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Mark Calaway, ever the professional, wore a smooth fitted grey business suit that one would for a corporate meeting. Mark sat in the back of the arena, watching two females going at it. One much more athletic, noticeably so, then the other but it was an even match up. At least Mark thought so. His eyes lingered on each form as they danced about the ring trading blow for blow. This wasnât even the main event and that much was evident from the lackluster faces in the audience, mostly other wrestlers and trainers.
She reminded him of himself when he had first started. His large stature made him prey for the smaller, quicker types and honestly, brute strength only went so far in winning the audience. It was true. People wanted to see high fliers and nimble, agile champions instead of people who were more suited for boxing.
Markâs posture was exceptional and his movements seemed almost picture perfect and calculated as he reached up to his suit pocket and plucked out from it an arena card. Unfolding it, eyes never looking away from the match, he brought the paper upward, blocking his view only slightly, allowing him to gaze at the various names printed upon it and the match at the same time.
Marjorie
Re-folding it, he placed it snuggly into his pocket again right over his heart. She had spirit, that was for sure and her willpower, remarkable. Both opponents in the ring were worn out and gasping for breath. The two females sized each other up, earning them both time to recoup their strength and their breath before locking themselves against each other in an exhaustive display of sheer stamina. Marjorieâs sheer brute force tossed the opponent to the ropes but Marjorie didnât capitalize upon this advantage, instead, taking time to re-energize herself a little more. Mark winced, realizing that Marjorie was attempting to summon up strength that she no longer possessed. Marjorie was going off of pure adrenaline and each moment was precious and she was wasting it.
Wrestling was a demanding sport. Nothing else zapped your strength like wrestling for merely five minutes but this match was long, and lingering still. Marjorie was not giving in to her exhaustion. Not yet. She fought with a spirit most wouldnât notice, and even if they did, wouldnât be able to comprehend how or where to begin to appreciate such a display of mental and physical fortitude.
Mark clenched his large hands against his knees, tightening with each passing moment. His long grey dress pants smoothly brushing upward his lower leg, revealing his thin charcoal dress socks. For once in a very long time, he wasnât being introspective. This was as good of entertainment as being in the ring himself. Like watching a play that captivated a person, Mark was lost in a sea of wonderment. The match was nearing at a close though, each female on their last leg, so to speak. With a spear, the unnamed woman took down Marjorie with frightening ease. Mark had no idea who the opponent was, but honestly didnât care.
They locked themselves in a tangle of flesh and flailing arms, each trying desperately to earn the upper hand. Marjorie finally found herself on top the smaller framed female, pinning her, earning a slow count down from the ref.
One!
.
Two!
.
.
Not so gracefully, the opponent squeezed out from under Marjorieâs form and shoved Marjorie onto her side while promptly taking over the wrestling match, attempting her own pin.
Mark, without thinking, quickly stood up, perhaps the only one in the audience who actually felt the need to participate in the event. With his loud, deep voice, he called out âThat is some bullshit! That was a slow count ref, and you know it!â No one really expects to be heard, especially at a wrestling match but everybody heard, probably even the ref. Some people scattered in the front side seats looked back. Mark didnât back down even if he did feel a little oddly about his outburst before promptly sitting back down in his seat, his calloused hands running from his chest down to his stomach, smoothing out his business suit in a professional, cooling off manner and continued to watch the match.
One
Two
Thr –
Marjorie placed her hands under her opponent and with shocking and startling strength, bench pressed the female off of her, tossing her like a rag doll. Marjorie returned to her feet. Exhausted, breathing quick and shortly before the two females engaged in yet another competition of strength. Mark had spent so many years in the ring, he could tell the signs, the signs of lack of oxygen, the signs of adrenaline finally dissipating leaving only a tired, frail opponent. The knees wobbled, caving in as Marjorieâs opponent danced around her skillfully, and struck just behind the kneecap. Marjorie tumbled and collapsed.
This time, however, it was one sided and while Marjorie had willpower, she was not invincible and was pinned effortlessly.
Where most saw a winner and a loser. Mark saw something else. He saw the real winner. He saw potential. He saw a future. He saw someone who needed to be trained. Someone who needed to know the secrets of the profession. But most of all, Mark Calaway saw someone who was capable of learning those secrets, someone willing to, someone who wanted to. Nothing could replace, nor buy, passion. The passion he saw burning in Marjorieâs eyes. She didnât look like a loser.
—
Part of training was working the audience; much like the match last night. No tickets were sold. No one was paid for anything. It was just very, very realistic sparing. Mostly the trainees who utilize the facilities were present for the show. It didnât mean that Marjorie wasnât pissed at her loss to Miss Prissy as she called her. No one else did but her though. Marjorie, however, was not one to lose her concentration in training just over a silly, silly, silly⌠stupid loss because some ref wanted to slow count her just because Miss Prissy had big fat fake tits and âŚ. It wasnât even a real match, exactly, anyway. No, it definitely rolled off her mind like the sweat dripping off her body.
Marjorie threw a punch at the heavily pummeled punching bag, hard enough to actually make her pause from her repetitive strikes upon that heavy object. Ouch! She shook her hand off before walking over to the locker-room to sit down and rest where it was at least somewhat cold and secluded. Give her hand a little time to mend itself.
Marjorieâs hands came to her face as she leaned down into them. She was tired. She had been training all day and that fact was very evident in just how sweaty her attire was. Her figure was bulkier than most female wrestlers, not fat, per say, but her thighs were unflattering to say the least, or at least that is what sheâd say. Unlike most, she choose to train in a sports kimono bottom which loosely but firmly caressed her plump rear end and shapely legs. To add insult to injury though, they were charcoal black, making her sweat even more. Even the bottoms were earning some of the saturation from her upper bodies sweat but that fact remained concealed from her impeccable wardrobe tastes, specifically the color. It was her sleeveless shirt, however, that bespoke of her intense training. The neckline of the grey shirt was dampened darkly with liquid, along with her armpits and the sides of the shirt. Marjorie knew she didnât smell at all that well but that didnât stop her from training and perhaps she might even put on another coat of deodorant.
Quickly rubbing her hands in her hair, letting her damp hair dry out on the ground behind her, she replaced hands with a towel and just closed her eyes and sunk backward to face up toward the ceiling. It felt good, how long had she been at this? She heard boots against the locker room floor. They echoed, making their approach impossible to not notice. It must have been one of the big girls, she thought in passing before her eye curiously opened, just to see who it was. Marjorie saw a towering man before her. Built like an ox, evident even with his white t-shirt and leather biker jacket. Complete with overused, ripped blue jeans and a pair of expensive looking boots, Marjorie couldnât help but linger her now widened eyes along his mustache and beard, slightly unkempt, but still remained sculpted, like a statue.
It dawned upon Marjorie who this man was… The Under Taker. His lips slipped back, smiling widely as he noticed her realization. Chuckling under his breathe, he walked nearer, sitting himself upon the bench. It was not like it changed his size or anything, even sitting down he reigned over her. Marjorie immediately felt the bench, strongly constructed; give way under his impressive weight and dip downward.
Still with her body arched backward, towel in her hair, and breasts heaving outward, Marjorieâs movements were slowed down conscientiously though. Licking her parched lips, she mustered up her best smile, which just seemed awkward in the already awkward situation. With head tilted to look over, and upward at the Undertaker, she finally spoke.
âHeyâŚI think you are in the wrong locker roomâŚNo, the wrong stadium.â Pausing, she flashed an amused smile. âand the wrong state to boot.â Marjorie had grown up watching him. As he grew, she grew also. His dreams realized became her dreams unrealized yet pursued to the best of her ability. He always retained his cool, savvy natured self though, which Marjorie knew all to well.
âYouâre Marjorie, right?â Mark asked confidently.
âYes?â Marjorie was befuddled but inquisitive.
âThen I am definitely in the right locker room.â He thinks for a minute. âBut the right stadium,â Mark retorted charismatically. âand the correct state, actually.â Mark flashed a smile, his teeth exceptionally white and near perfect.
âOkay. But why are you here?â She laughed, looking away, trying to act natural which came across as anything but.
âFor you, of course, Kiddo.â Mark took his hand and playfully rubbed it into her damp hair. It was oddly soothing to have someone else do it, but it didnât diminish the fact that she was shocked how much of her scalp he could palm with ease. Mark could definitely palm a basketball. It was a playful rub before he pulled back his intruding hand, but not because of some notion he was invading her private space, but because it seemed natural to pull it away at that moment.
Marjorie couldnât help but laugh playfully and smile herself, even blush a little. But she couldnât find words. Her mind was foggy with confusion. The Under Taker. Here⌠Why? For her? That just didnât make sense.
âI get this a lot you know. But the first thing you have to remember in wrestling is that it is a business. You have to keep your wit about you in the ring and out of it, especially in the locker room. The first thing I tell anyone back here is that I am just a person, just like you. You know. I got different interests; I do other things, right, but still, the same. See what I am saying? I saw you last night and you looked very⌠soulful. Talentedâ
Finally she found her footing and returned the back and forth. âThat is flattering⌠I just donât really know what to say. I had an idea when you said you were looking for me but⌠to hear it. It feelsâŚâ Marjorie chuckled again and looked upward into the Undertakers eyes, it took a lot to be able to look into the eyes of a legend. âWhat did you want, Mr. Calaway?â
âMark, please.â
That wasnât too business likeâŚ
âMark. Oh, my name is Marjorie, not âkiddoââ She was friendly, even as she did the quotations with her fingers.
âYou got some natural raw talent. You got the moves, you definitely got the charisma. Figured there might be something I can do to help you out on, like, the fundamental parts of your training. It could help out, never know. But really, it will help.â
Markâs body being as large framed as it was, Marjorie didnât even notice the water bottle, rather canteen, on his other side which he brought toward her. Mark handed it to Marjorie who quizzically grabbed it, their hands brushing together. Electricity that only grew stronger by the waters conductivity.
âGotta keep you hydrated. Looks like you need it, most your fluids are on the floor and around the gym. What time did you get in here at?â He spoke with authority but concern, and genuine interest, something foreign to culture now a days.
âSeven a.m. Sharp. Every Saturday.â She drank the water bottles content. She barely had time to admire the flask like canteen, which didnât much match Markâs outfit, but with him in a business suit⌠she thought trailing as she eagerly consumed the liquid, some of it spilling out of her mouth, trailing down to her neck refreshingly. The water was deliciously cold, not too cold, but cold enough. Just right.
Pulling his sleeve up, he glanced at his watch. âYou should be getting lunch right about now.â
âI ate a healthy, large breakfast. You know how it is in training.â She said after gasping for air, pausing her drinking of the water.
âFour square meals a day. No exceptions.â He said kindly yet firmly. âYou done with that?â
Marjorie nodded as he took the canteen, shook it a little to gauge how much was remaining, and held it over Marjorieâs head. âAh⌠What are youâŚâ
âAhhhâŚâ She exclaimed as he draining the remaining little bit over her head. Marjorie moved but not quick enough, earning her a nice decent bit of liquid, coolingly to run over along her head and dribble down her face, neck, and even shoulders.
âNo. Trust me, it feels good. You need it.â Mark said as he noticed her reaction to the canteen rising above her head. He even went as far as to place his other hand against the opposite side of her head and pushed it near where the stream would be. It wasnât force. It was guidance. Guidance which Marjorie couldnât, nor never would refuse.
Leaning back into the stream of water, Marjorie closed her eyes and immediately fell into a trance of relaxation. She hadnât realized how burning hot she really was. As quickly as the stream started, it ended. She took the towel and rubbed it over her hair and neck, pat drying herself but more so collecting the valuable drops of cooling liquid to smear along her body just a little longer.
âIf you canât finish what your drinking during downtime, put it in your hair. Liked it, right?â
âI do it from time to time myself, actually. But usually after training.â
âDuring the middle is the best. That much needed cool down with out the shower. You hungry? Iâm hungry. Letâs go get some lunch, we need to talk anyways. Two birds, you know?â
âSure?â She stood up, going to her locker. âLet me just get something else on.â
âNo, you look fine that way. You should be proud of what youâre wearing and what your doing. You know what most people do on Saturdays? They sit, watch television, eat unhealthy. But you, come on, look at you. You are doing something most canât, even if they tried.â He laughed, and stood up himself, walking out of the locker-room.
âI really think I should wash this sweat off before I ever think about getting lunch.â
âI just poured water on you. But if you want to get ready, who am I to stop ya, ya know? Do what you normally do. I will wait outside while you get ready.â Mark called out behind him, as if he needed to with his booming voice, while he was about to exit the locker-room, to give Marjorie time to change.
She stood there looking inside her locker. Heart racing still. It was like being in a match. What would she normally do in this situation? Itâs never happened before, so how was she supposed to know?
Marjorie choose to take a quick shower. Just enough to dampen her body with something other than sweat. And in a flash, the lovely wrestler tossed upon her voluptuous, yet athletic form a light brown shirt and some pants. She was very much an earth toned person.
—
Mark had been tossing around the punching bag with his fist. Marjorie stepped out of the locker room not five minutes later and scouted the gym area for ⌠the Undertaker. Still seemed so weird, even to think it. Not like she needed to scout or search for him though⌠he was the only mammothian sized brute in the place.
âSorry it took so long.â She called out, flashing an apologetic smile. Mark looked behind him. He returned her smile. His of understanding. That was before the punching back came back to him. And with the tremendous weight he was putting into it, it came back with twice its force. The undertaker didnât go down, but it did loosen his balance slightly, noticeably.
âQuite alright. Just⌠kinda distracted me for a moment.â Mark chuckled, playing off what had just happened. He didnât feel dumb, but most of all, he didnât look dumb. He was beyond such things, at least to Marjorie.
âWell maybe if you keep your eyes to yourself.â Marjorie chimed in, laughing a little. The scene grew awkward, yet again. The tension and odd sensations were mutually felt though neither knew it.
They both exited the building together. It was quiet. Each passing, curious, random question Marjorie could think to ask, she did but not in such a way as to be considering annoying or bothersome. All small questions though, chit chat, nothing too substantial. And Mark would, with consideration, answer in a short line of words. Marjorie blinked her eyes a little, sheâd not been out all day besides the jog here. The sun was high in the sky and scorching upon her exposed tender pale flesh. Normally, she would have brought her bike, but given she planned to be here all day, and already brought her lunch, which she would never tell Mark, she really had no use for a ride. Besides, jogging in the cool night breeze was more stress relieving to her than any other action she could possibly do. Almost any other actionâŚ
Mark walked over to his bike. It was a chopper. It was parked dominantly in front of the entrance to the gym. Surely he would have gotten a parking ticket had he remained inside much longer. Luckily for him, Marjorie was in a rush to return to the âstrangersâ side after her brief shower to figure out what exactly was going on. She wasnât THAT good, she knew that. Dedicated. Sure. Strong. Absolutely. Strong-Willed? In spades. But why her and not little miss fun bags of breasts?
âOh, oh, I forgot to mention⌠I didnât really bring my bike.â Marjorie quickly mentioned upon it dawning on her. Mark had slipped his leg over the gigantic machine and sat himself down already. A hand reached out and took Marjorieâs own. His rough, coarse fingers smoothly ran along her palm.
âDonât worry. You can ride with me.â Mark said.
Marjorie accepted the hand graciously, dexterously lifting her leg to put it over the mammothian bike. Her weight didnât even phase the bikes position, not at all. Only when Mark rested his own butt upon the bike did it to sink to the road. Mark hadnât even started the bike yet.
Finally, after a few moments delay, in which time Marjorie uncomfortably traced her hands around The Undertakers form, Mark took off his own helmet and handed it back toward her. âI was never a boy scout. Sometime I am not always prepared.â
Marjorie took the helm and clutched the bikes sides, straddling it as she closely put it on herself.
âWhat if we get into a crash?â Marjorie spoke softly and with great concern.
âFunny. Thatâs exactly what I was thinking. Donât worry about it. Look at me. This bodyâs got some wounds, but Iâm still here, arenât I?â
âOkayâŚâ Marjorie laced her fingers, once again around the body of the Under Taker, leaning her head forward to rest upon him. She would have enjoyed running her fingers along his cut chest and, just everything, but that was not in the cards. But perhaps it wasnât in the cards because she couldnât imagine doing something like that, at least not in jest. She could barely get around the bend of his sides. They, however, were equally as impressive and ripped as his stomach, or so she imagined or rather remembered from his many matches. And with her fingers stroking along the leather jacket, she could now confirm what she always knew. He was three hundred pounds of muscle, the apex of a man.
The bike was turned on and they were on their way to grab some food but all she wanted to grab was already in her dainty, sensitive digits.
Mark had his hair done in a professional ponytail that wiggled in the air. This would have been problematic had it not been for the fact that even with her behind him, she was small enough to not be harassed by flailing, yet organized hair.
Mark, the Under Taker, Mr. Calaway, whichever acted the perfect gentlemen. Though Marjorie didnât need it, he aided in her dismounting of his large bike, after all, a monstrous man like him rode something more size appropriate for himself and rather inappropriate for the dwarf which rode along with him. She wasnât going to turn down the offer of aid though. The door to the restaurant was opened by him, and he even pulled out her chair. A perfect gentlemen. Which gave Marjorie slight little butterflies that flapped in her stomach, but currently they just wouldnât stop. It was a mix of being sick and infatuated.
They sat, each looking at the other. Naturally, Marjorieâs eyes fluttered on the occasion to much more inappropriate sights to behold on such a body sculpted by what seemed like God himself. Mark offered a wide smile, his teeth as white as ivory and his charm overwhelmingly powerful. Where they ate was much more high scale then what the cashier was used to or had even been to but she took it with good measure and adapted rather easily to the new setting. This, however, did not stop her from giving wide eyes to the wonderful variety of detail to the setting of the restaurant. It was glorious, to say the least, with art, replicas naturally, of some of the most alluring designs known to man. Hell, even the architecture was appealing.
âSo what made you get into the biz in the first place, Marjorie?â Mark asked as they waited for a waiter or waitress.
âWell, MarkâŚâ The name was still so foreign as it rolled off her tongue, âI just, I donât know. I just like it, I guess.â
Mark laughed heartily, other patrons of the restaurant looked over at them. Mark didnât pay them any mind, and in turn, following suit so did Marjorie. Of course, sheâd never have noticed people looking at them had it not been for a couple sitting directly in front of her, slightly off to the side. Had the couple been directly in front of her, visibility would be less than perfect given the ever ox built undertaker that consumed and enthralled her vision. Far to enthralled by her companion, Marjorie brought her attention fully back upon Mark.
âThat is an answer you give to friends, family members, even to other wrestlers. What is the real reason, what drives you so?â He inquired more pressingly and though his words may seem penetrating into her complex psyche it didnât feel that way to her and nor did Mark intend for it to come off that way. They were off in their own little world, others be damned. In this world, decorum and conversational etiquette had no place.
âWellâŚâ Marjorie smiled, pausing a moment, her soft hand running through her ever so short yet still slightly shaggy charcoal hair for a moment, more so to gather her wit about herself as she spoke. âThat is a complex and rather complicatedâŚâ
âI didnât ask the question if I didnât want to know the real reason.â Mark spoke softly, tenderly, leaning in, his elbow on the table, a sin given the forum, and his fist jutting and supporting his chin as he gave his best look of interest.
âPeople go about living their lives, some might want to live what they are living⌠but others, they do not. They arenât very keen on where they are in their life, or just donât know how to, well, escape it. You know that feeling? I think everybody, comfortable with life or not yearn for that feeling of absolute freedomâ Marjorie tossed the conversational baton to Mark.
âAbsolutely. So, you are trying to escape your life through being in the ring?â
âNo. I like my life. Well, most of it. Some of it at least. I mean, I got cats so⌠itâs a plus. But I like the feeling of being someone else entirely. In the ring, everything is different. Everything is as clear, crystal clear, as it could ever be. There is a person and you try to pin them to the best of your ability. But⌠it isnât just that, the audience, the cheering, it is electrifying, it just makes me feel like I have never felt before and there is nothing elseâŚâ
âBut riding a motorcycle comes close to it, isnât that right?â Mark said, he spoke of knowledge far past her age but still he spoke from a mutually shared experience of what drew them to the ring in the first place.
Marjorie couldnât help but manage a small, tender smile of sincerity. âAlmost but not quite. But you understand what I am trying to say, right?â
âOf course. I knew before you said it. I just wanted to hear you say it.â He laughed again, his own large hand came to his head, rubbing it, his face turned, eyes looking at an empty table located to the side of them before he returned his gaze to the amateur wrestler.
The waiter then came, bringing water, bread, and a few other rather interesting trinkets along with him. The butter was amazing, slightly pink and orange in coloration â as odd as that sounds. Marjorie couldnât help herself but immediately take a knife and spread the butter upon the bun, eating it promptly. With a bun half stuffed in her mouth, Mark replied to the question given to him by the waiter.
âYes, we are ready to order.â
Marjorie had the look of âno we are notâ on her face, which he clearly noticed and waved away without so much as a second thought.
âI would love some lobster, anything lobster. Just bring me a big lobster and the lovely lady over there, she will take a steak, well done?âŚâ His eyebrows lifted upward, indicating that she would need to fill in the blanks herself.
âWell done.â
âWell done.â Mark mimicries the answer, though the waiter had already been jotting down the reply given to him by Marjorie. âand instead of fries, or whatever else it comes with, a potato, a few of them in fact. The girl over here needs her healthy foods. And a little bit of gravy, just enough but not too much. Use your best judgment on too much and not enough.â Mark said before the waiter inquired for beverages. âWater for the both of us. If the food you are making is actually good, we donât want to drown out the taste now do we?â Mark looked at Marjorie, as if cueing her to speak again. She questioning shook her head, Mark shook his head as well, his eyes darting to the waiter, who also smiled in kind and shook his head also.
âDefinitely not. Only the best tasting food is served.â The waiter then scurried off.
Marjorie didnât really know what to say. Her order was hijacked but it wasnât as if she was angry about it or anything, after all, she didnât mind steak and potatoes, well, if they were delicious and in a place of this nature, well, the idea of getting anything she wouldnât think was absolutely wonderful was mindboggling.
âDonât go thinking you are going to get dessert either.â He chimed in, breaking the small sized females thoughts. âBecause tonight, you and me, we are going to work on your technique. See if we canât make you a better wrestler. But enough with that talk, that is business talk, we are out at a nice restaurant, let us enjoy ourselves. Besides, I would love to know more about you. I donât really know much about you, but you know a lot about me, donât you. I am still at a disadvantage here.â
Marjorie simply smiled, nodded, and followed his suit â seemed like he was the type of man who was always in charge, but he didnât demand being a leader, Marjorie guessed that people just wanted to follow him. But with a body, and charm like his, who wouldnât freely follow him?
âI mean, unless you have something better to do?â Mark followed up, realizing he was taking a lot for granted but given his station in life, not many refused what he said, and sometimes he needed to be reminded of this fact, as much by someone else as himself. It had just become rather natural to assume certain things.
Marjorie thought wickedly fast. Work. Work. More work. Probably house cleaning. But those things came second to Mark, the Undertaker. She shrugged off her duties the moment they came to mind, which came to mind only after the fact of her unspoken agreement to his offer by shaking her head up and down. Training!? With The, THE! Undertaker. Who could refuse?
âWhyâŚ?â
There was a long silence between them both.
âI donât understandâŚâ Mark started saying before Marjorie quickly realized her mistake of conveyance.
âWhy me⌠I mean, I really am not anything that special.â Marjorie was honest to people around her but she, herself, was also cursed with being honest with herself. Not just time to time, but always. She couldnât lie to herself, what type of person could?
âLook at me, Marjorie. Look at meâŚâ Markâs words firm as his elegant body. His two fingers dominantly pointed at Marjorie and then guided her attention directly into his eyes. She could get lost in them, did for some time, listening to his words which made her body melt. âEveryone is special, they all have their own little special qualities to them, you know? Like me, If I wasnât the undertaker, would I be less special then you? No. We are all special, understand?â
âYes, Mr. C⌠Mark. But why me. I just donât understand.â
âYou got soul, kiddoâ
âMarjorie.â
âAnd feisty. You got soul and soul is something that is needed in this line of work. You donât know yet but you will be sacrificing your health, your life, everything for this job but you have that cold, solid look of determination. You have what it takes. I can see it. You can too. But you can feel it. You know you want this, and I know you know it also. I am just here to give you a helping hand, guide you on the path to a sold out stadium of cheering, wild fans.â Marjorie could definitely tell he had to pause with each sentence, constructing it in his mind before speaking it. âIt is unlike anything you have ever known.â He didnât stutter, but he definitely was walking on glass each time he spoke and Marjorie was patient, though she didnât know what to say, it felt weird⌠it sounded almost as if Mark was a fan of hers. Odd. Mutual fans of each other. Whoâd have thunk.
âI really donât know what to say. I never really thoughtâŚâ
âNaw, you donât need to think about it. You donât even need to realize it. But itâs in you. Just know I see it and if you donât see it yourself, trust me and in my opinion. My professional opinion. But I am not here to give you a pep talk or anything of that sort. Nobody loves a preacher.â
âUnless you are Christian.â
Mark laughed a little. The sensual little minx was quick minded. He used to be as quick as her but age got the better of him now a days, even then though, in his more youthful and ambitious days, Mark was quick minded, too quick though that his incessant stuttering preventing him from being who he really was.
âFine, fine, fine. You got me there. But still. Marjorie. You are good, really good, you have what makes a star a star.â The Undertaker spoke with unwavering confidence but his facial expressions gave way to him considering exactly what he had said to make sure it make sense. Mark was growing rather comfortable talking willy nilly and instead of his slow consideration prior to speaking, he would slowly consider after speaking.. âWhatâs wrong?â
Mark had realized Marjorieâs attention was divided between him and the other patrons which inhabited this unique, high scale establishment.
âI just feel so under dressedâŚâ Marjorie finally said after snapping her attention back to the goliath before her, once her eyes reconnected with him though, she slowly felt compelled not to drift her eyes away. This conversation had become too real, and she just wasnât comfortable with it, which gave her proper time, rather spare time to consider her physical conditions as much herself as the people around her. âNot that there is a problem being underdressed.â She coyly remarked, winking a little, a small grin dashing across her lips before following up with âbut not in a place like this.â
âWould you like to go some place else?â Ever the considerate one.
âWe already orderedâŚâ
âSo?â
âNo, it is fine, just getting used to it is all.â
Before she finished speaking, The Under Taker stood up from his chair and walked around the table, his hands struggling with each button, thankfully there wasnât many, but finally he stood behind her. She didnât look behind her, her eyes looking as if petrified, to the couple in front of her. No one really paid much attention to them, which was good, but still, Marjorie felt as if more than a few eyes were lingering, watching and studying her and his every movement.
âStand up, Kiddo.â Mark said, this time though, his voice lowered into a playful, knowing mannerism. He was toying with her. Not in a mean nor malicious manner though, but toying with her all the same.
Was he flirting with her? Was Mark Calaway flirting with her!? The Under Taker? THE Under Taker. No. Definitely not. She drank a little too much alcohol without having drank any. She was attention drunk, perhaps. As she stood up, he slowly draped her youthful form with the leather black biker jacket, leaving him with but an undershirt, an under shirt that clutched to his form for dear life.
Marjorieâs reactions were slow, her mind working at full speed but her mouth unable to process the word she wished she could say, wanted to say, but at the same time didnât want to say. What if⌠what if she would say something wrong. What if this business meeting / meal turned just a little too uncomfortable for the Under Taker? What then⌠what about training with him tonight. She was more worried now in this situation than she had ever been about the fellow patrons of this upper class establishment. It took all of her willpower and aged experience around guys to muster up a retort. âYou donât have a good memory, do you?â
Marjorie smiled, Mark smiled. She couldnât see it per say but she could feel it. Feel it in each stroke of his clammy palms upon her shoulder as he straightened and readjusted the article of clothing gifted to her. The jacket was large enough to dip down to her knees, or just about near that vicinity. Bending down, Mark brushed his mustache against her ear as he whispered. But, to be frank, even his whispering came out to be as imposing as his body, about the same volume as if Marjorie were regularly speaking, enhanced all the more powerfully by his sheer closeness to her lobe and ear canal.
âI have the memory of an elephant. I just like the face you make when you hear me call you kiddo.â
âYou canât even see my face.â Marjorie lowly said, her eyes fixated on the couple before her, as if looking back would make the mirage dissipate and all that would remain would be sand dunes and sand blasting soullessly through the wind. Petrified apparently wasnât a strong enough word to be used at this moment.
âDoesnât change that you are making it, now does it?â And with that, like the mirage dissipated, those warm, robust hands left her leather coated shoulders. He extended his hand outward to indicate for her to sit down again, at which time he lifted the chair clean off the floor, an inch or so, but the feat was rather⌠demonstrative of his physical capability. With her promptly up toward the table, he walked back to his own seat. Moments lingered, her teeth nervously bouncing off her lower lip but she couldnât help but feel this was kind of personal. It was ironic also, it was now Mark who was —
âLooks like now I am the one underdressed.â Mark smiled. The food had come just then. Had time flied that fast, how long had they been there. How much time was spent talking and how much in awkward silence? Was this sexual tension. Marjorie was unsure about a lot of things but she was certain that with each passing moment she was hiding more and more in her shell. Mark just then grew silent as he began to eat his meal. Even though her own meal was literally right under her nose, she could still smell his lobster. And it looked so utterly fresh. It was fantastic and though she wasnât a glutton, the strong desire to eat both meals was just in the tip of her mind.
Finally she began to eat, cutting the steak up with her keen edged knife. She cut the entire thing though, not yet even taking a piece of it to her mouth. She was intimately self-conscious. It wasnât because of Mark, not about him being a male either, it was because of The Under Taker. The legend. The hero. The person with such strong resolve and business sense to make himself a millionaire. Odd, she never gave that much though. Sheâd never even seen a millionaire, let alone eat next to one.
Throughout the meal they talked, mostly about unrelated things to business but given the situation, Marjorie was an open book â at least to most things but Mark was quick to backpedal from a topic that made her uncomfortable. They even got onto the topic of family, which Marjorie didnât volunteer much on the subject but Mark did. It was hard to imagine, The UnderTaker as a person but it was becoming easier every moment they shared a menagerie of conversational topics.
Mark talked about Texas Red, his first name he went under, and how he missed being a rookie. He spoke with sobering wisdom and perhaps even a touch of regret but he never really showed it, his words already usually well thought out.
âBut onetime as Texas Red, the debut match in WCCW, me and the other guy were oiled up with this special oil, I donât know what the hell it was but when we got into the ring, it was a disaster. It was probably the worst day of my life to tell you the truth, Marjorie. We wanted to end the match as soon as possible but even trying to make a pin was horrible. Just so slippery.â
A low throaty chuckle escaped Marjorie as she almost purred. âYou and another guy oiled up, slipping and sliding all over each other. I donât really see how horrible it could be. Maybe I just need to visualize it better to understand your pain. How did you take him down to the mat. Did you spear him, maybe grab his leg with your hands and who was on top —-â
âAlright, Alright. Take it into the bedroom.â Mark protested smirking, a little uncomfortable at the subject at hand though, perhaps not because of what happened to him oh so many years ago but what was happening right at this very moment.
âThink I might just do that.â
The trip back to the gym didnât go as smoothly as it did getting to the restaurant. Marjorieâs hand clutched around Mark who still remained underdressed, his warm leather coat, fit for a giant, wrapped around her as she was to him, or she should have been at least. Her gripped remained as loose as when they started this journey, perhaps even looser then that. She wasnât leaning with the turns and on more then one occasion she wondered if her grip was firm enough around those smooth, bulky muscles. Mark noticed this, it was hard not to, after all Mark had went off talking about how his bike was an extension of his own body when he rode. Coming upon a stoplight, his callus hands repositioned the youthful wrestlers reassuringly around him, smiling at her over his shoulder. She still needed to look up to see this. âDonât worry.â Though she couldnât connect her hands, her fingers found something to hold onto. The grooves of his very articulated muscles of his stomach.
âThat a girl!â
As time slipped by, it went unnoticed as Marjorie was enveloped by something else entirely, something that robbed time away like a thief. From the butterflies in her stomach, to the frantic, yet calming haze of fog that clouded her mind and every action she took, to the softness of the cotton material as she kneaded her fingers into the hardened abdominal muscles of Mark gave her a relaxation that sheâd never thought she would feel with or even about another person. A feeling reserved for her jogs or being on a bike, alone, wind in your hair. Turning her head, she placed her ear upon his back and despite all the noises that wiped about their forms, she only wanted to hear one thing and it was singing to her, and her alone. The gentle thud of this manâs heart.
The constant, consistent, steady vibrations of the motor between her strong legs did have something to play with just how willing she was to toss out her inhibitions enough to actual sink so far down in romantic bliss unbeknownst to Mark. But for right now, it was probably best. This entire day was intensely stimulating.
The problem was, however, that Mark was feeling this pull of attraction also. Mutually. And that went a little different for him than for the youthful scarlet latched upon his body, clutching him closely, with a death grip of softness. This was business though. Business, he reminded himself.
It had grown late. They had spent a lot of time in the restaurant just talking and the ride which they subsequently passed the gym several times over. She wasnât complaining and he didnât seem to be in a rush. Upon arriving however, it was empty, dead even. It was odd that she had forgotten that today was an event, not an event revolving around her, but still a rather sizable event for the gym so many of the regulars were doing that. Whatever that was. Where ever that was. She never really bothered with things like that. Marjorie used the gym for one thing and one thing only- training. It looked like a ghost town. Lights still remained on, just desolate.
Mark refused his jacket being handed back to him, citing he was comfortable as is and he was going to take it off anyway. âIt is going to be cold tonight, youâll need it for the ride home.â
She never forgot, but it was tucked in the back of her mind. She was here to train with him. And by the looks of him, well, he trained hard and surely she would be learning a lot. A crash course was both exciting and dismal.
Giving his jacket a final much too friendly whiff, Marjorie placed it in her locker. Air freshener unlike any she would ever have again. God, she just hoped she wasnât going to look like a moron or something. He saw something in her, He is taking time out of his excruciatingly busy and painful schedule to train her, specifically. It was a lot of pressure to say the least.
With her familiar black karate shorts and an earth toned shirt, she walked over to The Under Taker. There was silence between them. They each knew that something just wasnât right. There was something different. Much different. This wasnât just an ordinary day for either of them. Which is an easy feat for the short haired cashier, but for Mark, it was intensely unique and entrancing.
âYou ready?â
âNot really.â
âI can respect that.â He laughed as he instructed her on the stretching. Mostly the stretches consisted around her legs and thighs. Like a helpful instructor, a trainer even, he stood behind her as she laid flat on her back upon the cold mat. She wanted his jacket again. Looking upward, she could see outlined from his pants an unmistakable bulge that pressed against the tight insides of the blue jeans he wore. It wasnât hard, just⌠big. Naturally.
âBring your foot upward.â
She did so without hesitation. His palm grasped her bare foot, covered only by a brand new fresh pair of socks which sheâd put on just moments before, and he pulled inward. Marjorie tried to keep perfectly still as her foot was pulled toward his stomach, stretching it perfectly. Rinse and repeat a few times, a few to many. Much like putty, Marjorieâs legs were as limber and dexterous as a ballerina. They burnt, they tingled, but with the collection of sweat that slipped down her energetic, sleek body was a much less welcomed sensation, at least in this circumstance, which tingled just between in thighs. It helped with the pain though. Standing up was a task and walking was a feat.
âYou need to stretch more often. Okay? You do it what, as a warm up and cool down, right?â
She nodded, resting herself against the cold red brick wall of the gym, taking the newly filled silver canteen of water to her mouth, as instructed, again, by Mark.
âGotta do it in the middle also. You should stretch slightly less then you drink water for breaks. Need to keep that heart beating on down time not to mention loosening you up for the real training.â
The gavel fell. He was sadistic, she swore.
Each moment of their training was an eternity, physically for Marjorie, mentally for Mark. There was a line, invisible as it might be, that each crossed as they stretched. They were going through perfectly normal motions, tried and true in sports, and yet there was so much more to it. Try as she might, Mark didnât do them himself. She would love to have seen and even helped him stretch. As for the actual training, however, it became more complicated. Wrestling is a very hand on sportâŚ
Legs like lead, Marjorie leaned against the corner of the ring as Mark paced to and fro. He was a lumbering hulk in the significantly smaller ring then what he was accustomed to. He didnât just dwarf Marjorie, but the ring also. Sweat beaded from her damp, weighted down hair, catching themselves ever so often upon her thick, full eyebrows where its path was altered to steam down the outer part of her eye and then her cheek. Sheâd never been so tired in her life. What was he thinking about? She wasnât complaining though. The rest was good.
Deep in confliction with the situation he found himself in. Each grazing touch between them since they meet had been like electricity and often met with awkwardness and hesitation. She had spirit. It was something that he couldnât deny. Spirit and passion. He didnât know where she worked, or even if she went to college. It all seemed so trivial; heâd seen all he needed to know in her eyes late last night. It drew him here, to be with her⌠to train her. To do what no one else did for him. Times were always tough, having to flee to Japan for a few years as wrestlingâs popularity was in jeopardy, having no real friends except for the kindness of whatever league he was in at the time. Some leagues much more unfriendly then others. There were upsides to being a loner by nature, heâd always have his bike and the great outdoors â the roads just keep going on, until they donât. Thatâs when you make your own road. Your own adventure.
With canteen in hand he handed it to Marjorie, silence. He was having a moment, she could tell, what it was about, she knew not but even in her muscle searing state, she was curious but didnât inquire. âDrink up.â He said as Marjorie devoured the canteen, the drink was long, sloppy, and greedy. The water flowed from her mouth as she poured it inside, dribbling much like her sweat down her body. The coolness was refreshing. She didnât mean to do this but right now she just wanted water, fast â in her mouth or on her body apparently it didnât concern her.
Plucking the tip from her pouty, thick lips, she looked at the canteen, smiling followed with a blush as she handed it back to Mark. âSorry. I was really thirsty. But hey, at least you canât pour it all over me, I already did that.â She wiped her glistening mouth off with her forearm.
Mark lifted one of his hands, in it, a bottle of Fuji Water that heâd been nursing on since the trainings start. âYeah but you missed a spot⌠The most important spot.â He undid the cap, Marjorie looked at the bottle.
âYou canât be seriousâŚâ
The bottle lifted.
âI swear to God, Mark.â
âWhat? You need it. Get all that sweat off you.â Marjorie grabbed the hand and tried to push it away from her. As the two struggled with the Fuji Water bottle, Marjorie was finally able to wrestle it from one of his hands using both of her own⌠and her shoulder. There may or may not have even been a bite or two. She wasnât sure. Victory was hers though!
âI am doing it for your own good, Marjorie.â He said chuckling as they mockingly struggled.
Protectively curling it to her, the Fuji water was launched toward Mark. The bottle remained in her hand, but the contents however was slightly lightened as water whipped at the taller figure, his white shirt sporting large damp puddles that dripped down his body. His leather pants didnât get much of the water, but the liquid rolling down his chest would eventually make its way down there. Boots, thankfully, didnât get wet either.
Coming to, Marjorie laughed, almost falling to the mat in a fit. Casually, she leaned back against the
Wow. What a way to end it.
Corner of the ring. The ring was shaped for people of the goliath, Mark-type bodies, not for little girls no matter how strong they be. Marjorie laced her arms upon the second mid rope, hanging as she laughed. Mark Calway, however was not at all pleased. His mouth was firm, his teeth running upon the lower bit of lip as he watched in silence at his ⌠student took light of the situation. Was that what she was to him, a student?
âWhat, you donât look amused. Oh, come on Mark. You started this, the very second we met each other.â She leaned her back against the tall corner post, her lush, despite being dried, lips twisted into an amused grin. âI can see why you like doing it though. Look at you. Youâre so soaked.â The silence was making Marjorie feel uneasy now, perhaps however it was the lingering, leering, licentious look that Mark gifted her. Nervously, she brought the water bottle to his lips and took a quick drink of the remains. A anxious chuckle or two later all entire gym was dead of sound, it was eerie.
Advancing, light dimmed. It was almost like an eclipse as the Undertaker loomed over her. Something about that steel resolve face gave Marjorie the impression of her being in trouble. She kind of liked that look. Its effects were almost entirely instantaneous upon her. Clasping his strong hand under the chin of Marjorie, playfully slid down, pulling her lower lip downward. The tip of his thumb, which spanned from chin to upper lip with ease, strummed. With demand but guidance, Marjorieâs face was lifted upward to give each perfect vantage point of the others eyes. Her eyes were entrancingly glazed over, focus utterly on him and him her, perhaps even twofold his way.
âBeing soaked is a laughing matter? I havenât commented upon it but remember when we⌠were on the mat and⌠well, you were there so⌠Well I noticed youâve been nursing your own marinade down there.â Marjorie jerked upward as one finger, with precision and articulation, glided along her heavy shorts, right above her pussy mound.
There was no veil of uncertainty anymore. Mark smirked, in turn so did Marjorie, even if hers was following with rolling eyes, that finger applying pressure upon her nether lips. It was so strong, yet its movements, touches were graceful. It didnât require much movement. Mark was practiced and it showed. âYou are perfect, Marjorie. In everywayâŚâ His hand cupped along her thick rear end, giving it a secure squeeze, flesh much like pudding as it filled his massive palm. âshape.â He leaned forward, slowly, tentatively slower. It was worse yet though because he was just so damn tall. A fact Marjorie loved, was not subject to her frustration. As he neared, she could sense this was it, this is what sheâd wanted for so long. Dreamed of it on more then a few occasions, and sometimes when she felt particularly frisky.. it was right here. Her expressive lips curled and pouted, ready to accept the kiss that was coming. Her eyes closed, trusting him to land the plane himself. This was âherâ time. âand formâŚâ
No kiss came. The hand which teased her most precious of rosebuds, and violated her shapely rear end now stretched from behind her leg to her knee. His palm encompassed it as he pulled it upward, slowly. Marjorieâs eyes opened, looking at what he was doing. Getting the hint, she demonstrated that though she be strong in the legs, didnât mean she wasnât flexible. Looping her leg, with his support upon one of the ropes, Marjorieâs hands coiled upon his long, hearty chest, fingers grazing upon the wet white shirt as she followed his âadviceâ.
Standing on one leg now, Marjorie trembled as that dancing, adventurous hand slipped from the back of the knee upward along her thighs, caressing with just the right amount of force before his thumb pressed into her spread yet clothed mound. Imprisoning her swollen, white nub with the thumb, his movement became sheerly blissfully circulate. His spare hand ran along her sweating medium length hair, right through but not before grasping a little bit of it between his fingers, drawing her to look upward, as if he enjoyed becoming lost in her eyes. Marjorie couldnât lie, sheâd look at them if she could but with such empowering sensations roiling, boiling throughout her body, it was hard to lift her heavy head.
âI think I finally figured it out, Marjorie. Itâs your eyebrows that make you unique and gorgeous. That and those lively lips you have.â The hand with hair in it, maneuvers itself over her shoulder so he could run a finger caressingly through one of her eyebrows before his tongue slipped out, just a little, but enough. âI have a lively tongue myself.â He purred like a bear as he pounced upon her, his lips crashing into Marjorieâs.