Authors: Scott Hildreth
SIX
Jaz
Day seventeen.
“No, it wasn’t over a piece of fuckin’ ass. And it damned sure wasn’t in the parking lot of the old gym,” Ripp complained. “God damned rumors. I’ll tell you how the deal went down if you’ll just sit still for a fuckin’ minute, you nervous actin’ fucker.”
Sitting on the other side of the booth, across from Ethan and me, Ripp was telling the story of how he met the heavyweight boxing champion. I pressed my right hand against Ethan’s chest as if to eliminate him from the conversation, and made eye contact with Ripp. “I don’t care if
he
wants to hear it or not. I do. So tell me.”
He leaned forward and playfully arched an eyebrow. “We’ll need a refill. This’ll take a minute.”
I raised my hand and got the attention of our waitress. “Another round, please.”
She smiled and nodded.
Ripp drank what was left of his beer and slid the empty bottle to the side. “So, they told me this undefeated boxer was comin’ in from Compton, California. And I’m thinkin’ he’s gonna be some surfer dude. You know, long hair, all tan from playin’ on the beach, and that he’d be wearin’ flip flops and one a them fuckin’ wet suits.”
He gazed beyond me as if he was recalling the night in question, grinned, and shook his head. “Well, that wasn’t the deal at all. This fucker rides his Harley from Compton to Austin, non-stop. 1,380 fuckin’ miles with all of his shit tied on the back. I’m tellin’ ya. And he hops off that bitch at about eight o’clock at night, just about the time ol’ Ripp’s gettin’ ready to go out and knock off a piece of ass. He’s wearing raggedy-assed boots with his socks showin’ through all the holes in ‘em, a hoodie, and a pair of faded Levi’s. Weird fucker sure as fuck didn’t look like a boxer.”
His eyes went wide and he leaned forward, exchanging glances between Ethan and me. “Now, just so you know, this was back when Lightnin’ Wilson was givin’ me pointers on cage fightin’, and he’d been trainin’ me on that very night. So, Ol’ Lightnin’ comes up and says, ‘Hey, that kid from Compton’s here. You want to go four rounds with him?’ Hell, I thought it was gonna be a walk in the park. But it sure as fuck wasn’t.”
He leaned back, folded his massive arms in front of his chest, and shook his head.
“What happened?” I asked excitedly.
I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to fight Ripp. He was probably 6’-4”, weighed about 240 pounds, and was nothing but solid muscle. His in-your-face personality and general bad boy appearance were equally as intimidating as his size, and should act as a deterrent to anyone dumb enough to consider stepping in the ring with him.
He picked up his empty beer bottle by the neck and wagged it back and forth like a pendulum. “I can’t talk unless I got a beer in my hand.”
Luckily, the waitress dropped off our drinks – Michelob Ultra for Ripp and Ethan, and water for me. Ripp drank half the bottle of beer in one gulp, then continued his story.
“So, I told Ol’ Lightnin’ that I’d fight this California fool, and I figured it’d be over in about five minutes, because it was gonna take me three to lace up my gloves.”
He twisted his mouth to the side, cocked one eyebrow, and made eye contact with Ethan, and then me. “So, three to lace up my gloves, and I was givin’ this Compton cock sucker two minutes in the ring with me. Back then, they called me
The Ripper.
You know why?”
Engrossed in the story, I didn’t respond with anything more than simply shaking my head.
“I ripped the heads off every fucker that came in the ring. I was undefeated. Never knocked out, and never knocked to the mat. Not even once.”
I glanced at Ethan. He was as engrossed in the story as I was. I turned back to Ripp and grinned.
“So,” he said. “Ol’ California steps in the ring, and we touch ‘em up. Now I’m thinking I’m gonna feed this prick a three piece, let him stagger around a minute, and then I’ll finish him off. Now, remember, he probably hadn’t showered in twenty-four hours, and he’d rode that damned Harley halfway across the US of A in a hundred-degree heat. So, this fucker smelled like rotten leather and fucking gasoline and I wasn’t tryin’ to smell him for too damned long. So, the bell rings, and I meet this fucker in the center of the ring. He’s got his left hangin’ a little low, and his right cocked like he’s gonna feed it to me, so I stick him with a quick jab just to let him know how we do it here in Texas.”
He coughed out a laugh and shook his head. I anxiously waited for him to continue, but he reached for his beer and took a drink instead. After what seemed like an eternity, I asked the inevitable.
“What happened?”
He took another drink and shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I don’t know what happened, all I know is what Kelsey and Joe told me. Well, them and Lightnin’.
“What’d they tell you?”
“Told me the kid hit me with a left hook, followed it up with a right cross, and then what I learned was his signature punch.”
I swallowed hard at the thought of Ripp being beaten. I reduced my voice to a whisper. “What was it?”
He fixed his eyes on me and arched one eyebrow. “Left uppercut.”
“And he knocked you out?”
He nodded. “Knocked me out cold. Shit, I was punch drunk for a week. Kid hits like a fuckin’ mule kicks. Imagine lettin’ a barnyard mule haul off and kick you in the skull. Well, that’s what it feels like to have Ol’ Shane Dekkar hit ya.”
Holy crap.
“And now you’re friends?”
He took a drink of beer and coughed out a laugh. “Friends? Hell, we’re more like brothers. Ain’t no secret, but Dekk’s dad got killed in the war, and his mom left when he was a kid. So, my parent’s all but adopted his turkey sandwich eatin’ ass. Now he comes over to their house with his wife and kid every Sunday for dinner.”
“That’s awesome,” I said.
He chuckled. “The gettin’ knocked out part, or the adoptin’ Dekk part?”
“Both,” I said. “Getting knocked out let you guys become friends.”
“It damned sure did.” He shifted his eyes from me to Ethan. “Now you know the truth. It wasn’t over a piece of ass. And it wasn’t a drunken parking lot brawl, either. Can’t have rumors like that floatin’ around.”
“That’s just what I heard,” Ethan said with a shrug. “Thanks for clearing it up.”
Ripp glanced at his watch. “Shit, I got to get out of here, or my wife’s gonna have my ass.” He reached for his wallet, pulled out two $100 bills, and tossed them on the table. “Pay the tab with that, and leave whatever’s left for a tip.”
He slapped his hand against the edge of the table as he stood up. “Good show tonight, Jaz.” He glanced at Ethan. “Get your heart in the game, kid.”
Ethan waved his hand toward Ripp as if dismissing his comment. “Go home.”
As Ripp walked away, I turned to Ethan. “What did he mean by that?
Get your heart in the game
?”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “He always tells me my heart isn’t in it. That’s what we were talking about the day we met you at Starbucks.”
“Is your heart in it?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, it is. But he gives me shit about my record. Too many losses. To him, it’s all about winning. But I’m not in it for those reasons.”
I returned a blank stare.
If you’re not in it to win, why be in it at all?
“Why do you do it?”
“For me, boxing is kind of like an anger management thing, I guess. Sometimes I need to lose.”
It didn’t make sense to me, but I nodded nonetheless. “And losing satisfies you?”
“Sometimes I think it’s exactly what I need. And sometimes I need to win. So, I go into the ring with different goals. Sometimes I go in with the understanding that I’m going to lose. Other times I go in with a desire to win.”
It was an odd theory as far as I was concerned, but I found it interesting. A self-imposed punishment of sorts, I guessed. I needed to know more, so I pried a little further. “When you go in with the goal of winning, how many times have you lost?”
“None.”
“And when you go in with the goal of losing?”
He grinned. “Lost them all.”
“So, you’re kind of undefeated.” I laughed. “At least when you want to be.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it.”
“Have you told Ripp that you don’t always want to win?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to get into it with him, so I just kept it to myself. I doubt he’d understand.”
“I don’t understand, but it’s interesting.”
“I don’t
really
understand it,” he said. “But I’ve got my theories.”
“What are they?”
“There are times when I don’t want to win, but I want to fight. I want to go in, fight, and lose. That’s my plan, to lose. I think it’s kind of like the kids in school who self-harmed themselves. It’s a coping mechanism, or whatever. When I was a kid, I was expected to be perfect. It was pounded into my head, over and over. But, no one’s perfect. I know that now, but I didn’t know it then. Now, something inside of me tells me I need to be, but I’m smart enough to know I can’t be. I think losing the fights help convince me that I’m in control. I know I
could
win, but I choose not to. Does that make sense?”
It was apparent Ethan’s childhood wasn’t much better than mine. I dealt with mine by leaving, physically separating myself from my father. He was attempting to deal with his by trying to be in control of something as uncontrollable as a fight.
“It does,” I said.
The more I learned about him, the more I realized just how similar we were. I’d never spent a moment feeling sorry for myself, but I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
“Anything else?” the waitress asked.
I looked at Ethan. He shook his head.
“No, thank you.”
She placed the bill on the table. “Whenever you’re ready, no rush.”
I looked at the bill. It was only $102. I placed the two $100 bills in the check holder and folded it closed, feeling confident the waitress would be pleased with Ripp’s $98 tip.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Sure.”
I climbed out of the booth and extended my hand. He reached for it and smiled as I pulled against his weight, helping him slide from the booth. After he stood up, I continued to hold his hand in mine.
I walked toward the door with him at my side, completely expecting him to eventually release my hand or object in some way.
But it never came.
We walked to the truck hand-in-hand, and he opened the door for me, just like he did the night we went to the coffee shop. His manners, calm demeanor, and handsome good looks were proving to be just too much for me. It was at that moment, as I climbed inside the truck while he held the door, that I decided I wanted our friendship to go one step further.
One very sexual step.
SEVEN
Jaz
Day twenty-four.
She looked at me like I was nothing shy of insane. “How old are you, again?”
“Twenty-four,” I responded. “Why?”
“Because you’re acting like you’re fifteen.”
“I am not,” I huffed.
Our shifts had ended, and the diner was closed. We sat at a table in the center of the dining area talking about relationships and men. Not having had many close girlfriends over the years, I found value in Rachel, often asking her opinions about all things related to being a girl. We were roughly the same age, and she was really close to her mother, which made her advice seem almost motherly. This was, however, my first attempt to get advice from her about a man.
“You want to fuck him, right?”
It wasn’t all I wanted, but it was part of it. I nodded, but felt the need to explain further. “I mean. Yeah. But not just
fuck
him. I want to--”
She waved her hands in the air jokingly. “Just stop. I don’t want to hear it. You’re talking to me because your head’s in one place, and his is in another, right?”
“I suppose.”
“You want him, and you’re afraid he doesn’t want you. Or he doesn’t want you the same as you want him. Or whatever. Right?”
So far, on limited information, she sure seemed to understand the intricacies regarding my dilemma. Convinced I had made the right decision in confiding my relationship woes to her, I proceeded. “Right,” I said. “It seems like he’s moving along at one pace, and I’m at another.”
“But. Your goal is to fuck him. You’re each moving at a different pace, but the prize at the end of the race is sex, right?”
It sounded bad, but it was true. Kind of. I nodded in agreement. “I guess.”
“This is so tenth grade. I swear,” she said. “Tell him you want his dick.”
As bold and as brash as I was, telling Ethan I wanted his cock seemed a bit overboard. I shot her a confused stare. “Just say it? ‘Hey, Ethan, I want your cock?’ I’m just supposed to tell him that? That’s your
best
advice?”
She shrugged. “That’s what I’d do.”
In my experience, guys had always made the first move. I had never met anyone who was as uninterested in fucking me as Ethan, though. “Really?”
She chewed on her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes slightly. After a moment’s thought, she released her lip and shook her head. “No, I’d probably suck his cock. No guy is going to deny you a blowjob. And what does a good blowjob lead to?”
I shrugged. “Sex?”
“Sex.” She nodded and raised her index finger in the air. “As long as you don’t let him finish. Don’t forget that. You can’t make him come. If you do, you’ll just become that girl who sucks his dick, and you don’t want that. Been there, done that. Not doing it again.”
It sounded like utter nonsense. “Don’t make him come?”
“God no. Just suck it long enough to drive him crazy. Then stop. He’ll try and convince you to continue, but don’t do it. Eventually, he’ll give in. He’ll fuck you. And, if for some reason, you do make him come? Like by some accident? Whatever you do, don’t swallow.”
I scrunched my nose. “What else am I going to do with it?”
“Act like that shit is acid. Avoid it at all costs. Like you’re afraid of it. Say shit like
yuck
and
gross
.”
I laughed out loud. “Why?”
“Same reason,” she said. “If you swallow, he’ll want it all the time. And, that’ll be all he wants. He’ll just want you to suck his dick. You’ll become the blowjob girl. Believe me, you don’t want to be that girl. I’ve been her. It’s no fun.”
I got a pretty good laugh thinking about it, and then regained my composure. “You’ve been the blowjob girl?”
She rolled her eyes while she nodded. “Yep. There was this guy. Brad Bishop. I wanted him to give me the dick, and he just wanted to hang out. That’s all we did. Hang out. Never even made out. Not once. I was beginning to think he was gay. So, one night, I unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick. ‘What are you doing?’ That’s what he asked me. I didn’t even respond, I just wrapped my lips around it. He didn’t ask me anything else. He just moaned. Told me it was the best blowjob he ever got.”
“And then what happened?”
“Every time I saw him, that was all he wanted. I sucked his dick in the car, in the theater, in his bedroom, in his mom’s living room, in the driveway, you name it.”
“And he never fucked you?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Because I made the mistake of swallowing
before
we had sex. So what you need to do is this: act like you’re afraid of that shit. Then, one day, after he’s fucked you for a few weeks or so, tell him you want to try and swallow. Tell him you’re willing to give it a go just because you think he’s
that cool
. Tell him you like him so much you’re going to swallow his cum. He’ll never forget it. But only do it after you get the dick.”
“So, I should unzip his pants, pull out his dick, and suck it. But don’t swallow?”
“Yep.”
“And that’ll make him like me?”
“It’ll make him want you. Then, when he decides to fuck you, fuck him like your life depends on it. Then, he’ll like you.”
It sounded like pretty good advice. And, according to her, she’d been in her fair share of relationships. Lucky me, because if there was one thing I was good at besides boxing, sucking cocks had to be it.
“Okay. I’ll try it. If this makes him hate me, I’m really going to be mad at you.”
“You’ve sucked a dick before, right?” she asked sarcastically.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about what you said. I think I was the blowjob girl in high school. It seems like that’s all I did.” I chuckled. “Maybe it was because I always swallowed.”
“Probably. You don’t ever want to do that until they give you the dick. And then, always make a
huge
deal of it. Like you’re taking this big step. It makes them feel special.”
“I’ll try it,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Bring him in here.”
“In
here
?”
“Yeah, I want to see him.”
I had no intention of bringing him to the shitty diner I worked at. “I don’t think I want to bring him in here. Maybe you can come to the gym sometime. Watch me fight or something.”
“Whatever. I just want to see this guy. He sounds hot.”
“He is hot. I just hope this works.”
“That’s what I was going to say a minute ago. Have you ever sucked a guy’s dick and had him get mad about it?”
I didn’t even have to think about it. “Nope.”
“You never will, either. Guys love blowjobs.”
I hoped she was right.
And I was ready to find out.