Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Josue
Living with my mentee had definitely been an adjustment. You just had to say goodbye to peace, because your fighter being a woman just made it worse. I was waking up to bras air drying on door knobs, all her fucking makeup and nail polish scattered across my bathroom sink.
Don’t even get me started on the lingering smell of lavender all over my gym. I couldn’t go anywhere in the place without being reminded that she lived here.
But ?cono! I'd be lying if I couldn't admit how drop dead fucking sexy she was.
I hadn't even been into younger women. They were attractive, sure, but with what I was working with, I’d wear a younger woman out.
A part of it was because they were too people pleasing.
I liked a woman who told me no every once in a while, and called me out on my shit.
The younger they were, the more malleable they were, and as someone who valued the feeling of winning a challenging fight, there was a power in conquering what was harder to control.
Sierra had me questioning my rule against pursuing fighters.
I never indulged because I didn't believe in eating where I shit, but that had been more of a rival thing.
As a fighter, you were always so hyper focused on your journey, that it was hard to be supportive of someone else's. But now that I didn't compete anymore, I questioned how many beautiful and talented women had slipped through my fingertips.
I still couldn't believe how hard I'd gotten the first time she held me in a guard, or how I almost came on myself when she punched me.
The more I let it consume me, the more I realized the desire wouldn't subside until I beat my dick like I was mad at it.
Was that shit fucked up to be sexually attracted to that kind of rush?
Maybe I was confused, or maybe I was sick in the head.
All I knew is my impulsion only got worse in the presence of a domineering woman.
It didn't help that she walked around the house with her damn near ass out, looking thicker than some cake batter.
I could think of a few places on her I'd love to see my batter land. Fuck, I needed some fucking restraint. Today we’d train and cut weight, and I couldn't be walking around all googly eyed like I'd never seen a woman with a nice body before.
Cutting weight was one of the hardest things to partake in getting ready for in a fight.
I told myself that with anyone I ever mentored, I’d never let them go through that shit alone.
Only issue was that she was so new to it, and she started with half the clothes a seasoned fighter would have worn.
It was hard not to admire her mix of soft and hard curves as she laid down on her stomach, bare legs and barely covered ass cheeks peeking out from her shorts.
“How you doing over there, Medina? ?‘Ta bien*? She sighed dramatically, her next words filled with pain and exhaustion.
“I am in misery. It feels like I've been doing this for weeks now. How long do I have to keep sweating out my locs for? I've been wearing headbands now for a week to cover up that I need a re-twist.
“Just until I get you under one thirty-five. We do that, and you meet your weigh in and after that, I promise you can eat whatever you want.” She laughed, more in a sarcastic way that had no life or energy to lighten the mood.
“When that happens, I don't know what I'll eat. I could go for a nice loaded lamb burger, a basket full of fries, and top it off with some well-seasoned mozz sticks. Mmm…that sounds so fucking good right now,” she trailed it off, as I turned to her to make sure she wasn't dying of exhaustion.
“Yeah, well, I could make you a healthier version. Use veal instead of lamb. Switch out the white potatoes for sweet. Throw it in the air fryer. ?Te lo juro!* You won't even miss it the old way.” She grumbled, lifting her feet up by the tips of her toes, stretching out the soles of her feet.
“You don't know how hard it is to be at work smelling all that fried food. You know in those cartoons where the character is being lifted in the air by the smell of food. It be like that sometimes,” she joked, as I clasped my palm along the stretch of her ankle.
“If you listen to me and prepare for this fight the right way, you won't even need that dead-end waitress job. While you're not paying rent, what do you need it for? It takes up too much of your time, and in the hours you spend there, you should be resting more.”
“Coach, I know I need to train, but just because you're not charging me to stay at your place doesn't mean I don't need money.”
“Well, what if I can get you what you make in two months waitressing with your first fight?” She flipped around, resting her upper body on the weight of her forearms, her eyes meeting mine with skepticism.
“Why would you go through all that trouble for me?” she asked, activating my annoyance.
“First off, you got to win first. And second, it's because I don't want you to feel tempted to skip out on training.
The body needs rest in between, and if you're working your body to the bone, it's going to affect how you sleep.
If you have trouble sleeping, it's going to affect how your body builds muscle.
Plus, there's something else I'd rather you be spending your time on instead.”
***
When we got back home, I led her to my study, taking a wrapped gift from my desk and handing it to her.
“Wait, you wrapped it?” she questioned, her eyes big and bright. I’ve never been one to focus on the beauty of a woman's eyes, but for some fucked up reason, the way she was looking at me right now drove me crazy. I could have done anything for her with the way she was looking at me right now.
“Any idiot could use wrapping paper. Stop making it a big deal that I know how to wrap a box,” I scolded, as she turned it upside down in her hands, her brows furrowing at the rattling from inside.
“What is it?”
“?Mira*! You're not gonna know if you don't open it,” I scoffed, leading her to tear away the gifts wrapping as it fell to the floor. Her face soured, thoroughly reading the story on the box.
“You bought me a Lego set? What exactly do you want me to do with this?” I swear, the questions this one asked grew a permanent vein at the side of my neck.
“It's Legos. What do you mean what do you do with it? It's fun. I want you to put it together. In fact, when you quit that job, I want you to spend at least an hour a day on it,” I instructed, and as predicted, she was a treasure trove full of questions.
“But why?”
“I'll tell you when you put it together. Look a little livelier. I asked the lady at the store which one to get you and she told me girls love everything Beauty and the Beast. Plus, that shit cost me a grand. Twelve-year old me would have loved a set like this. Hell, you walk into any board game cafe and you get like five people lining up to suck you off just at a chance to try it first. For once, let the creative side of your mind go elsewhere,” I said, leaving her sitting there, as I excused myself into the hallway.
“Wait,” she called after me, the box of Legos still in her hand.
“You still haven't told me who I'll be fighting.” Approaching her, I flicked at her hoodie before throwing her a few shadow punches.
“Show me you're ready, and I'll give you her name,” I faked a smile, her eyes rolling as she headed towards her bedroom.
“Dealing with you and your ways is so frustrating.” She stormed off and she slammed the door behind her.
“Yeah, and you hanging your damp fuckin’ bras and panties all around the house is frustrating too, but you ain’t hear me complaining?” She opened the door to peek her head out, determined to get the last word.
“For your information, drying them in the dryer messes up the underwire and heat tears away at the lace. Hmph!” She said slamming the door again.
“Yeah, okay. If I wanted to be staring at bras and panties all day, I’d apply at Victoria’s Secret.” I argued behind her closed door. “And don’t stay up all night, try to get some sleep.”
The next session I let her off easy. An hour on a bag.
Work on some floor combos and her choice of whatever she wanted with conditioning.
I had to give her props. Her speed, stamina, and strength were improving, so this time I left her unsupervised while I actually got some work done in the office.
In just a few weeks, she’d come far. The girl might actually be ready for her upcoming fight.
I had to brace myself for what that would feel like, cheering her on but praying that my fighter didn't get hurt.
There was a reason I didn't take on women, and as misogynist as it was, I didn't think women should be fighting.
Honestly, I didn't think anyone should be putting their hands on a woman, but I could understand the need to.
Men were supposed to be protectors, but mostly it was other men women needed most protection from.
That Medina was a tough cookie, but was it so wrong that I wasn't looking forward to seeing her get roughed up?
Calmáte*, Josue! No es tu mamá*. She's built of tough stuff.
It was too late not to believe in her now.
After balancing this week's expenses, I sought out Sierra, only to find her shooting the shit with Héctor.
They weren't doing anything but dancing.
Him hyping her up at seeing her change in muscle tone.
But I don't know, I may have been a little jealous.
What did it matter that she got on with other men?
It wasn't like she was my girl or something.
The kid was free to flirt with whomever she wanted.
Hell, maybe the two of them had more in common.
Or maybe she was just more into Black guys.
I wasn't kidding myself with how I presented to the world as a Blanquito*, or at least now. Growing up Cuban and from the hood, that identity felt so far removed. Hell, where was that whiteness anytime I got stopped and frisked just because I fit the description as a teenager?
Either way, I never felt claim over women because we shared the same skin tone or features. I messed with whoever I was attracted to, and that would always include the woman I was in close proximity to, but especially Morenas* and Latinas.
Why was I even thinking about this shit? She was my fighter, and I was her coach. Approaching them mid conversation, I tried not to look bitter that she never laughed like that with me.
“Hey, am I interrupting something?” Héctor laughed, giving her a playful shove on her shoulder.
“Nah, we just jostling. You good, you can have your fighter back,” he teased, excusing us as Sierra collected her giggling down to a calm.
“You good Medina, you done flirting?” Her face soured, her hands crossing over her chest.
“What? I wasn't flirting. If you must know, nosy!
Héctor was asking me about Culture fest. It's an annual festival celebrating the diaspora. He was going this year and I wanted to know what the vibe was like,” she giggled, composing herself as she clasped her hands behind her back.
I had to stop thinking of her as pretty because it was really shouldn't have bothered me this much that it looked like she was flirting.
“Anyways, you’ll be happy to know that with how well you did today, you earned the name of the girl you're fighting. Her name is Natasha Hendricks. She's a white girl from Ohio. The drive’s about 8 hours so make sure you stretch your legs that day because I hate making a lot of stops. Only issue you’ll have, is people love her.
She's gonna have a built-in audience. They'll be cheering for her and booing for you.
Think you'll be ready for that?” She took a deep inhale, hands on her hips.
“I mean, I'm the underdog, right? I've been doing all this training. It's now or never.”
Gripping her shoulders, I led her to the sauna room, her tolerance for cutting weight distractedly improving.
“You do your best, and it'll be a decent fight. She's seasoned. The girl has had eight wins. If you beat her, it'll fast track you into some even bigger fights.” She sat down, pulling up her feet to lie across the chair.
“What do you think it’ll take to beat her?
” Meeting her at her feet, she lifted her leg up, asking if I could help with some deeper stretches.
With her ankle hugging my shoulder, all I could fucking think about was how deep I had to go to get her to yell out papi.
This attraction to her was so unhealthy, but thank Dios* she was so focused.
I never had to worry about us blurring that line.
“I’ve spent a few nights watching all of her fights.
She's taller than you, and her reach is longer because of that.
Her defense is what you'll be really up against. She's gonna use her extension to keep you away.
You're gonna have to fight inside the pocket, it's high risk, but it's high reward, and you have the better balance for takedowns, especially with the ankle hooks.
Your lower body has the power. We're gonna go over as many techniques before then.
The best thing I can tell you is to protect yourself.
You do that, and you may have a shot. In the cage, I can't protect you, so the more we work on floorwork, the more faith I'll have in you,” I admitted.
“Think you can do that?” She winced.
“I mean, I could try.”
“Nope! None of that try shit. Either you can or you can't.” She took a dramatic sigh.
“Fine. I promise to protect myself. Just as long as you keep the tissue massages and the deep stretches coming.”
* You good?
* I swear
* Look!
* Calm down
* It’s not your mother
* Whitey, more like to describe white or white-presenting
* Typically means dark haired, but commonly used to describe brown skin or Black women
* God