Please note that this story is an erotic fantasy. It involves sexual situations between consenting adults, all of whom are over 18 years of age. Since it is fantasy and it’s my fantasy, I presume a world free of STDs. I hope you enjoy the story; if not, such is life. Comments are always appreciated.
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“Wha-what the fuck?” Zach Gary muttered, the whole world spinning, colored lights a kaleidoscopic calliope like an aurora borealis’ nimbus surrounding him.
Slowly the lights slowed down, then stopped. Zach could feel the rough canvas beneath him, as well as a heavy throbbing on the left side of his head where… oh, shit.
Someone was kneeling over him, shining a light in his eyes. He brought a hand up to shield his eyes from the light and turned his head away, blinking as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing, then realized that it was the hexagon’s photographer kneeling next to him taking photos. What he was seeing that hadn’t made sense was her naked pussy beneath her miniskirt, her inner lips long and butterflied apart beneath a fat, bulging clit and a brush of fiery-red hair above that. Looking up from her pussy, he stared into the lens of her camera.
The next few minutes were a blur, as was most of the preceding hour or two, except for the sight of that high spinning back kick that had just slid over his guard enough to catch him flush on the temple. The only thing that he could think of was that he was no longer undefeated in MMA, that he was now four and one, and that he didn’t like one little bit what that one felt like. Riding to the hospital in an ambulance per protocol for knockouts was the lowest point of all.
At the hospital he underwent a battery of tests, had his blood and urine sampled for analysis, and had an MRI taken of his skull before they took him to a private room where he was informed that he was required to spend the next 24 hours for observation hooked up to a whole bunch of electronic devices, including an EEG.
“Hi, there,” he heard just as he had laid back and closed his eyes. “Are you going to be okay?”
Opening his eyes and turning towards the voice, he saw a petite woman with short, curly red hair framing a freckled face with sparkling emerald eyes and a pert, upturned nose. Letting his gaze drop, he couldn’t help noticing that the designer T-shirt that she was wearing was at least a size too small, accentuating her small breasts with their thick protruding nipples, the ruby color visible through the white material of her T-shirt. She also had a camera in one hand.
“The photographer,” Zach said, recognizing her.
“Photojournalist,” she corrected. “I’m Krista Hill. I work for Mr. Johnson, the promoter.”
“You get any good shots?” Zach asked.
“Yep,” Krista replied, nodding. “Unfortunately, they don’t make you look very good.”
“I fucked up,” Zach sighed.
“I was surprised that you let that kick get over your guard,” Krista said. “I thought you were better than that.”
“You understand fighting?” Zach asked.
“A bit,” Krista replied. “Enough to do my job. Were you distracted or something? You usually have much better defense.”
“You’ve seen me fight?” Zach asked.
“A couple of times,” Krista replied.
“Fighters turn you on or is it the fighting?” Zach asked.
“I hate the fighting,” Krista replied. “Men turn me on.”
“Then why come to the fights?” Zach asked.
“Mr. Johnson wants me to do a piece on MMA fighting, something that shows what it’s like from the fighter’s perspective,” Krista explained. “I can’t do that without understanding it. To understand it, I need to see it.”
“Is that why you’re here, part of your piece?” Zach asked.
“Yep,” Krista replied, nodding. “Mr. Johnson wants to me to shadow you through your recovery, medical suspension due to suffering a knockout, and first return fight.”
“All that?” Zach asked. “Why?”
“To show people what the life of an MMA fighter is all about,” Krista replied. “It’s not all just training then fighting, it’s dealing with the results of the training, the fight, too. I want to present a more complete picture, not just a caricature of a hormone-raging violence freak.”
“Then why pick me?” Zach asked, starting to laugh, then thought better of it when he felt his head throb.
“You’re a poster boy for the ideal MMA fighter,” Krista replied. “All state in high school wrestling, undefeated with a 4. 0 GPA and valedictorian when you graduated. National wrestling champion in division II for three straight years, also undefeated with a 4. 0 GPA and graduating summa cum laude with a degree in philosophy, of all things.”
“You’ve done your homework,” Zach said, impressed.
“I was the captain of my high school debate team and we won three straight state titles,” Krista said. “I graduated with a 4. 0 GPA and was my class valedictorian. I got my degree in photojournalism with honors and a 4. 0 GPA.”
“I’ll have to remember never to argue with you,” Zach said with a smile.
“Your smarts aren’t just in your GPA, I see,” Krista said, smiling in return.
“How do you come to be working for Mr. Johnson?” Zach asked.
“He and my father go back a long way,” Krista replied. “He wants to make his mark on the world and I told him… I convinced him that I could help him do it. I did a few simple photo shoots for him, wrote a few lines of copy, and he decided to see what I could do with this, his MMA project. He wants me to give it an aura of respectability, not just a bunch of thugs who like to beat people up and get beat up. Outside of the knowledgeable fan base, that’s how most people picture MMA, according to polls.”
“And what’s your take on it so far?” Zach asked.
“Mostly a bunch of thugs who like to beat people up and get beat up,” Krista replied with a laugh, “but phenomenally dedicated to getting better, to improving in all facets of the craft.”
“Well, you do sort of need to be a bit mental to do it,” Zach said.
“Why do you do it?” Krista asked.
“I like the training,” Zach replied. “Being in top shape physically and mentally. I like knowing that nobody’s ever going to fuck with me again. And until tonight, I enjoyed the fights.”
“I can’t imagine that anyone ever messed with you,” Krista said.
“I grew up in an orphanage until I was 7,” Zach said. “It was a tough place. That’s where I really learned to fight. Everything else since then has just been polishing that experience.”
“I was adopted, too,” Krista said, “but when I was just a baby. I can’t imagine what it must be like to grow up in an orphanage. I’ve always had loving parents.”
“Maybe you’ll do a piece on it someday,” Zach said.
“Maybe, but I doubt it,” Krista said.
“Why have you seen my fights,” Zach asked, “or was I just on the card?”
“No, I deliberately went to see you fight,” Krista replied. “Other than your totally unusual background scholastically, you’re the only MMA fighter that I know of that doesn’t have a tattoo.”
“Yeah, I’m not into that whole thing,” Zach said.
“Why not?” Krista asked.
“A couple of reasons,” Zach replied. “One, taste changes. With a tattoo, you’re stuck with it, even if your taste changes. And I’ve always seen the whole tattoo thing as a cry for attention. Look at me! I’m not really into attention. I do whatever it is I do because I like doing it, not for any attention.”
“You see, that’s why I wanted to see you fight,” Krista said. “There’s something about you that’s different from the other fighters. They’re all crying out for attention.”
“We’re all different,” Zach said.
“So, how do you feel about me being your shadow for the next six months?” Krista asked.
“Are you serious?” Zach asked in disbelief. “How much of a shadow?”
“24/7,” Krista replied.
“What about your husband, or boyfriend, or your life, for that matter?” Zach asked.