punch to the chops, and we moved onto the universal spot. Cassidy ended up on top, but I pushed her off at the count of two. We both crawled on the mat feigning exhaustion long enough to plan the next sequence. "Go under, take the monkey flip, dodge the leg drop, then take it home," she said. Cassidy began slapping the mat to indicate frustration at the failed pin. Then she ran the ropes for some unknown move. I got to my hands and slid under as she jumped over me. Then we both hit the ropes and came back at each other. She gave me a running whip into the corner, where I rested with my back to the turnbuckle. Cassidy ran across the ring and then climbed up on me, standing on my thighs and grasping the back of my head. She leaned backward, rolling onto her back, and propelling me over her body, kicking me off and sending me flying across the ring into a back bump. This was typically her set up for her finishing move, so she crossed the ring, climbed the nearest turnbuckle to me and sneered at the fans in typical heelish fashion. She bent low then leapt, pulling her legs up as she fell. I rolled away just as planned, making her crash bottom first onto the mat. She sold it like she'd broken her back, which is not hard to imagine because that's a genuinely painful move to pull off. I crawled to my feet, dragged her up into a front face-lock, which I then transitioned into double under-hooks, and gave her the Butterfly DDT which the announcers would dub the 'Starr Crash' and she went down just like we'd practiced. I hooked her leg and lay across her for the one, two, three. The audience cheered. I'd actually gotten a face pop. I stood up, the awe on my face probably plainly visible. I'd never gotten a face pop before, it was small granted, my first match, no rep, sure, but it was still amazingly gratifying. The next thing I know I'm bouncing on my toes like I'd just been named prom-queen, and Jay is raising my hand. "And the winner of the match..." the announcement blared. "SAM STARR!" I trudged back-stage, a little winded, but in a good way. "Hey, good job Darlin.'" said Vie as she met me behind the curtain, and she offered me a fist-bump, which I readily accepted. "It was a damn fine show," added Jerry, standing just where I'd left him. "Thanks Jerry," I told him a mite embarrassed. I hoped no blush showed through the red that was already in my face. "Good job Girl," said Cassidy as she appeared through the curtain herself, looking mildly ragged. "I couldn't have done it without you," I told her. "It might have been fun to watch you try," Jerry joked. "You did a great job too Cass," he added. "Come on Girl," said Cassidy. "Let's go hit those showers." "Oh hell yes," I said. *** "Did you hear that pop you got?" Cassidy called over the sound of running water. "Yeah I did," I returned. "It was kinda wild." I looked at her, watched her soap herself. It was almost strange how normal this was, the two of us showering together. I had never before shared a shower with a girl I wasn't sleeping with, but now it felt more normal than showering in the guys' locker room ever did. Looking her over it was a completely different feeling than anything it had been before. There was absolutely no attraction, but there was also no disgust like I'd once had at the sight of other men, as strange of a concept as that seemed now. I wondered if I would have been attracted to her, but I couldn't be positive. For the life of me I couldn't understand what it was I'd ever liked about women. I'd come to realize how little of that is actually consciously thought out and how much is just pure animal drive. Sure, she was pretty, I knew that on a cerebral level, I was fairly sure she was the kind of girl most guys would go for, but seeing women as objects of sexual desire seemed so alien now, almost like it had never been. "Is your back okay?" I asked, noticing her nursing a twinge. "Yeah, it's alright," she said stretching out. "I really gotta phase out that leg drop though." "Well you helped me come up with a new finisher. Maybe I can do the same," I offered. "I'd like that," she said. "You wanna back rub?" I proposed. She cocked her eye at me. "I'm serious. Nothing weird." "Really?" she said. "Nothing?" "Right, nothing," I said. "Just, helping out." "No ulterior motives?" "Now I'm offended," I told her. "No, it's just. I still find this sudden change of... orientation... hard to swallow," she said. "It's not a sudden change," I explained. "I told you. I've been like this for a while, months. I just couldn't fess up to it. I ripped the band-aid off, that's all." She looked me over again. "Okay," she said doubtfully. "Go for it," She turned and placed her hands on her head, exposing the coffee colored skin of her back to me. I stepped over and put my hands around her waist, running my thumbs down her spine. "Lower," she said. "Down, lower... there," I began to press hard on the dimples of her lower back, right where her butt met her back. "That's the spo..." She suddenly wheeled on me, took me by the head, pressing her breast to my own and kissed me full on the lips. "What are you doing!?" I demanded, pulling my head back. She examined me again. "You... you really didn't feel anything, did you?" "Maybe a little shock," I cried. "No but... like, I'm straight," she said. "But I'm not that straight. Even I'm a LITTLE turned on, but you ain't at all? Like, you're that straight?" "As a laser," I told her. "Please don't do that again." *** Cassidy hadn't meant anything by it, she was just testing me. She labored under the theory that women's sexual orientation was a little more malleable than men's. I could see where she was coming from, but what she had to understand is that a gynomorph's orientation was locked in stone. The tour through Europe lasted another four months, stopping in a dozen major cities. We stopped in Rome, Berlin, Brussels, Madrid, Belfast, Dublin, Nice, London, we even had a big pay-per-view in Paris, and I got to see it all through the windows of various hotel rooms. My in ring record though remained sound. In the next 13 matches I won 11 clean, mostly still working with Cass, but I got to match with other girls too, Ruby, Donna, even Vie. A singles match with Violet went in the draw column as a no-contest, to keep us both strong. The other missing W from that 13 was a loss at the PPV in Paris, in a tag match with White Tiger against Ruby and Cassidy. It went much like their last tag match, with Cassidy scoring the pin on Tiger. While the record wasn't spotless it could still be bragged that I hadn't personally lost a match. I was sitting in the gym on the stack machine, toning my shoulders and enjoying the show. I had always had an appreciation for unisex gyms, it had simply evolved as of late. Watching a room full of sweaty muscle- studs furiously pumping was the next best thing to joining in. "Case." It was a regular butcher's shop selection of raw beef. There was Frank Stone, Jack Castle, that little lucha love machine Vortex, over in one corner was the twins, the Cole brothers, I'd have loved to be the meat in that sandwich, my one time boy-toy Nate was there, and Aki... what a big sexy teddy-bear he turned out to be. I wouldn't have thought I would be into the big boys but man, he looked firm and squeezable at the same time. "Case." Then there was of course, my walking wet dream... 320 pounds of nothing but bone and rippling muscle. I wanted to feel every ounce of it. God, why had I ever not liked Luke? He was the sweetest thing. Nobody, nobody made me quiver at the mere sight of them like Luke. "CASE!" "Huh! What?" I looked over at Cassidy, standing against the squat rack. "Close your legs Honey, or people are gonna think you wet yourself," she said. "Gross Cass," I responded. "Sooorry," she said. "But you starin' pretty hard." "I have a libido," I told her. "I won't apologize for that." "I have a libido Girl, you a nympho," she claimed. "You're going around like you still got a dick in your pants. And I can see by that leotard that that ain't the case." "No," I rebutted. "I talked to my doctor. He says it's a phase." "Fucking every male tourist in Europe is a phase?" I ignored her and continued. "It's like being a teenager again. Like, discovering sex for the first time. There's an element of novelty and exploration to it. Call it a second puberty I guess. Plus it's WAY easier to get laid now," I giggled. "And there's that side effect with morphs. We're more easily visually stimulated than most women. Something to do with pheromones, and visual arousal not being turned down all the way. I don't understand it myself." "I'm just glad Mike put you under house arrest through this," she said. "God only knows what trouble you'd have gotten into cruising for guys outside the hotels." "Speaking of which, it's up next week, when we fly to Seattle," I enthused. "You remember what I said we'd do when it was over?" I dropped down on my knees in front of her and clasped my hands together before my face. "Oh Cass, please teach me to shop," I mock begged. "Real funny," she said flatly. I stood up and brushed off my knees. "I'm only like... half kidding," I said. *** Chapter Fourteen It was a good thing show-biz paid well, because the first thing I did when we got back to the States was replace my entire wardrobe, well, most of it. I kept some of the cuter things. "I'm not your husband," Cassidy complained as she hefted a bundle of shopping bags onto a slatted mall bench and dropped herself between them. "Oh, but you'd be such a good provider," I teased as I piled the bags I carried beside them. "Do you even have enough room for all this?" she questioned. "Good point," I confessed. "I'll have to get more luggage too." "I think you're taking your new role too far," she groused. "Well I think she's a lot more fun now," added Violet as she caught up behind me. "Thank you Violet," I said with exaggerated graciousness. "Come on Cass, Mike had me cooped up for months, I cooped myself up for months before that. It's been almost a year since I felt like getting out and doing something and had the chance," I pleaded with her. "And right now what I want to do is... embrace things. I want to make up for lost time, I wanna explore the new me. I never really took the time to understand the old me. And right now the new me wants clothes and makeup." "That's all well and good Hon," said Cassidy. "but the new me, the still kinda jet-lagged me, wants to get back to the bus and sleep." "Damn," I said and snapped my finger. "Sleepwear. I need new pajamas." "I know the cutest place for that," said Violet. "I hope they have one here." "No," said Cassidy. "I don't need both of you in that bus sitting around in the same see-through nothing half the time." "I'll just have to sleep in my new underwear then," I ribbed. "Okay, dammit, fine," said Cass. "Do what you want," She stood up and piled all the bags into Violet's and my arms. "But I'm going back to the bus." "You can bring some of this with you!" I called as she walked away. "Nope," she didn't even look back. *** Vie and I spent the rest of the day shopping, and a good portion of it in the salon, where she got her hair done and I took a makeup class. It's good to learn new things. I myself wasn't really interested in my hair. It's a weird side-effect of the spores created by the bald Zeeg. Needless to say Cassidy was sort of pissed at how we filled the bus with stuff when we got back. The truth was she was just irritated at being back on the bus instead of in fancy hotel rooms; she'd feel better when she got to go home for a while. The next morning found us in the stadium convention hall for breakfast. It was how crew and talent often started their days, but I hadn't shown up to a lot of them recently. I had sort of cloistered myself for a while, and in Europe I ordered a lot of room-service. Still, catering had gotten up early to put out this spread, and I was hungry. I held a plastic plate in my hand and looked over the table. There wasn't a lot of bread, but there was a ton of ham and sausage. There were a lot of big guys on high-protein diets here after all. There was a time when I would have partaken, a heap of eggs, bacon, and a pint of orange juice would have been my choice then. Now I didn't have the stomach for it. I'd rather have a muffin, and a strip or two of bacon. Eggs were nice but something seemed weird about eating them now that I made my own. The centerpiece of a complete breakfast though was a cup of coffee. Ever since Naples the smell of coffee tickled me in a certain special way, and I didn't pass it up. I filled up a piping hot cup of coffee and then spent a good three minutes trying to convince myself to get the blueberry muffin instead of the chocolate chip. I'd always like chocolate fine, but now I liked chocolate like a woman likes chocolate, which is a different thing entirely. It didn't help that the Cole Brothers were loudly arguing about God knows what across a table behind me. In a business with this much testosterone flowing there was a lot of posturing, and fights were pretty common. Everybody has to be the big bad alpha. Men. I finally settled on the blueberry, put it on my plate, and then scouted around the room, when I spotted Violet sitting at a table on the opposite end. I went to go eat with her when I felt something funny as I walked. Looking down there was a long piece of tape stuck to my sneaker. Shaking my foot did nothing to dislodge it, in fact it only wrapped it around my toe. There were a dozen tables in this room, good ones too, not like the press-board gimmick tables we crash through on a weekly basis. In spite of this it didn't occur to me to put any of my breakfast down. No, I just placed my coffee mug on my plate, and balanced on one leg while I tried to free my foot from its garbage prison. This was a mistake. Rhett Cole had leaned across the table and tried to lock up with his brother Kent in the middle of breakfast like it was a match, and Kent pushed him off, sending him pitching backward, right towards me. I was keen enough to spot this in time to avoid it, unfortunately the only evasive maneuver available to me at the time was to leap away off my one grounded foot. This had the intended effect of allowing me to avoid the big dope, but also the unintended side-effect of sending my coffee flying through the air. It came crashing down on one of the table seats, an occupied table seat, an occupied table seat currently occupied by Tsunami Akimoto. The champ stood up, towering over me, a brown stain on the belly of his white sleeveless workout shirt, and an even bigger brown stain in the lap of his blue gym shorts. He said something very irate in his indecipherable native tongue and took a step toward the downed Rhett Cole. Akimoto had something of a reputation as a hooker, that is a legit fighter, and he weighed almost as much as both Coles combined. These facts in tandem sent the brothers scrambling out of the hall in quick fashion, like a pair of whipped puppies. Aki turned now and looked at me, a very stern expression coming down on me like a rainstorm. "I am SO sorry," I pleaded, legitimately more repentant than afraid he'd actually commit violence against me. It was weird, because as a guy I have no doubt he'd have smashed my face in, but now I was pretty confident, on an instinctual level, that I could get away with more. I reflexively took a napkin from my plate and began to dab it on his shirt randomly. He was shockingly firm in the torso for a man as thick as he was, and I, as I dabbed, I unconsciously moved more toward the center of the spill, lower. As my hand moved over his shorts I stopped, startled, I'd felt something akin to a baby's arm. I stood, frozen for a half second, my hand still on it, before he pronounced something in Japanese. "Oh, right, um" I babbled. "Hey, um... come with me," I took him by the hand. "I'll get you cleaned up," He smelled like coffee, and that tickled me a certain special way. *** "Oh... oh... Mmmm..." It was no small thing the sudden left turn my life had taken. A year prior I had been a brash, confident man, admittedly something of a womanizer, a high-level bro just looking to get off the mid-card. Now I was gripping a shelving unit in a broom closet getting railed by the World Heavyweight Champion, moaning like a bitch in heat. Cassidy would not have approved, but she was back home on vacation, so she didn't have to know. I'm sure Aki knew who I was, just like the last three guys on the roster knew who I was, but the dick wants what it wants and what they all want is to slide into a nice, wet, tight, available hole. Well I was nice, wet, available, and thanks to Zeeg elasticity, I was still practically virginal. Not that that would have mattered much with the monster slamming into me. Who says Asian guys are small? He was easily my personal best. Now that I emitted Zeeg sex pheromones when I was aroused, men were even easier to convince. So there I was, leaned over, his big hands wrapped almost clear around my waist, my plastic girls swinging wildly with each titanic thrust, working my way to my second orgasm of the session. That was something I appreciated. The female orgasm, I had learned, was somewhat... less complete than its singular male counterpart. It was great, make no mistake, but it wasn't the all or nothing, total crescendo that cumming as a man was. Consequentially, if I didn't cum at least three times a session I felt a little ripped off, so I'd come to appreciate the ridden hard and put away wet method of love making. He was really, really good at that so far. "Uhhh... uhhhh... come on... play with my titties," I moaned, knowing full well he understood. He preferred Japanese, but he could speak English. His hand brushed against my ribs and he palmed one of my girly globes. I'd thought they were kind of big before, but in his colossal hands they seemed almost petite. His coarse hand rubbed over my sensitive nipple, which sent an electric jolt to my spine, and when he gave me a squeeze, my box immediately returned the favor to his dick, trying desperately to milk him of its own volition. That was orgasm number two, and he wasn't even slowing down. I felt his free hand move down to my ass, and he took the whole cheek in his palm, no mean feat, and absolutely mauled it. He squeezed my ass like he owned it, and for the moment I didn't mind. My hand went to my free breast and played with my nipple. It helped my push to an almost immediate third orgasm. It went on like that for a while. He'd racked up a score of five before he began to quicken and grunt himself. "Wait... wait..." I told him and pushed him off. He stepped back and I dropped to my knees in front of him, getting on the level of his glistening, intimidating cock. We didn't want to get caught making a mess in here so I committed to it, and took it the best I could into my mouth. He tasted, understandably, like pussy. It was a flavor I'd not tasted for quite some time, even before I'd turned to the dick side. He wasn't the first cock I'd sucked, but naturally he was the biggest, and he gave me plenty of room to work with my hands. I jacked off his shaft like a mad woman and kept just the head inside me, giving myself the room I needed for the inevitable climax. Soon he was grunting loudly, and he gripped my hair as best as he could. I knew what was coming so I sped up my pace and tongued his urethra. That was the trigger for him to absolutely blast my tonsils. I had come close to being choked out a few times in my life, this was the first time it was by an actual cock. I struggled to keep it all in. I sat on my knees, holding in a cough until I managed to swallow. Aki looked down and gave me a chuckle, and I responded with an embarrassed giggle. I leaned forward, kissed his tip, and cleaned him off proper. He stuffed himself back into his shorts while I took some disinfectant spray off one of the shelves and misted it about, didn't want to leave the place smelling like gash after all. Throwing his soiled shirt over his shoulder he gave me a good, appreciative slap on my bare ass, moved the chair out from under the door handle, and left me to get dressed. *** I trotted to the gym, occasionally checking my breath, when a crewman stopped me. "There you are," he said. "You were supposed to be in the gym. I'm gonna get in trouble taking so long to find you." "What is it?" I asked annoyed. "Get in your ring gear and go to the media room," he said. "You've gotta take some pictures and get a body scan for merchandising." I spent the next two hours T-posing for action figures and video game models. I didn't mind, it was easy work for the residuals I'd be getting, but the days in the mo-cap studio were still ahead. After I was done I headed toward the bus to get in my gym gear again, but I was stopped once more. This time I was told to meet Mike in the conference room. I changed into my casuals and a set of half-inch pumps and went to where I had been instructed. Inside I found it wasn't just Mike. There were a few people sitting around the table, including Dawn Williams, AKA Miami Dawn, a guy who I recognized as the writer who'd given me my nome de guerre, Sterling Steve Bosh, Sal Donner - both color commentators for the show, Walter, a couple of refs I knew, and Angel Madison. "Sit down," ushered Mike. I took a seat, two chairs over from Angel. "We're here to discuss your title feud," Mike said generally. "So this is the plastic bimbo you're handing my title to?" questioned Angel incredulously. "You're one to talk Titan Tits," I muttered. "Oh I wasn't talking about the boob job Honey," she came back. "You're ALL fake." "Save it for the promos ladies," interjected Mike. I was a little chuffed that Mike had actually called me a lady, though he may have meant it in the boot camp sense, he'd been pretty reluctant to recognize my new sex. "And any reference to Casey's former identity, or that such an identity exists, is strictly off limits. Now. We're gonna have you two feud for the next eight weeks, With Dawn here filling a supplementary role, and then put the strap on Casey at Ring Wars in Vegas. We're here to figure out the particulars." I put my hands to my collar. "I get a title match... at Ring Wars?" I aspirated. That was the biggest pay-per-view, the biggest wrestling event of the year, every year. I'd only ever been on the card once, low card, no stakes, and I'd lost. Now I was going to win a title, the first title of my career, either of my careers, at the biggest show there was! "The execs say you get the belt, I gotta give you the belt," Mike conceded. "So I'm thinking, we'll start with a number one contenders' feud in the beginning," he went on. "First we'll set up matches between Sam and Dawn to see who gets the title shot, since Dawn is Angel's stooge, she interferes on her behalf. Sal I want you to really play up the angle that she's interfering because she knows Dawn will roll over for her." "I'll take sides for the heels," Bosh volunteered. "We'll do two or three weeks of shenanigans, smoz finishes between Sam and Dawn, then Sam will get the number one spot officially, and lead into a feud with Angel," Mike explained. "But I want the heat between Sam and Angel from the start. So what are we putting on tap this week?" "Um, Angel, you wanna do a run in?" asked the writer. "No, no, no," he answered his own question. "A run in seems too desperate this early. We need something more devious. How about the old music cue distraction?" "We can do a roll-up," added Dawn. "I'll kick out at two," I nodded. "So I'll hit Angel's music during the match. What's the signal going to be?" questioned Walter. "It should be while Sam has the momentum," said Dawn. "Yeah," I said. "I'll do a sequence of a couple big moves, end with a flying forearm out of the corner. You can take one of those right?" I asked. "Oh sure," Dawn answered. Unlike Angel, Dawn was nothing like her character. She was a sweet girl, didn't value herself enough, very eager to please. She played Angel's sort of unofficial henchwoman. "Then I'll move to the ropes, watch the ramp, and that's when Dawn gives me the school-boy," I said. "Should I actually come out?" Angel inquired. "It's a good question," said Mike. "Yeah, I think so. But walk casual like to ringside, join Steve and Sal at the table. That way Steve can use the 'she's just scouting the competition' excuse." Steve gave a thumbs up without looking up from his notes. "So the cue should be pretty early in the match right?" asked Angel. "It'll give me some mic time at the commentary table." "That's fine," said Mike. "This is all well and good," said the writer. "but we have to finish this in a no-contest to keep the number one contender spot up in the air. How are we going to do that?" "Double count-out's always good for that," said Mike. "I got it," injected Angel. "So it goes to the outside, Star-fag here hits the finisher on the floor, knocks Dawn for a loop, and the ref goes to check on her. That's when I jump up from the announce table, and WHAM, head shot with the title belt. They're both down, ref makes the count." "It works," admitted Mike, completely letting the slur slide. "Keeps the heat in the right place. You wanna do that Dawn?" "I don't know," she said timidly. "It's a DDT right?" "It's a Butterfly DDT," I told her. "I knew a really good guy who got knocked out for real taking a DDT on the outside," she lamented. "Dawn," said Angel. "That was 35 years ago, he'd never taken a DDT before, and it was on concrete, not play-mats like nowadays." "We can practice it," I reassured her. "All day if you want." "Okay," said Dawn, with the slightest confidence. "That's it for the specifics for now," said Mike. "Let's talk more about the overall trajectory of the feud." *** The next day saw Dawn and I in the gym, getting a feel for each other and practicing our spots. We did the DDT spot a few times in the ring before trying it on the carpet. She had it down the first time, she was a good worker, she had a bright future in the company if she'd just be a little more assertive. We sat on the apron of the practice ring catching our breath. "You know," she said. "you should really grow your hair out. I could do the hair-pull spot." I ran my fingers through my sweaty bristles, and looked at the bad citrus-blond dye job that went with her gimmick. "It's not that easy," I explained. "You wanna get back in there?" Just as we were about to climb back through the ropes a crewman approached me and handed me a folded card. "What's this?" I asked. "I was just told to give it to you," he answered as he returned to his duties. "Secret admirer," teased Dawn. "This isn't fucking middle-school," I told her. "Or... maybe it is," I said to myself as I read the card. It was from Aki, he wanted to meet me again. A few of the guys I'd slept with had tried to call me up, hook up again, even date me, Nate in particular, but Nate wasn't the jackhammer that Aki had been. "Hey, Dawn, um, I'm gonna have to call this short. I've got someplace I need to be." *** I took a taxi to the motel on the card, stopping along the way to pick up a box of the largest condoms I'd ever purchased, just to make sure. I knocked on the room I'd been told, waited a moment, heard a chain come loose, and then the door opened. There he was, the silent juggernaut, who physically drew me in without a word. The moment I was inside and the door closed, he had his hands on me. He was shirtless and I could already see the sizable bulge in his pants. We both already knew what we were here for, the card had been nothing if not direct. He led me by my ass to the motel bed which I threw myself upon, hiking up my light paisley dress to reveal my damp thong panties. His nose was in them a moment later. I almost came on the spot with my thighs wrapped around his head. When he pulled away, my underwear went with him, and as he undid his pants I tore into the box of contraceptives. We went all night, the man really had the stamina of a champion, though I did manage to dehydrate him a few times. He seemed please though, I know I was. The only disappointing moment is when I stopped bouncing my head in the middle of a blowjob to dig in my purse for my phone. I had to call Violet to make sure the police weren't alerted because I was out all night again. Still, it was a riot of a marathon fuck. I was going to endeavor to make this a regular thing, I didn't care if we both ended up rubber legg'ed in our matches. I woke up the next morning pinned between one huge arm, and the big smooth torso it was attached to. He had his arm around me in a way I couldn't have escaped if I wanted to. It was a very good thing that, at that exact moment, I didn't. It seemed like he was still asleep, most of him anyway, morning wood was obviously a multicultural phenomenon; it probably helped that he held a naked girl against himself all night. Good dreams. As for me it was a firm mattress, a big, sweaty, sexy, firm mattress, and it was a night's sleep I wouldn't pass up again. Or maybe I was the mattress. He had been so dominant the night before, guiding the whole thing, I was practically a passenger, almost a sex doll for most of it. Albeit one that could moan and writhe, and buck her orgasming hips. I would have been more than ready for round two, or round twelve, as the case was, but I hadn't brought my toothbrush and my breath was... well it probably smelled a lot like jizz. I didn't have to swallow this time, but I had. I really needed to hit the shower and get to work. "Hey," I nudged him. "Hey, I gotta go." "Stay," he answered groggily. "I've gotta get to work," I added. "Stay," he insisted, and pulled me over himself. "Alright," I conceded. "One more quickie, but then I really have to go. *** I got back to the arena late, made worse by Violet asking a lot of questions about where I was and why I was using her mouthwash. I didn't know why I didn't want to tell her where I'd been. I'd not been shy about things before, but something was different about Aki, about banging a main eventer. Maybe I was worried I'd get accused of sleeping my way to the top. The day went on, I got in a light workout, and then we had to prepare for the show. Dawn and I went over our spots again, and we were called to our match. Everything went pretty much to plan, except we decided to do the DDT spot on the ring apron instead of the floor, it was a little safer but it sold the effect just as well. Dawn took the bump and slumped to the floor, when the ref checked on her I could see her subtly squeezing his fingers to signal she wasn't actually hurt, and then when I turned I got blindsided. All I saw was a pink and silver belt coming at me and I got absolutely crushed. Angel laid the side plate into me legit, and stiff. I went to the floor and watched Angel walk over me and around the ring while the ref counted "One... Two... Three... Four..." It was a painfully long ten count. *** Chapter Fifteen "What a bitch," cursed Vie as she passed me an icepack. "That's not exactly a revelation," I grumbled as I spit blood into a nearby bucket. She hadn't knocked any teeth loose but I'd cut the inside of my cheek. The EMT made sure to check me out briefly and told me I was okay. "Hey, there you are," said Mike hustling toward me. "There's a... what happened?" "Angel potatoed me," I said. It was an industry term for a legitimate head shot. "Well one of the undercard matches went short, we gotta fill some air. We're gonna do a back-stage promo about your match before the main event. I need you in front of the screen in five. Oh, and keep the icepack, it's a good touch." I rolled my eyes and gave an unenthusiastic thumbs up. Such was the business. *** I made sure I could talk straight and cut the promo. I went on about how I'd been cheated and how Dawn and Angel were colluding, and how I'd get my payback. It was actually really hard to do without slipping into heel mode. I made sure to take notes to practice my baby face mic skills. So the next week went much the same. We'd do a pitch meeting or two about the match, work out the spots, figure out the shenanigans and how to make the finish a smoz. Dawn and I would practice together, Violet and I would cut made up promos in the bus to get my mic skills up, and I would occasionally sneak out and meet with Aki. The week after that Cassidy came back. She talked about our matches on TV, and demanded I tell her everything about the feud plans. She kept talking about how she bragged about us to her family when they watched the show, but reassured me she hadn't told any of them who I really was. I had to be a little more cautious with sneaking out now, meeting during the day and not staying out all night. Cassidy was more prone to ask questions than Violet was. As for Aki himself, he got more comfortable with me. We varied up locations a bit, it wasn't always cheap motels. He fucked me in the back seat of a rented convertible like a fucking teenager once. That's not to say we were what you'd call dating. It wasn't dinner and a movie stuff, it was a lot of laying pipe, and at his pace. It was a good pace, but he always dictated how we did it. He was rather... possessive of me. This became more clear as I started noticing him watching me in the gym and back stage, especially when I'd talk to other guys. The third week of my mini-feud with Dawn came, and it was decided that this would be the blow-off match that would segue into my real feud with Angel. The stipulation of the match would see Angel barred from ring- side, which was a shame, because I still owed her a receipt for that belt shot. Dawn and I were working a good match, this was as close to the top of the card as I'd ever gotten, and we were determined to put on a high- card show. Ruby, Angel's other stooge, had already done a run in which picked up the pace for a bit, and was a tense segment because if any of her offense had been allowed to connect that would have been a disqualification and ruined the match and thrown the entire feud off schedule. We practiced the sequence for days. It was a variation on the universal spot, but I had to duck any offense and throw her out of the ring at the end, just to be jumped by Dawn immediately afterward. After that I had to fight my way back in sufficiently dramatic fashion. Typically it's the heel who runs the match, calling most of the spots and guiding the overall direction, but Dawn was still under-confident, and I had more experience as a heel anyway, so I took over those duties with her. Pretty soon we were at the false finish, where, after much hardship I'd fought to an advantage, and had her set up for the Starr Crash, making sure I gave the audience enough time to realize it. That's when the lights out gimmick happened. All the arena lights went down, and we were in the dark. This was the bit when Angel would jump me under cover of darkness and beat me down as part of her dastardly plan. In the old days Dawn and I would have just stomped around in the dark, made a lot of noise, and then I'd have lain down and waited for the lights to come up, then I'd have sold a beating that never happened, leave it to the crowd's imagination as to what went down. Now everybody carried a smart phone with flash photography, or worse yet, night-vision video, so we had to actually work the spot by feel, in the dark. They'd left just a little bit of light so we could barely see; Angel popped up out from under the ring where she'd been hiding. Before this match, and after the last one, during the commercial break, the roadies had come out in their identical hats and uniforms to 'run maintenance on the ring.' A canny observer might have noticed one of the 'roadies' had a big set of fake tits, and slily crawled under the ring before the others left. That way Angel could get in position for the spot without being under the ring all night. While Dawn and I were working, she was stripping out of her uniform and into her ring gear. I looked around trying to sell confusion when Angel jumped under the bottom rope, popped up, and absolutely blasted me with a stiff clothesline across the chest. That was two I owed her. I went down, bumped like I was supposed to, and she and Dawn started stomping at me as loud as they could. Angel was not being as careful about it as Dawn was. Angel moved to the corner and went for her signature Fallen Angel elbow drop, a lame cartwheel elbow drop that was just and excuse to flip her skirt up. She completely whiffed it in the dark by the way. Still I sold it like death, and she slid under the bottom rope and ran up the ramp and out of sight. That was the cue, and the lights came up with me on the mat selling my head, and Dawn standing over me. Steve and Sal, I was sure, were talking up the 'what the hell just happened' angle for the TV and internet audience. Dawn hopped over me and up the nearest corner, and then hit me with her Sea Breeze Senton, a frankly impressive second turnbuckle senton, flipping completely over in a low front flip, and landing with her back onto my stomach. Without moving she hooked my leg, and leveraged in a pin, the ref dropped down and counted. "One... Two... Thr..." I snapped my shoulder off the canvas for probably the biggest crowd pop of my career so far. Of course that was the way it was supposed to go. Dawn, to her credit, should have gotten an Oscar for how she sold the shock and disappointment at that bit. I crawled to my feet, really conveying the pain and fatigue, not all of which was a work. One of the great things about playing the underdog, is you can slow down later in the match without disappointing anyone. Now that all the scripted spots were done we were free to work at our own pace until we went for the go home sequence, which was Dawn getting me on her shoulders in a fireman's carry, which I slipped out of and reversed into the Starr Crash. She didn't roll through a DDT like Cass tended to, so I flopped her onto her back, and covered her for the one... two... three. Cheers rang out so loud it made my miraculous kick-out from earlier sound like study hall. I was the number one contender for the first time in either of my careers. The mini-feud was over. It was a shame I wouldn't get to work with Dawn again for a while, but on the plus side, now I'd get my hands on Angel, and I owed her two. *** I staggered back stage catching my breath, when I saw a familiar face from the past. "That, was a great show," he said. "Ed!" I cried. Dead Ed, the last guy I'd ever wrestled as a man, wearing his ring gear. "How are you doing? You're dressed to work, did you do a match tonight? I didn't see." "I'm doing fine Case," he answered. "I'm real sorry about what happened to you though. I wanted to tell you that. And um, no. I'm actually up next." "Wow. You really moved up the card Ed. How'd you swing that?" I questioned. "I didn't," he said. "I'm getting squashed. It is what it is," Sometimes, even in the big leagues, you have to play the jobber. "Hey, we've all been there," I told him. "Don't sweat it. At least you're jobbing for a star. And, don't worry about me. I'm doing alright. I'm gonna be okay," I reached out and, I don't know why, but I hugged the big goth goon. He represented some sort of bridge between my two careers I suppose. But I suddenly regretted it when I saw over his shoulder, Aki standing behind a stack of cargo crates, staring right at us. *** When I got out of the shower the backstage area was a beehive. Everybody was moving back and forth with a really panicked pace and murmuring about something. I snaked my way through trying to get answers from busy people as I went. Finally I came to find Cassidy watching the show on one of the back stage monitors. "What the hell is going on?" I questioned her. "Bad accident in the ring," she said. "Dead Ed took a bad piledriver, and broke his neck." "Jesus, I just talked to him. Is he okay?" I asked. "He's alive. That's all I know." "Who the hell was he wrestling!?" I demanded. She stated plainly, "Akimoto." *** Chapter Sixteen I stormed through the halls until I found the corner where Aki and Genbo were talking to a set of the company reporters. "Beat it," I told them. They paused and looked at me questioningly. "LEAVE!" At that, the reporters scurried out. "You too Gen," I said. He craned his neck toward Aki as if looking for approval, then tottered away. The moment they were all out of sight I reached up and slapped Aki across the face as hard as I could. "What the FUCK were you doing!?" He curled a lip at me amused, as if it were a bull rhino I'd just struck. "You're no better," he said knowingly. "What the hell does that mean!?" I urged. "You've hurt men before," he said matter-of-factly. "I broke a guy's arm, not his neck, and look what good it did me you fat sack!" I raged. "It did you gooood," he mocked thrusting his hips at me. "He shouldn't have touched you," he added, suddenly very cold. "I touched him!" I corrected. "And I'll go on touching whoever I want. Jesus Aki, I'm not your fucking property!" "We'll see," he said with a smirk. Then he stepped forward and slapped me right on the ass, which I answered with a full on, closed fist hook to his jaw. He just chuckled, then threw up his hands and walked away. *** Again I found myself lying awake in my bunk. I'd not felt this bad in some time. I couldn't make heads or tails of this. It wasn't my fault, I tried to make it my fault, and couldn't justify it, but I still felt guilty, guilty and dumb. What a fucking moron I'd been. The signs were there, Aki was a jerk-off, we never talked, just fucked, always his way on his terms, using me, but I'd still thrown myself at him like and infatuated little girl. All because he could sling dick. Christ, what had I become? "You okay?" asked Cassidy, pulling back my bunk curtain, dressed in her PJs, eyes half closed. "What?" I uttered. "Girl, It's hard to sleep with you sobbin' like that. Are you alright?" she explained. I wiped my hand over my cheek and found it wet. "Yeah, yeah, it's just... harder not to cry than it used to be. It's uh... heh, I'm still not the master of my own hormones, I guess." "Well try to get some sleep alright? I'm going back to bed," she let the curtain fall. "Hey Cass?" I called. She peeked back in. "Yeah?" "Men are pigs, aren't they?" "Not all of them Honey," she said. "Now go to sleep." One thing was for sure, I was gonna have to make some further adjustments. I thought I had coped, that because being a woman was okay, that I didn't mind anymore, that I had it all figured out. Obviously that had been a mistake. I still had a lot to learn, and one thing was gonna be how to pick men. *** As it turned out Ed was going to be okay. He wasn't going to be in action for quite some time and the injury would take quite a few years off of the end of his career, but eventually he'd be able to step between the ropes again. Akimoto wasn't admonished, he'd blamed it on Ed's shirt slipping his grip, and it'd all been chalked up as an accident, but I knew better. Main event stars get a lot more benefit of the doubt it seemed. My time was occupied with more meetings. Big feuds took up a lot more time and a lot more effort it seemed than did on the spot, no stakes matches, and I was in the biggest feud in the women's division. I did get my hands on Angel though, but by this time I didn't feel as much like paying her back. Although that didn't stop her from working stiff as hell. It was fine by me that she didn't want to practice with me, I didn't particularly want to practice with her either. Fortunately she was a routine girl, so all I had to do was watch a little tape to learn her spots. The crappy thing was I had to keep sitting in meetings with her. Of course, she was the top women's heel in the business, and she knew it, so it wasn't hard for her to convince Mike to book her going over in almost all of our matches. I expected as much, and she knew it. No, her real delight was suggesting weird stipulations, like an evening gown match. It amused me how taken aback she was when I was game for it, but in the end Mike didn't book it. He figured people weren't into that kind of thing anymore, and so booked all our matches as standard singles bouts, albeit with a lot of smoz finishes. Ultimately, leading up to Ring Wars, out of our five matches, she won three, one being a no- contest, and one I won because Mike insisted I maintain a credible threat. I almost expected her to screw-me and kick out of the finish. I stood looking at the clock, and shimmying, working the knots loose. It was almost time. "Don't be so nervous Girl," said Cassidy, dressed in her civies. "This ain't nothing you ain't done before." "Winning a title on a pay-per-view is something I haven't done before," I rebutted. "Pfft," uttered Angel, standing against the wall with her arms crossed under her balloons. "It's just a work Girl," Cassidy insisted. "Sam," called a crew guy, who tossed me a bundle of pink fabric. "What's this?" I asked. "It's your new T-shirt," he answered. "Mike wants you to wear it to the ring." I unfolded it to see a pattern of the same stars that adorned my trunks, and underneath it a diagonal cursive print that said 'You're a Shining Star.' "This was Gabby's idea, I know it," I mumbled. "They'd better not expect that to be a catchphrase." "Ten seconds," called out another crewman, standing under the clock. I slipped the shirt over my head, and tried to adjust it from squeezing my boobs. Then I gave one last shake before my music hit. The pop-song notes hit the loudspeaker and I hit the curtain. I pranced down the much longer ramp, clapping and giving high-fives along the way, trying to look more excited than I was nervous. After I jumped into the ring, I climbed onto the second turnbuckle, and pulled off the t-shirt, revealing my normal ring gear underneath. I looked out into the crowd until I saw a girl near the front row who it looked like it might fit, and I threw it to her. Then my music and lights died down, and for a few moments it was quiet, then the next song hit, and the crowd immediately erupted with jeers. Angel came down the ramp blowing derisive kisses and throwing her hands up like she was eating up the boos, and she probably was. She made her way to the ring and stood in the opposite corner from me, giving me a dirty look that probably wasn't acting. The ring announcer stood between us in the center of the ring, microphone in hand. "The following contest," he began. "is scheduled for one-fall, and is for the NDW Ladies Wrestling Championship of the World. Introducing first, the challenger. Standing to my right and fighting out of Santa Monica, SAM STARR!" The crowd cheered. Something I'd only recently noticed was they never bill the women's weight. "And her opponent, standing to my left, she is the reigning, defending, NDW Ladies Wrestling Champion, fighting out of Aspen, Colorado... ANGEL MADISON!" She held up the belt and slapped the front plate like she actually owned it. Soon thereafter though she had to hand it to the ref, who himself held it aloft, showing the crowd, and then passed it between the ropes to the time keeper at ringside. Then we centered the ring, the ref pretended to go over the rules, but we really used this time to call the opening spot, something any lip reader could easily tell you. We went back to our corners, I gave one last small stretch, and then the bell rang. I marched to the middle of the ring, Angel took two quick steps and then hit me with a double leg dropkick to the shoulder. It was an unorthodox opener, but that was the point. She was trying to sell her wiliness and unpredictability, even if in reality she was anything but. She liked the moniker of 'the Foxiest Fox in the Business' but that reputation came almost entirely from the angles and swerves the writers came up with. I rolled onto my hands and knees, and she hit me in the back with a fairly stiff double-axe-handle. In the moment she dropped to the mat she whispered "snapmare," She was the heel, so she was leading the match. She hooked me by the chin and pulled my head back, which I sold with an exaggerated grimace, then I planted one foot on the mat, reached over my shoulder, took her by the back of the head, and pulled. Angel took the signal and bieled over my shoulder, performing the snapmare. I bent over to spring to my feet, taking the opportunity to whisper "roll," and the moment I was standing I threw myself to the canvas in an elbow drop, which Angel rolled out from under. I sat up, cradling the elbow, selling the miss. She stood up, and dropped again into a low dropkick, barely making contacts so I could take it without it being called. I don't think she would have cared if it had hurt, but I was saved by her actually having a good ring habit. She scooped me up with a "Duck the clothesline, German," She then tucked my head under her left arm and pretended to lift me up for a snap suplex, but I hooked my ankle behind her leg for the 'block.' She pretended to give up on that and when I lifted my head she went for the clothesline. I ducked it, she purposely over rotated, giving me her back. I put her in a waist lock, and she jumped backwards aiding in my lift. I took her over myself and dumped her shoulders first on the mat behind me in a textbook bridging German suplex. Since I maintained the waist lock through the maneuver, it counted as a pin, but she kicked out before even the count of one. She pulled the same dropkick again, repeating the sequence. This time however, when I blocked the suplex she whispered "Take the sunset flip," She transitioned the face lock into a reverse waist lock, with me bent over, and her gripping me about the waist from above, with her bent over my back. Angel dragged me backwards until she could put her feet on the ropes, and then she kicked off, bieling over my back. I threw myself back and bombed my shoulder to the mat, so now she was sitting, and I was upside down between her legs. This too counted as a pin, but just like her I kicked out before the count of one. That's when she began to dominate the match. It was only good ring psychology, the villain had to look strong so that the heroine's eventual victory would be all the more dramatic. It still hurt though. She hit me with stiff clotheslines, potatoes, leg sweeps, face busters, even a power bomb or two for the better part of twelve minutes, with me only getting sporadic bits of offense in here and there. That was okay, that's not where I was getting my heat. Heels got heat from fighting dirty and insulting the crowd, underdogs got heat from surviving. I kicked out of pin attempt after pin attempt, fought through submissions to get to the ropes, and every time I persevered, the crowd reaction got louder. Angel sold the frustration beautifully. Again that's probably because it was genuine. She didn't like doing the job, and she particularly didn't like doing it to me. I was also method acting in a fashion, but my role was as the weary punching bag. At long last we finally came to the go home spot. Angel signaled it with her 'patented' top-rope clothesline for the set-up, just like we'd discussed in the pitch meetings. That was my down so she could go into her dumb cartwheel elbow drop. This time, half way through her cartwheel I rolled right underneath her, so she aborted, and landed on her feet. I jumped up and hit her with a diamond-cutter, as they say, out of nowhere. I leapt up into a horizontal position, grabbed her by the head, and 'dragged' her face into the mat as I fell. It was really a case of her doing a face bump while I did a rather high elevation back bump nearby. She bounced right back up into a 'staggered' state, giving me the perfect set-up for the Starr Crash, which I hit. One... Two... Three. The crowd absolutely erupted. It was the biggest pop of my life, probably not so much for me winning as Angel losing. Still, she made sure to get her shoulder up at about 3.01. I dropped to my knees in the middle of the ring, almost crying for real. The ref climbed out of the ring, then back in carrying the belt which he presented to me, and raised my hand high. It was one of the greatest moments of my career. Of course the fun couldn't last. Angel had insisted, if she were going to drop the title, she had to keep her heat, so we still had one more angle to do. Right in the middle of the celebration Dawn and Ruby ran down the ramp and into the ring. They of course jumped me, to a ruckus of jeers from the audience. Then the three of them 'beat me up' for a minute before they took me out under the ropes and Angel bombed me off the ring apron and through a table. That spot always sucks, there's no way to make it not really hurt. Angel picked up the belt, and stood over me looking at it, almost disdainfully. Then she threw it down on me and walked away. *** "Okay, follow the light with your eyes, but keep your head still," said the EMT as I sat back stage. They always made you get a check-up right after a big spot or a grueling match. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I insisted. I just wanted to shower and get out of there. There was always a big after-party after Ring Wars, and while I did sort of feel like celebrating, I felt more like sleeping. "Miss?" a voice came from beside me. "Miss?" "Hmm, yeah?" I answered, realizing he was talking to me. "I need to take that from you," said the security guy who was standing next to me with a black carry bag. I looked down at my knee where he was pointing; the championship belt sat draped across my thigh. "Right, of course," I said, and hesitantly handed it up to him. The belt wasn't actually mine of course, it belonged to the company. It wasn't a trophy like in boxing or mixed martial arts, where each new champion got their own personal belt made that they'd get to keep. It was a prop, something to fight over, and there was only one that was passed around. I'd carry it to the ring, and in promos, and in public appearances, but other than that it was kept locked up. Still, it was often seen as a symbol of recognition. A title, if it was held for a time, usually meant exposure, more matches, more money, people wanted to see the champ and buy their merchandise. At this point I'd just kinda wished I'd earned it on my own, instead of having it given to me as some sort of weird compensation. "That just about does it," said the EMT. "Everything looks okay, but you call us if you start feeling strange." "My whole life is strange," I quipped. "Congratulations Girl!" squealed a familiar voice as it hugged the back of my chair, squeezing the breath out of me. "I tap Cassidy, I tap!" "Well I guess that makes me the new champ, don't it?" she said as she circled around. "Where's my belt?" "Security took it," I told her. "Damn, that's no fun," she said. "So let's go have some. Let's go party." "I just kinda want to shower and hit the sack," I said. "Oh come on," she pleaded. "You gonna be a stick in the mud, tonight of all nights? I can't let you do that. I'll tell you what, we'll compromise. There's still a few matches left on the card, you go take a cat-nap, and then we'll go to the party, awake, and refreshed. Eh?" "You know what these things are like Cass," I told her. "It's gonna be like a frat party with grown men." "That don't sound too bad to me," she said. "I just feel like, like I'd feel out of place, being on this side of it." "You need to make up your mind Girl," she said. "First you're uncomfortable in your own skin, then you're really comfortable, now you having doubts again?" "It's not like that," I said. "I just don't feel like that'd be my thing anymore." "Well you go hit the showers," she slapped me on the shoulder. "Then you come and see. We'll find out for sure." *** Chapter Seventeen I was in my bunk, fully intent on not going to the after party. The problem was Nigel had called me about six times in the last 20 minutes, probably under the pretense of congratulating me on the title win, but really to discuss future opportunities that it could bring. I put him straight to voice mail every time, but he didn't know how to take a hint. My phone buzzed for the seventh time and that was it. Without even checking it I rolled out of bed, pulled my nightie up over my head, and went straight for the closet. Frat party or no, it was going to be a high-end thing, where guys would get drunk and pee themselves while wearing expensive silk shirts. That's why I needed to dress for a weirdly semi-formal event. It wasn't entirely lost on me that I was perhaps motivated by the chance to actually wear one of the nicer dresses I'd bought. First I tried on a scaled yellow, knee-length dress, but in this light I realized it looked too much like a cocktail dress. Then I toyed with the idea of wearing pantyhose, but decided that would come off as too formal. After that I realized I'd need makeup, not the subtle, enthusiastic girl-next-door style I'd learned to apply with my ring-gear either. Something bolder, a little darker, I had some red mahogany lipstick I'd been wanting to try on. I realized I'd need to get dressed first, and match to that, so I went back to the dresses. I looked at a loose baby blue number, that was too much of a day-time color, and the sun was long since down. Ultimately I settled on a thigh length black hobble with a frilly false waist hem and silver embroidering around the collar. It went perfectly with a set of silver one-inch heels I had. I added a silver hoop bracelet, and a pair of dangling silver and zircon earrings, clip-ons, ear piercings were too much of a hassle to keep open with fast healing gynomorph skin. I glanced at the alarm clock and realized I'd been dressing for an hour. "Jesus," I thought. "I'm a walking stereotype," I quickly applied some eye-shadow and the red mahogany and hit the door. When I got inside to the party, most people were acting as expected, like somebody had spiked the punch-bowl, which was probably because the punch bowl was filled with whiskey from the start. In the old days one would have seen a lot more cocain at a thing like this so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. A lot of guys were walking around with their shirts off, not too strange considering most of them worked with their shirts off, but then Ryan Rogers walked across the room wearing nothing but a jockstrap. He had a cute butt if I were honest. Frat Party. Still, a few people were keeping it together. "I saw your match," came a deep voice that I realized was addressing me. "Uncle Jerry asked me to congratulate you, he um, he couldn't make it tonight." I looked up to see Luke, still, perhaps unfortunately, fully dressed. He wore a navy pin-stripe button-up, straining against his rippling frame, and a pair of bulging black slacks. He had a dixie-cup, almost disappearing in his enormous hand, and I took note of a bandage on his forehead. "What happened?" I questioned, and without bothering with permission I reached up and gently touched it. "Oh that," he said dismissively. "It's nothing, it's a gig. Won't even show in a week," A gig, to juice, to get color, was an old wrestling trick. When somebody needed to bleed they'd hide their face and use a small, concealed sliver of razor blade to make a short slice in their own forehead. If you did it right it wasn't too dangerous, but with the heart pumping and the sweat running it could look like a murder scene. "Does it hurt?" I poked it playfully, knowing full well what it felt like. "A little yeah," he said, half facetiously. "You, need a drink?" I looked at him more closely, at how his wavy brown hair just barely tickled the bandage, at his broad, round, chin, at his big brown eyes. I used to hate that face. Why? "I'd love one," I answered. He nodded and turned toward the catering table. "Don't you ruin that forehead," I called to him. He came back and handed me a cup which I was surprised to note actually had punch in it. It did still smelled vaguely of alcohol though. "You look good," he said, he paused and rubbed the back of his head nervously. "I mean, um, that's a nice dress... is all," He was totally hitting on me! Sure, he was going about it in a really grade-school sort of way, which was charming in a fashion, but he was definitely hitting on me. Still, as much as I kinda wanted to, I'd learned from Aki not to just jump in bed with the first guy who smiles at me. "Oh shit," I murmured. I'd forgotten about Aki. I searched desperately around the room until I saw him, his eyes glued on me like one of those staring paintings. It was like the crowd of people moving between us didn't exist. He didn't look happy, he looked pissed off and drunk. "Hey Girl!" came Cassidy out of nowhere. "I knew you'd make it," She leaned on me, her words slightly slurred. "I knew you couldn't resist." "No, um... actually," I began, still looking towards Akimoto. "No. It's just exactly what I said it would be, isn't it?" I claimed. "Just a bunch of half-naked drunk guys running around hitting on us." "What's wrong with that?" Cass questioned, without even a hint of banter. "Let's, um, let's get out of here, let's find someplace quieter," I said. "The three of us," I took them each by the arm and dragged them toward the door. "I'm hungry, aren't you guys hungry? Let's go find some real food." *** We hailed a taxi and the driver took us to an all night diner nearby. It was a cozy little place, and we were occupied, while we waited for our food, by autograph hounds. Luke signed the most naturally, but I got a few too. I had to be really careful to sign them as Sam Starr. After that we sat and chatted, Cass and I ate breakfast food, while Luke sat across from us and watched, he didn't maintain that physique by eating just anything after all. It was a nice night all things considered, and I was starting to calm back down, that was, until Cassidy opened her drunk mouth. "You know Sam likes you," she blurted. "CASSIDY!" I shouted, knowing not what else to say. "Really?" Lucas chuckled anxiously. "She doesn't know what she's saying," I insisted. "I've seen you get all RED FACED when he comes around," she said, with strange, inebriated emphasis. "Shut up Cassidy," I snapped. "I don't know what to say," Luke added. "Say 'she's drunk.'" I told him. "Uncle Jerry talks about you a lot," he said. "I've meant to talk to you, but I didn't think... that. Really?" I found myself between a rock and a rock hard place. On one hand I didn't want to confirm because I really didn't want to move so fast anymore, and on the other hand I didn't want to deny because... fuck, it was true. I wasn't so in denial as to not realize he was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. "Oh god dammit," I said. "Okay, fine. You're... Okay. Let's take this slow and figure this out. I don't know if I like you or not," I lied. "Let's say we..." my heart began to pound. "see... each other a while?" "I don't know if that's a good idea," he said. "You..." I said. "Oh, geez, unless you... you have a girlfriend? Of course you have a girlfriend. Look at you. How could you not?" I rambled. Perhaps he wasn't hitting on me back at the party, maybe I had been imagining it. "No, it's not that," he said. "I kinda live in the gym, I've not had that much time to get out. It's just that... you're not... I don't know how I feel about you being... not a typical... girl." It hit me like a truck. For a moment I had completely forgotten what I was, that I wasn't always like this, and that that might put people off. How had that happened? It had been the most forefront thing in my mind for over a year now. "So figure it out," Cassidy spoke, hovering over her eggs. "That's what she sayin.' She wanna date you, not marry you." "I uh..." I stuttered. "Ye... yeah. Um, that's right," I said with a bit of actual conviction. "Yes. I want... to... date you Luke," I blushed. "On the down-low of course," I added. It was a perfect excuse actually to avoid Aki's ire. "I don't know," he said. "You looked for me," I stated. "What?" he questioned. "When everybody thought I was missing, in Naples. I heard Jerry on the phone. You went looking for me." "Oh that," he said. "Uncle Jerry asked me to. I would have done that for anybody." "And that's what's so sweet about it," I insisted. "You come off as the nicest damn guy in the world, I used to hate that about you, but now, I want to see if that's true." "Why?" he questioned. "I don't... I don't know," I said. "I used to be a real piece of shit. I realized that after I got a bit of a different perspective. It was myself I didn't like. I think... I think I like nice guys." *** As it turned out keeping it all on the down-low was neither necessary, nor strictly possible. Dating Luke was hard, it was difficult for us to keep it secret since we were both semi-famous and surrounded by people at almost all times. He was also very strict about his gym schedule. At the same time there was something special about having a relationship with a man that was more than physical. Needless to say I'd never done that before, hell I'd never done that with a woman before. It was nice, and Luke's own reservations about it didn't last long either. Guys are a simple animal, they're pretty easy to please if you just push them a bit. We couldn't do anything fancy of course, no expensive restaurants or movie shows, people would recognize us, word would spread. That was okay, it just added to the intimacy. One day we had sneaked out for a drive. We found an empty field outside the city limits and just lay together in the grass. I lay in the crook of his arm with my eyes closed, almost asleep. He held me differently than Aki had, just as firmly, but there was a different conviction to it. Aki had been possessive, somehow, Luke felt... protective. "Case," he said. "Mm-hmm," I answered. "Have you ever kissed a guy?" he asked. "Nope," I answered. I had, but only in the throes of sex, which I knew wasn't what he meant. I climbed up onto his torso and lay along his chest. "Why do you ask?" I moved in close to him. "Fishing," I wrapped my arms around his head and pulled him in gently, pressing my lips against his for the first strictly romantic kiss of my life. "Mmm," he uttered. "This one's a keeper." "You took the words right out of my mouth Babe," I said. "And the tongue," I giggled. "Jesus," I gasped. "I just realized, I don't even know your name." "What?" he said. "Well it's not 'Luke Power.'" I said mockingly. "Jerry is your... mom's brother? So it's not Norman either." "It's Darrow," he chuckled. "Lucas Darrow." "I kinda like it," I said as I rolled back to his side. "Casey Darrow," I whispered. "What was that?" he asked. "It's um..." a beeping emanated from the grass nearby, and Lucas picked up his phone. Saved by the bell. "Crap," he said. "The show is about to start. We gotta get back to the arena." "No rush," I said. "I'm not on the card tonight, and you're wrestling at the top. We've got two hours, easy." "That would be true," he said. "But I've got a live promo in the first half." "Dammit," I cursed. "Well, let's go then." We made our way back to the arena, and Luke rushed to the back stage screen where the interviews were filmed. Mike was there out of frame, and so was Aki. I stood back and watched from the shadows. "Dammit Luke where have you been?" Mike yelled. "We're about to go live, and you're not even dressed. Screw it, we'll have to do it in your civies. Ready?" "Yeah," said Luke, shaking his shoulders and positioning himself on the tape X on the floor. The camera operator called out. "We're live in 5... 4.... 3..." dropping a finger with each number, he didn't count two or one, but mouthed them silently instead. "We're here live with former NDW Heavyweight Champion Luke Power," said the interviewer who looked positively mousy next to Luke's hulking form. "Champ, or should I say Ex-Champ, tonight will be the first time you match against current Heavyweight Champion Tsunami Akimoto, who took the belt from you several months ago. He's a month away from tying for the fifth longest single heavyweight title reign in NDW history and rumors are circulating that if you put up a good showing tonight, since you never got your title rematch, you'll be slid right into the number one contender's spot. Is there anything you want to say about that?" "Yeah there is Pete," said Lucas, altering his voice slightly, speaking less gently, slipping into character. "We all know there's no love lost between me and Akimoto, even less with that shifty weasel of a manager of his. Now, I'm not gonna stand here and moan about how I was cheated out of the title, it's not in my character. Let it go down in the books as fair and square. But let's make one thing clear, if a win tonight puts me back in the title picture, well then..." Aki ran in from out of frame and hit Luke with a forearm. I almost gasped but I could tell from Mike and the crew's reactions it was a work, part of the angle. Aki threw Luke into a stack of hard shipping boxes, then pulled the whole thing down on top of him. He started stomping, and kicked a box right into Luke's head. He dragged Luke up to his feet and when Luke tried to throw a worked punch Aki reversed it into a fujiwara arm-bar, a legitimate submission if you put it on snug. Luke yelled in a way that didn't sound fake to me, and my heart skipped a beat. Aki brought him to the ground and elbowed Luke in the head a few times, then started tearing his shirt off and kicking him in the ribs. He mounted Luke and started hitting him in the face. "Get off him!" I screamed as I found myself on Aki's back, hooking at his neck and face. Aki shrugged me off and I rolled to the floor. Looking up I could see Mike desperately tapping the camera operator on the shoulder and making the cut gesture with his thumb. The red light on the camera went off and suddenly people were all over the two of them, about ten security guys came out of nowhere to pull them apart. "What in God's name has gotten into you two!?" Mike screamed. "And what exactly the fuck do YOU have to do with this?!" he addressed me. "You know what, not now! Get an EMT over here!" he called. "You three, in the conference room NOW!" he said turning back to us. *** Mike, Aki, and I sat in silence in the conference room, only the regular, loud ticking of the old clock on the wall could be heard. Mike's face was so red he looked like he was about to catch fire, but I was looking at Aki, shooting daggers at him, giving the kind of hate I'd never known as a man, trying to kill him with my eyes. After an interminable wait the door opened and in came Luke and an EMT, Luke had an icepack to his face and was rubbing his arm. "He'll be okay," said the medic. "But I don't think he should perform tonight," Aki sneered at this announcement. "Well that's just a good god damn," said Mike. "There goes the god damned main event! Now I gotta cook up something on the fly, and for what? No seriously, for what? What god dammit, what!? What's this about!?" "She's mine," Aki said. "And what the fuck does that mean?" Mike demanded. "He tried to take her from me," Aki added. "Now wait just a god damned minute!" I shouted springing to my feet. "You don't own me!" "Hell in a hand basket," said Mike rubbing his hands over his face. "This is about slatch isn't it?" "Fuck you Mike!" I yelled. "Don't you fucking test me," he pointed. "So what, you're fucking them now?" "No," I said. "I'm..." I looked over to Luke. He nodded in confirmation. "Cat's out of the bag now. I'm dating Lucas." Aki bounded to his feet and screamed something very foreign that had the distinct feeling of profanity. "And what does he have to do with this?" Mike thumbed at Aki. "She's mine!" he yelled. "Shut up Aki, I'm asking her," Mike ordered. "I..." I crossed my toes and looked at the floor. "I WAS sleeping with him." "You were what!?" Luke cried. "It was before we were together Luke," I pleaded. "For god sake, if I made company policy there would be no fraternization," said Mike. "So what are we going to do with this? Hell, there's only one thing we can do with this. Everybody saw the lady riding to the rescue, that went out live after all. We HAVE to make an angle out of it. We were going to have these two feud anyway, but guess what shiny britches," he looked at me. "Now YOU'RE the prize." "That's outrageous!" Luke yelled. "Oh come on," said Mike. "This is pro-wrestling. This is the world where child custody is decided with a ladder match," He turned to Aki. "And you are sure as hell going to lose." Again Akimoto spouted something irate and unintelligible. "You will lose or you will be prosecuted for that little stunt, prosecuted and deported to that turd in the pacific you call a country! And I don't want anymore of this shoot crap either. Are we clear?" Aki held his breath. "Are we clear!?" "Hai," he said reluctantly. "Now get the fuck out of here," Mike ordered. "We'll figure this out tomorrow, right now I gotta salvage this show," Aki stormed out, making sure to bump hard into Luke's hurt shoulder as he passed. We turned to the door, but Mike stopped us. "Wait a second you two," We turned back to him. "I know you had a hard time last year Casey, it didn't stop you from stepping on my toes though. Just... the two of you... mazel tov." *** I knocked on the bus door. "Come in," he called. I peeked inside and saw Luke sitting alone on the couch. "So this is the home away from home eh?" I asked as I slowly climbed up the steps, my arms behind my back, my hips swaying. "It's a lot like ours except it smells worse and has less throw pillows. I bet the closets aren't as packed either." "Hey Case," he mumbled, his ice bag held up to his face. I plopped down beside him and gently pulled his hand down to reveal the swelling and bruising. "That son of a bitch," I said through my teeth. "It looks worse than if feels," he insisted. "Oh it does huh?" I responded. "You want Momma to kiss it and make it better?" I leaned in and kissed him on the side of the face. "Ow," he said softly. "Oh, poor baby." "No," he said. "You're leaning on my arm. He really wrenched it." "You want a massage?" I inquired. "If you're a good boy I might even give you a..." I whispered in his ear. "happy ending." "Really?" he asked. "Yeah," I said decisively. "We both have the night off now, and if this bus is like ours, it locks." "I thought you wanted to take it slow?" he questioned. "Call this an acceleration," I said. "Come on Luke, you're clearly the sweetest guy I'm ever gonna meet... I wanna TASTE it," I added some randiness to my voice. He stood me up and squared me with himself, before lifting me off the ground and kissing me full on the lips, not a peck, but a full, passionate kiss. I was putty in his arms. He put me down and I slumped instantly to my knees, his zipper was right in front of me, too good an opportunity to pass up. I unzipped his fly and yanked his pants and underwear down in a quick, eager fashion. "Oh my Gosh," I said. "Lucas?" "What?" he asked tensely. "How do you fit this in those trunks?" It was a trunk itself, a big, purple, circumcised elephant's trunk, accompanied by two perfect easter- eggs. This laid to bed the question as to whether or not Luke used steroids. That was a firm no. "Hey there big guy, nice to meet you. What's that? You want a kiss too?" I put my full lips up to the head and let them part reluctantly around it, my tongue exploring. Luke's knees quivered. "Luke, couch, now," I pulled off and said. He lay down and I was on top of him, picking up where I left off, working at getting my own pants down with one hand. "The door," he moaned. I lifted away from him, hopped across the little room with my pants around my ankles, and yanked the bolt locked, then went right back, shaking my pants off along the way. I ran my hands over his majestic abs and pulled his shirt over his head. Then I reached back, and undid my bra, then taking his hands had him do the same to me, stripping off my blouse and bra in one motion. His beautiful brown eyes grew wide at the sight of my naked melons, and his hands were instantly on me, now of their own accord. Before I knew it I was on my back and his weight was pressing into me. His thumbs circled my nipples as he kissed my neck and worked down until he had to pull his hand away to make room for his tongue. "Uuuh!" I cried. My hands were in my panties furiously stroking myself. I came the instant his tongue touched me. "My panties, take off my panties," I begged. As he sat up and grasped the hem I twisted around and grabbed my jeans from the floor, I reached in the back pocket and produced one of the condoms I brought with me. "Put this on," I gasped, and he yanked my underwear down. He ignored me for the time being, instead kissing his way down my belly and then hooked my thighs and pinned my shoulders to the carpet with my legs in the air. He kissed my lower lips recklessly, and with tongue. "Gawd!" I moaned and came again. Luke explored me for a while, bringing me to a third orgasm before he lifted me onto the couch and finally opened the condom. He climbed on top of me and made love to me. He spread me open and thrust into me, firmly, but tenderly at the same time, not erratic or frantic like Aki had done, slowly, deliberately. Every stroke had its purpose, I was not his first. I'd never felt anything like it. No man had taken care of me like this before, he was a better lover than any of my previous, he was better than I had been by far, I knew. With the pheromones I was certainly putting out at that moment it was miraculous he could control himself as well as he did. I gazed between my breasts and between my thighs where a column of glistening flesh speared into me again and again, splitting me in what seemed like ridiculous proportions. I thanked heaven for gynomorph elasticity, I thanked heaven for gynospores, I thanked heaven for putting this stallion on the earth and sending him to me. "GAHHH!!" I came again, again, again, my body desperately tried to milk him. It knew its purpose and craved fulfillment. My hands fell from my breasts and I went limp long before Lucas himself completed. We lay there gasping afterward. I rode his heaving chest like an ocean tide. "This was..." he panted. "much better... than what I had planned tonight." I giggled. "I... didn't hurt you did I?" he asked. He had been the first one to ask me that. "You can... hurt me like that... any time," I answered. "You know I'm gonna have to work at least six more times with Akimoto, right?" he said. "Yeah," I answered. "He's gonna be stiff as hell," he added. "Don't say stiff," I quipped. "You're gonna get me all riled up again. Besides, this is worth it isn't it?" He curled his massive arm tightly around me. "It's worth anything." *** Chapter Eighteen I didn't wrestle very much over the next few weeks, instead playing valet, arm candy to be brought to the ring and cheer on my man in this art imitating life love triangle we were airing on the show. I didn't mind so much. With no time for a title feud of my own it extended my title reign well past when I was supposed to drop the belt back to Angel. She was pissed of course, but what else is new? My outfit got a little skimpier as a result, I didn't mind that either. The best part was I got to be seen with Luke in public now, after all, it was part of the angle, and I got to nurse his bruises every week. Eventually the storyline wrapped up, Luke won his belt back, I dropped mine, and when his contract lapsed Aki didn't re-sign. He went on to be a third stringer in some Japanese fed about half the size of the NDW. "I'm gonna beat you at this one of these days!" I called as I desperately mashed the buttons on the controller. "Never happen," Cass assured me. Violet, Cassidy, and I were sitting on the couch playing a three-way- dance match on the new NDW video game, each playing as ourselves, and Cassidy was thrashing us. I wasn't so sure about my character model, nor was I sure about the jiggle physics. Yeah the girls got a little play, but they weren't made of tapioca. "I think we should double team her," Vie suggested. "Deal," I agreed. "Oh no you don't!" Cassidy cried. It was then we heard a small engine pull up outside, followed by a knock at the bus door. "Pause," I announced and got up to check the door. Outside was a guy in a crew polo and a golf cart filled with numbered bags. "Fan mail ladies," he announced, and handed off one of the bags to me. "Thanks Ned," I said, to which he tipped his imaginary hat and got back in his cart. I walked back to the couch to hear the TV announce "One... Two... Three. Winner!" "Hey! I said 'pause.'" I insisted. "You snooze you lose," rebutted Cass as she crossed her hands behind her head. "I tried to stop her," Violet pouted. "Anyway, fan mail," I said sitting down and unstringing the mail bag. It was mostly little white envelopes, but there was the occasional small package and other thing. We had a lot of home made nick-nacks sitting around. We sifted through it, grabbing out whatever and passing along what didn't have our names on it. We'd done it a thousand times. "This one's for you," said Violet passing me a tall manila envelope. "Sweet, somebody sent me a new cowgirl hat," she cheered. "You wash that thing before you put it on your head," Cassidy insisted. I looked at the mailing address on the envelope. It was for me alright. 'Sam Starr' was written right there. I turned it over and my heart jumped up into my throat. "Oh my God," I croaked. "Oh dear Lord," Cassidy added as she looked down on it. In big black permanent marker was scrawled the words 'To Casey Blaze.' I opened it up and inside was a stack of photos, photos of me, both versions of me. There were foggy close ups of my tattoo, original and altered. The most damning thing though was a set of xeroxed court documents, concerning James' trial. They were public record, and they proved who I was, at least that Casey Blaze had been transformed. It hadn't occurred to me that sooner or later some law nerd/wrestling fan would put two and two together. "Oh Jesus," I moaned. *** "Well what does he want?" Luke asked. "He wants money," I answered directly. "It's right here in his note, he wants cash every time I wrestle, or he sends these to the tabloids. I'm surprised the little shit didn't ask for tickets," We were standing behind his bus, near the arena fence where nobody could see us. "I've got one month to start paying." "Well what are you going to do?" he asked. "I was kinda hoping you'd have an idea Babe." He pulled me in and hugged my back to his chest. "You gonna pay it? I can help if you need..." "No," I said. "It's not that, it's not the money... I just didn't realize how vulnerable I was, how out in the open this is. I can pay off one twerp sure, but what happens the next time somebody figures it out and has the same idea?" "You don't know that'll happen," he reassured me. "It'll happen," I insisted. "Only next time he might not give me the option, he might just want the attention and go straight to some magazine or write a blog about it." "I'll still love you," he squeezed me. "I'll love you no matter what. I just don't want to see you sad." "You really do, don't you?" I said. "You will, even if people know who I am?" "I know who you are Love," he said. "I don't care who or what you used to be, or who else knows, or if they care. I know who you ARE." "Hmm..." I pondered. "I want to run something by you." *** "Mike," I called as I barged into his office uninvited. "What the hell do you want?" he demanded, looking up from his desk, a sandwich in his hands. "I need a promo tonight, in the ring, about ten minutes," I explained. "You don't dictate the schedule," he said. "That's my job." "I did your romance triangle angle," I reminded him. "Yeah, and that was a pain in my ass," he claimed. "A pain in your ass that saw a two point bump in the TV ratings," I corrected. "I guarantee you this promo will have the most hits on the website of anything on there. If not, I'll work the next month for free, no gate on the pay-per-view either." "What are you on about?" he asked, cautious curiosity showing through. "You like the ponies Mike," I said. "Bet on this one." "You're gonna have to give me more," he insisted. "Okay Mike, I didn't want to play this card," I sung. "My contract guarantees me a certain amount of air-time. It would be a shame if those numbers didn't quite add up." "You wouldn't dare," he warned. "Test me," I said. *** I knocked on the door of the studio and an AV tech opened it up. "Oh hey Sam," he said. "What's up?" "I need to talk to Walter," I answered. "And a rush job on a tape." *** My music hit over the loudspeaker, and I popped through the curtain to a roaring cheer. I walked down the ramp with deliberate purpose, not cheerful, or skipping, or high-fiving as was my usual MO. I already had a microphone in my hand. I climbed up into the middle of the ring and gave a cue to kill the music. I looked out over the crowd, they were mostly hushed, save for the occasional blurb of "we love you" or a whistle. In ring promos were nothing new, nothing special, they had no idea. "How are you doing tonight!?" I requested into the mic. Only an indecipherable thunder came back. "Our general manager has graciously given me time to speak tonight, because I have something very important to announce. But first I want to tell you what kind of a wonderful audience you are, and thank you for that warm reception. Not just you here tonight, but everybody watching at home as well. You've watched me wrestle, and I've felt your love, and I want to thank you for that too. I've tried my best to put on a good show for you folks, and I want you to know, no matter what happens from now on, I love you." "We love you too!" some faceless voice echoed out from the masses. "You all know, that since I've been a part of this company, I've tried to push the women's division to new heights. And I think I've done that. I've fought for you, I've sweated for you, I've bled for you, and you all turned out for me in return! What's my name!?" "Sam Starr!" they called, barely recognizable. "My name... is Casey Blake," I said seriously. They suddenly fell quiet save for a low rumble of confusion. "That's a shoot name that some of you might recognize as..." I pointed to the videotron above the entrance ramp, Walter in his studio took the cue, and my old music and video package played. "Casey... Blaze," I let the soundtrack play through and gave the audience time to gather themselves. "One year ago, you were told that Casey Blaze was forced to retire due to a previously undiagnosed, congenital heart defect," A greatest hits rip of some of my old performances played silently over the videotron. "That was a cover story. Casey... I was dosed, without my knowledge, with a powerful, irreversible bio-mod, that altered my sex," I threw my arms out to the side and spun slowly in place. A din of unsure disarray rumbled through the crowd. "The person who did it, was charged, and convicted, and because of that, an unscrupulous individual," I turned and looked squarely into the television hard-cam. "you know who you are, was able to dig up documentation to prove it," I turned back to the live audience. "He tried to blackmail me," I announced matter-of-factly. "He was so sure, you'd hate me for what I was, and what had happened to me, that I'd be so scared, I'd do whatever he wanted. Well, I'm getting out in front of it," I turned back to the hard-cam. "Deal with it scooter. I believe in all of you enough to know you won't turn your backs on me because I was the victim of a crime," I spun back to the crowd and looked high, up into the nose-bleeds. "I had a hell of an adventure. I learned new things, made new friends... I fell in love... for the first time in my life," I was croaking now, tears were slipping down my face. "And I wouldn't change a minute of it. My only regret, is that I was so unsure before, so unsure of you, that I decided to deceive you instead of coming out with this earlier. Hate me for lying, hate me for who I used to be..." I held out my arms and spun again. "but what you see now IS who I am. Just call me Casey. Thank you," I dropped the microphone, low at my knee, and the crowd cheered. It wasn't my loudest pop by a long shot, there were a lot of confused, silent people, and a few boos, but not as many as you might think. Of course my matches saw a drop in the TV ratings for a while, not much, but enough that Mike wanted to fire me for it. It was a good thing he couldn't. After a while though the whole thing created enough good publicity with the liberal media that it more than made up for a few lost ticket sales and a temporary ratings lull in the middle of the show. I was their darling, and what Nigel said to me all those months ago was true, now that it was out, I was untouchable. Nobody wanted their cars on fire. Poor Lucas I think got it worse than I did. Being my lover was a big hit to his reputation, but as his name would imply, he powered through and pretty soon people were tired of giving him shit for it. He ignored them. It was the smartest thing he could have done. There's nothing that turns off attention seekers faster than getting no attention. The internet jokers held on to both of us for a while longer, but eventually they moved on to other things. We were free to live our lives and rebuild our careers. Plus, I got to use the cross-face again. ********* "Okay, you can look," announced Violet before I pulled my hands away from my eyes and saw my reflection in the mirror. "My God, what have you done to it?" I asked. "I feathered it," she said. "It looks so much nicer now that you've finally grown it out. My hair was made into these big, red swoops that branched out around my neck, and an additional leaf of if covered my left eye. "I've got no depth perception like this," I said. "It's really impractical." "That part of you will always be a man," said Cassidy. "Please don't call me that," I told her. Then I spun out in front of her, the hem of my long white gown sweeping across the floor. "Does this look like a man to you?" "Not with them titties," she answered. I looked down and tugged at my bodice. "It does kinda create a boob shelf doesn't it?" I pondered. "Too late to worry about that now Girl," said Cassidy. "People are already waiting on you." "It's my prerogative to make them wait," I said. "This has to be perfect." "Hey you guys, the people are getting impatient out here," said Dawn as she poked her head in through the door. "I told you," said Cassidy. "You guys go ahead," I said. "I'll be there in just a minute. I have to come out last anyway." "Just don't make us wait," Cassidy insisted as she lifted the hem of her pastel blue dress off the floor and walked outside. "Hey, veil," I snapped my fingers at Violet as she followed. "Oh right," she said, and she hurried to a little round table in the corner of the room. There she produced a headband from it. She handed it to me and headed for the door adding "Don't forget to bring the bouquet. It's right there by the mirror." I affixed the headband to my crown and threw the attached shroud back over my neck. I took a deep breath, steeled myself, took one final look, picked up the bundle of flowers, and headed for the door. I exited into the foyer where I was met by a dark haired woman - Luke's cousin Mona, and her little girl. "Are you ready?" Mona asked. "As I'll ever be," I said and peeked around the corner, where I saw several rows of filled seats. "I'm not as nervous in front of 50,000 people as I am in front of 50," I sighed. "Okay, let's get this show on the road." "Okay Sweetie," Mona said taking a knee in front of the little girl. "You know what to do right?" The girl nodded. "Okay, don't go until the music plays. I'll be right there," Mona stepped around the corner, and I saw her give a thumbs up signal across the room and then duck into the back row of seats. At that organ music began to play. The little girl looked up at me, and I tipped my head in the direction of the adjacent hall. She picked up her little basket and headed in. I took one last deep breath, pulled the veil down over my head and followed. I held the flowers closely in front of myself and walked slowly and deliberately to the music, stepping over the carpet of flower petals the child left in front of me. On either side of me were rows of seats, one side more full than the other, I didn't have much in the way of family. In front of me were eight standing people, four well dressed men, three of which I barely knew, the other a very hansom human mountain hardly contained within a rented tuxedo, across from them were Cass, Vie, and Dawn, all dressed in matching pastel blues, and in the middle was a man in black vestments. I made my way down the aisle and stood right in front of Lucas. Even through my veil I could see his cheek subtly quivering. "Don't crack up on me now big guy," I whispered. "Ladies and Gentlemen," began the man in black. "we are gathered here today to see these two wedded in holy matrimony. If there are any among you who have reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace." Luke scanned the room giving his most threatening glare, which coaxed out a subdued chuckle from the witnesses. "Then let us proceed," said the man in black. "Do you, Lucas Darrow, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in holy matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to keep her, and comfort her, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?" "I do," Luke croaked. "And do you, Casey Blake, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in holy matrimony, to love him, to honor him, to keep him, and comfort him, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?" "I do," I said. "Then repeat after me. I, Lucas, take you Casey, to be my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, 'till death do us part." Luke choked it out after each segment. Big baby. "I Casey, take you Lucas, to be my husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better and for worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, 'till death do us part." I repeated it. "Please exchange the rings." Luke took a small golden band from a nearby pillowed podium and recited. "I give you this ring as a pledge and token of our constant faith and love," and he slipped it onto my finger. I took the larger ring and repeated. "I give you this ring as a pledge and token of our constant faith and love," and I put it on his finger to stay. "Then by the authority vested in me by the Church, the state, and our Lord God, I pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." Luke lifted the cover from my face, looked down at me for a moment, and then stooped, and kissed me. We got quite a pop from the audience for that spot. That was followed by a lot of congratulating and drinking, and cutting of a cake, which I had to force the big lug to eat. Fortunately Jerry was there to assure him it was okay. Nigel seemed the most torn up out of everyone, that is until I told him this didn't mean I would stop wrestling. I would still go by Casey Blaze in the ring, and Luke and I would just tape our fingers, because despite not depicting ourselves as married on the show, we weren't taking off those rings ever again. I did make sure to demand he negotiate a stipulation be added to my contract for no more romantic angles though. We took our pictures and danced the rest of the day away, and for as amazingly graceful as he is in the ring, Luke sure had two left feet on the dance floor. I did better in heels, and he was leading. At the end of the reception one of the guys present did the job and threw himself on my garter, and on the other end I created a hell of a brawl when I tossed the bouquet. Violet won that rumble. ********* I came out of the bathroom wearing a set of Calvin Klein underwear riding up my butt and barely holding in my boobs, my head was wrapped up in a towel. I saw Luke lying on the bed in nothing but his boxers watching the TV. "What happened to those briefs I got you?" I questioned him. "They were a little tight on me," he said as he looked over. "I know," I said. "that's why I bought them for you," I climbed up onto the bed and straddled his stomach, I lifted my hands up and grabbed the towel. "You ready for this? You know this wasn't my idea?" "I know, Gabby insisted on it," he said. "Let's see it." "Ta-da!" I pulled the towel away and golden locks cascaded down around my shoulders, bright pink streaks scattered here and there. "Did I do a good job? It took me forever to grow this out I'd hate to ruin it." He looked up at me like a starving man looks at a t-bone steak, and I suddenly felt something firm press against my butt. "You look amazing," he said, and he pulled me down into a kiss. "Of course, maybe I'm the wrong person to judge. You could shave bald and glue a taxidermied rat to your head and I'd still think you were beautiful." "Oh, that's sweet," I mocked. Then I looked up at the mirror in the headboard, and poofed my hair a little. It did look okay, really novel in how different it was. "Mom called again today," he said. "Oh, I'll never guess what she wanted," I said, still looking myself over. "She wanted to know when we were going to give her a grandchild," we both said at once. I more jeeringly than he. "You tell her I worked too hard for these abs to give them up just yet," I pointed to my stomach and flexed my own little washboard. "POW! Besides, I've still got a few more years in the ring first. And speaking of... I got a call of my own yesterday..." "Oh yeah?" he said. "About what?" "Oh, about someone becoming a two time Ladies Wrestling Champion next month," I answered coyly. "That's great!" he said cheerfully. "Congratulations, you deserve it more than anyone." "Maybe," I said. "But I accepted with the condition that Cassidy get a title match, and be considered to win sometime in the future." "That was really nice of you. She deserves it too." "Oh, and about that other thing we were just talking about..." I leaned over him, running my hands over his broad chest, and I pecked him on the lips. "One day Babe, I promise." *** I made one last look over of my gear as Angel's music played. My star pattern boots were laced, my pink wrist tape was snug, my two piece vinyl top and trunks weren't riding up too much. I checked my hair one last time in a nearby hanging mirror. "Nervous?" asked Cassidy. "This ain't my first rodeo," I told her. "Good. Don't mess this up because I want that title match you promised," she declared. "Don't sweat it, I'm a pro. I got this far didn't I?" "On a second attempt," she said. "I guess so," I conceded. "But I'm gonna give it my best," My music hit, I shook loose one last time, I kissed my left index finger and pressed it to my lucky butterfly tattoo, and I ripped open the curtain. The crowd went wild. ********* Epilogue I knelt against the ring apron looking up as the girls took turns running the ropes. "Okay Mandy," I said. "Make sure you hit the ropes square, you're coming in too sideways when you make contact. I don't want you hurting yourself. Look at what Wednesday is doing." "Yes Coach," Mandy huffed. Wednesday hit the ropes flush. "See," I said. "see how both her shoulder blades are hitting at the same time? I want you to do it like that. Okay, that's it for the day girls, I gotta lock up," I announced as I pushed my way back to my feet. "I want you all to practice your promos for an hour in the mirror tonight, and I'll see you next week. In the meantime remember..." "Always work the left," they sang in unison. "That's right," I waddled away from the ring, readjusting the scrunchie around my red again ponytail as I went. I stepped into my office and looked at the five replica belts hanging on the wall. Luke had gotten me one for each of my title reigns. I picked up my purse and my keys and turned towards the door, where Wednesday stood with a piece of paper in her hand. "Is that what I think it is?" I asked. She skipped over, threw her arms around me, and hugged me. "I got accepted by CCE!" she cheered. "Hey, congratulations!" I said, holding her at arms length. "That's a good fed. You work as hard over there as you do in this gym and you'll be working for NDW in no time." "I didn't think I'd make it," she almost cried. "Hey, you're my golden girl," I told her. "I don't know what I'M gonna do without YOU around to show the other girls the ropes for me. For the next few months anyway," I put my hand on my belly and gently tapped the 'Baby on Board' T-shirt I was wearing. "You're the best Mrs. Darrow," she said. "Girls come from all around to learn from you, you've got plenty to pick from." "Hey, I'll tell you what," I turned to my desk and quickly scrawled a phone number on a piece of paper. "You give this guy a call," I handed it to her. "His name is Nigel Cullen, he has all the contacts with the big feds, you tell him I sent you, and he'll take you to the top. And if he gives you any trouble, you just call me, and I'll sort him out." "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she hopped in place. "Oh! I totally forgot to ask!" "Yeah?" "I uh... I kinda never settled on a finishing move," she said. "I was wondering... would you mind if I... used the cross-face?" My mouth curled into an involuntary grin. "It's yours." "Oh my Gawd, thank you so much! I've got to go tell everybody!" she hugged me again. "Not so tight, I submit, I submit," I cried. She kissed me on the cheek and then ran out of my office without another word. I gathered my things, hit the breakers, locked the doors, got into my SUV, plugged in my phone, and started the engine. I was barely on my way when the phone rang. "Answer Phone," I pronounced. "Hey there," came a beautiful manly voice on the other end. "What's up Love?" I said. "Guess who's getting to go home for a couple of weeks?" Luke asked. "Umm... Echelon," I teased. "Echelon is a punk with a lot of style and no substance," he said. "Typical green indy kid," I said. "So when are you coming in?" "Two more days," he answered. I squealed like an excited teenager. The second trimester libido bump had me starving. "I can't wait to see how big you've gotten," he added. "I won't disappoint you," I said, again tapping my belly. "I was thinking we can call him Blake, after you," he said. "I hate to burst your bubble Love, but it's a girl," I informed him. "You sure?" he questioned. "Yes I'm sure. I told you, it's a super-power gynomorphs have." "I thought you were kidding," he said. "What did I predict with the Three-Count?" I quizzed. "Two boys and a girl," he answered. "And what did I have?" "Two boys and a girl," he repeated. "See?" I bragged. "Fool-proof. But I think Blake is a sweet name for a girl." "Yeah? You like it?" "I do," I said. "Hey, I gotta go Babe, I'll see you in a couple. Tell the Three-Count I love 'em." "Can't wait Love; will do. Good-bye." "Bye-bye," he said, and the call disconnected. I pulled up to the house, put my phone in my purse, and struggled out of the car. I went in through the front door and put my purse aside. "Trina, I'm home!" I called. "Shush!" she came around the corner wagging her finger. "Quiet. They just went down." "Sorry," I whispered. "Where they any trouble?" I asked. "Little Samantha was an angel," she said, tying up her straight black hair. "But the boys are terrors." "Wait until they're older," I said. "Did last week's payment go through alright?" "Yes Ms. Casey," she said. "Thank you very much Trina, you're off the clock now." "Thank you Ms. Casey," she said, and she walked past me, grabbed her coat and purse, and went out the front door. I walked through the house and found a door cracked to a dark room. I stepped in quietly to the sound of low chimes and visions of circus animals dancing slowly across the darkened walls in the form of spinning lights. I crept over to the little wooden barred box and peeked inside. "Hey CJ, hey LJ, hey Sammi. Mommy's home," I whispered. There was my favorite Three-Count of all time, Casey Junior, Lucas Junior, and Little Samantha. The boys were wearing matching blue jumpers, and Sammi wearing a frilly pink number with a unicorn adorned diaper underneath. They say, and they claim to not know why, that gynomorphs have a slightly higher rate of multiple births. That looked to be the case with me and the Three-Count. Although, it may have been an effect of the fertility pills I was taking at the time. CJ began to moan and suck at air, and I realized he'd lost his pacifier. "Shush, shush," I said and fed it back to him. "Don't wake up your brother and sister," They looked so much like their daddy. It was a funny thought given how soft and pudgy they were, but everybody said so. Not content with three, Luke put another one in me almost as soon as we could. With the three brunettes, this time I was gonna try to get my ginger. "Good night my future tag-team champs, my future ladies' champ. Mommy and Daddy love you," I said and gently pulled a blanket over them. I reached over and turned up the baby-monitor, and carried the other end into the bathroom while I showered. It took, as usual, far too long to dry and brush my hair, but Lucas liked it so I was happy to put up with it. I tossed on a frilly pink night-gown, went to the kitchen, and made dinner for myself. When I was done I went back to my bedroom, threw open the covers, and lay down for the night. I pulled up the blankets, and fell asleep counting the hours until Luke came home, and I began to dream of the road that had brought me here. THE END