A Day at the Beach

Simon walked down to the beach with a pack of cigarettes and a copy of The Long Goodbye, a novel he'd been meaning to finish for weeks. Three girls walked up to him slowly, giving Simon ample time to take in their bikini clad bodies. The girl in the middle wore a green bikini and had curly brown hair and seemed to stare directly at Simon. The girl on the right seemed mean looking, eyeing Simon for a false move, which would lead to a devastating counter move by the female. To the left, a few paces ahead of the others was the oldest of the trio, grinning at Simon like a panther.
"Hola," said the pantheress, with perfect politeness.
Simon was already on his feet, brushing sand from his jeans. Simon always stood for a woman, even if she appeared younger than his 30 years.
The group moved closer to Simon, forming a semicircle around him.
"I'm Donna," the girl continued.
"I'm Simon," Simon countered, wondering why the girls were crowding him, but not overly concerned.
Donna took another step toward Simon. "You like girls?"
Jesus!, Simon thought. This is too good to be happening!"Well..yeah!..sure!"
"You look like one of those guys who likes getting beaten by a woman. Right?"
Lust turned to perplexity on Simon's face.
The mean girl slipped behind Simon. "He does, don't you Popi?" she said. "I'm Carly."
Donna glanced questioningly at the girl in the green bikini. The curly haired girl gave Donna a smile and a quick nod.
"Good night, Simon!" Donna said, launching a right hook to the man's jaw. Simon sprawled into Carly's arms, which instantly pushed forward, directly into Donna's fist.
A storm of punches fell on Simon from all directions. Agony and confusion rattled Simon. His few coherent thoughts among the blows were variants on "What the hell is happening?!"
Carly's left collided with Simon's chin.
Simon's vision dimmed and he had trouble comprehending what the girls were saying to each other. It was Spanish and a woman speaking Spanish turned Simon on. He swayed back and forth, his feet slipping in and out of the sand.
WHAP!!
Donna's fist hammered his chin and Simon drifted deeper into a daze, his eyes glassy and half open.
"Okay Rosie, finish him! You chose him, you finish him!"
Simon only stared mindlessly at the girl identified as Rosie as she tentatively moved at him. Her fist went back carefully, aiming precisely, leaving time for Simon to watch the fist come his way.
POW!!
Simon landed on the sand with a soft "THUD," making Rosie smile. She never told Donna or Carly that her favorite thing, even more than sex, was finishing off a male.
Rapidly, Donna and Carly lifted the knocked out Simon and carried him, like a defeated pugilist, to their nearby minivan. They deposited Simon on the couch-like back seat, while Rosie climbed in behind them, siting in a chair that gave her a clear view of the victim.

The engine humming was the first thing Simon heard when he came around. Then the cool, afternoon breeze buffeted him gently from the mini van's open windows.
"Huh...wha...the hell...?" he asked thickly. His opening eyes saw Rosie's tender expression, the wind throwing her hair in different directions.
Still staring lovingly at Simon, Rosie said: "Hey, he's awake!"
"Well, you know what to do!" Carly's voice counseled.
"Oh, I can't..."
"Can't do what?" Simon asked blankly.
"You've proven you can, Rosie."
Simon gawked in confusion as a lovely brown fist sailed at his face.
BAP!!
He fell back, sound asleep, in the same position the girls had dumped him on the couch. Simon dreamt of being a teenager at the shore and nailing Annie Sakura.
"The gym work is paying off, Rosie!" Donna commented.

Simon woke the second time on a soft bed. Windows in the paneled room were open, letting in the summer sea air. Donna was standing over him.
"Hello Simon," she laughed. "How are you feeling? A little worn out?"
Simon, with an immense effort, sat up.
"I feel like shit! What the fuck is going on?"
He would have used more profanity, but his head was still swimming.
"We brought you here to be a trial boyfriend for my cousin Rosie, I think she likes you."
"Rosie?"
"Yes, my cousin has always had a problem asserting herself romantically with men."
"You're kidding?"
"No. All three of us are in boxing training and Rosie's the best of us. She could put you out in the ring, but get a date with a guy is like pulling her teeth! So we helped her out, scouted out nice guys like you."
"And kidnapping them!?" Simon asked.
Donna laughed giddily. "That's the fun part for me and Carly, executing the snatch!" She gave Simon a gentle, flirty punch on the shoulder. "Come on in, Rosie!"
Rosie walked in, dressed in lose gray shorts and a white T-shirt.
"Hi Simon, how do you feel?"
Rosie's voice sounded tentative. Simon looked at her, about to be angry and then felt an emotional change.
"I'm still hurting, but I'll be alright. You know how to punch!"
Rosie laughed and took Simon's hand. For an instant, she was motionless, waiting for Simon to move. Simon saw pained uncertainty in her eyes and heard Donna shut the door as she left. Tugging Rosie by her fingers, he lead her to the bed.

Simon and Rosie spent the night together. In between orgasms, Rosie explained that she made poor choices with men-men who made promises that they broke, a few who drank and one that hit her outside the boxing ring.
"So Donna and Carly watched a bunch of guys and you were one we chose!"

Donna made breakfast for Simon. He had left Rosie sleeping contentedly in her bed.
"Rosie still asleep?" Donna asked.
"Yep!"
"A good sign, she's relaxed around you," Donna suggested. "I think you're in the top three."
"Top three?"
"Yes, you're one of three guys who completely satisfied Rosie. I think she likes you, you like her?"
"Yes!" Simon heard himself say.
"Great! If Rosie chooses you, and I think she will, we'll come get you."
"Like you did before?" Simon was suddenly annoyed.
"You bet!"
POW!!
Donna's right cross put Simon out instantly. He slumped in the chair, lifeless. Donna kissed him on the cheek.

Simon woke on his own bed. On his chest was a Valentine's card, signed by Rosie, the lipstick imprint of her lips pressed below her signature.

Patrice

I don't know how long I was out cold. Emma, the ref, said Patrice had put me to sleep for five minutes. Waking up was like surfacing from being under water; all the blackness simply washed away. I was seated in my corner of the ring, Emma's reviving hands massaging blood back to my brain. Katie, Emma's friend, was asking me questions that took minutes for me to answer because I was only semi-conscious. The sensation was like floating on your back in a pool, your ears partially submerged, so that what you heard was murky.
I was also watching Patrice strutting around the wrestling ring, her hands clinched to the ceiling in victory. I could care less that I had been humiliated in front of nearly every female member of the Amazonia Boxing and Wrestling Club, most of whom were cheering my defeat. I was hooked on Patrice, the tall, athletic, full chested member of the women's team. A gorgeous black woman, she had legs that rose to a crest at her toned ass and supple hips. But it was her muscular arms she used to sleeper me, wrapped securely around my neck like iron bars. Our wrestling match lasted less than a round.
"He's still sleeping Emma," Patrice said, crouching down in front of me, smiling. Her amber eyes glittered and I savored a long glimpse of her large, flawless breasts. "You still dreaming, Will?"
I wanted to fuck her right there, looking at the tits that had been my pillows.
"No," I said vaguely, reality beginning to focus. Katie and Emma helped me up and slowly out of the ring. Patrice followed, walking in front of me, her pretty face aglow with satisfaction.
"Hey Will, before you went out..know what I asked you?" Patrice asked me.
"What?" I responded, finally taking how completely I had been conquered.
"I asked you who your momma was as you drifted away, you said 'You're my momma!'"
Patrice repeated the last three words in perfect imitation of my sleepy voice. The moment, just before I went under in Patrice's arms, resurfaced in my memory. I was tucked close to her chest, those lovely dark arms pulling tight on my throat. Patrice's breathy voice asking me that question and my answer, completely direct, ran from lips like honey and blackness poured over me.
As the girls sat me down on a recovery room bed, I realized I enjoyed the release of being knocked out by Patrice.

"I hope you're not mad about the ko on Wednesday?"
Patrice's apology sounded more like flirting.
"If bigger guys than me got clobbered, I should have expected it," I answered.
Patrice had had seven mixed ko wrestling matches in the last two months. All her opponents were carried out of the ring.
Running her hand on my shoulder, Patrice wondered if she made me look bad in the ring.
"Only in front of most of the women in the club, a few of whom I've slept with."
"Those were the ones cheering!" Patrice suggested. She pulled her arm away slightly when I stared at her. "Let me buy you a drink," asked Patrice. "To make it up to you..."

By the end of our fourth beer, Patrice and I were making out in the parking lot of the bar. I hadn't done that since college, but I got the same thrill putting my hands down her pants, caressing her firm ass.
By ten we were back at my townhouse and making love in my bedroom. I don't know when in the night I fell for Patrice. We had orgasm after orgasm, screaming as each one climaxed. When I woke from exhausted but pleasant sleep, Patrice was dressing.
"Don't leave now!" I begged, laughing.
"Why not?"
"I'll make breakfast. It's Saturday morning, we don't have to work."
Patrice looked at me coyly. "You want more, Will?"
"Of course!"
"I like you Will and I like you even more this morning. You're a nice guy, but..." Patrice's expression went from apologetic to comprehension. "If you can knock me out like I did to you, Will, I think we can have something. Okay?"
We embraced in a long kiss near my bed. "Okay?"
Yeah, fine with me, I told myself.
Patrice stopped my right in mid air, our forearms crossing against each other. I saw her free arm swing up and then I was flat on the bed, looking at Patrice through a hazy field of stars.
"Will, I expected more brains from you," Patrice said with good humored disappointment. "'Like I beat you' I said..in the ring Will!"
Lights began to fade. Patrice was vanishing. "See you there, Will!" was all I heard before I blacked out.

Like any woman on a date, Patrice made me stand around five minutes, waiting for our bout to start. When i challenged her to another ko wrestling match, Patrice's body language told me she was hungry for another victory, even as she verbally debated if I was worth taking on again. She agreed with one stipulation: we grapple alone in one of the club's private rings.
"After all, honey stick, when you wake up, you'll be by yourself! I'll be gone!" Patrice hummed in my ear.
Patrice finally strutted into the ring, wearing the same silver one piece bathing suit she wore at our first meeting. For a few seconds we moved in a closing circle, our arms grasping at each other. I seized Patrice's wrist and spun her toward me, her entire body bending around my extended fist.
Seeing Patrice's face convulse with agony, I swung her outward, bouncing her off the ropes. An elbow welcomed the oncoming chin, knocking the mocha beauty groggy on her feet. Leaping behind Patrice, I snaked my arms around the dazed girl's throat.
"Rock-a-bye-baby..." I started singing in her ear. Patrice discovered what I was about to do and tore at my encircled arms.
Elbows hammered my torso, but I held onto Patrice, telling her she was a good Amazon for resisting me, but the lights had to go out.
"You...bast...ard!..." The anger in her voice was arousing.
Patrice went on fighting as I constricted my hold. A stream of short grunts flowed as Patrice's wide eyes fought to stay focused. I could feel her body relax, the tension of her struggle against my sleeper draining from her limbs.
The grunts became softer. Patrice's grasp on my arms became tenuous, fingers sliding on and off my biceps. Her eyes fluttered, filling with glassy dreaminess.
Patric murmured, "No..I..."
"Yes, Patrice!" I whispered endearingly in her ear. I got a rush watching the labored writhing of her long, silky legs. I could hear Patrice's respiration slow. Words barely formed on her lips, before evaporating on her breath.
"Gon...na...nock...me...awt..." Patrice sounded like a sleepy young girl.
"Going to knock you out cold!" I told her. "Sleep tight, Patrice."
A delicate "ooohhhh" seeped from Patrice's inert lips and she slumped against me, hands resting on her thighs.
Releasing my grip, I cradled the sleeping girl in my arms, counting to ten aloud. Patrice was lovely, knocked out and dreaming. After saying "Ten" in her ear, I kissed Patrice on the cheek.
Carefully, I eased Patrice to the canvas, resting her head on a folded up towel. I was going to leave her on the canvas to wake up alone, like she said I would, but I found I liked Patrice.
"Come on, Patrice, rise and shine!" I said rubbing her firm thighs and then gently slapping her face. Patrice's eyes opened, brimming with confused fascination.