Getting over the Hump
She’s got me down… she’s bigger than I am and she’s really thrashed me all over the ring… that’s what I get for running my mouth, but it’s okay. My left eye is swollen and my tummy is aching from the navel on down… she kicked my ass. She’s got her left hand around my throat, holding my head in place while her right hand is punching my left eye nonstop. The pain is incredible, but it’s something I should’ve prepared for. The way she’s got me, with her knee against my heart, mashing my breasts and her other knee against my crotch, I can’t even wipe the hair out of my mouth because my arms are weary from punching at her. She’s battered my crotch, so my legs, my biggest and most dangerous weapon, are useless… she broke my body scissors, the big bitch… and breathing is painful at this point. I look out of the ring at the fans who’ve come to see me… I see the signs… “GO JOANNE GO”… but they can’t fight for you, especially against this kind of woman… Katrina… 5’7” 150 lbs to my 5‘6” 120 lbs. She’s a light skinned Black girl born and raised to fight in Louisiana; I‘m part German, part Lebanese, but from New Jersey, though I grew up in tough Scranton, Pennsylvania. I’ve got shoulder length curly blonde hair and big hazel eyes, but I‘ve got blue contacts in… Katrina is thick, in body and in toughness; I‘m toned in my upper abs, but my lower tummy is weak from the bellybutton on down. And speaking of my bellybutton, she ripped out the diamond butterfly piercing I have.
A few minutes earlier, I was moving and striking, landing kicks with my legs to her big thighs and I got her in the face a few times and hurt her with a good shot to her tummy when her arms came up. She stopped coming forward and I thought I had found her weak spot, but when I moved in, she threw a punch that hit me right on the belly button… I could feel my eyes budging out and my cheeks filled with air… even she looked surprised because I’ve got toned upper abs, but the belly button is sensitive and from there on down, I’m totally weak. I doubled over and I tried to play it off, but let’s face it; she had me beat and she moved in slowly because she thought I was playing possum, but once she got near, all I could do was grab her around the waist and hold on. She picked me up and slammed me on the mat in a spinning Powerbomb or hurricane powerbomb, then she stomped on my tummy.
“What’s the matter, Joanne?” she said laughing, “Got a bit of a bellyache?”
She jumped and in midair, her body turned and she did a frog splash on me, crushing my tummy and ribs under her weight and blasting the air from me.
“Oh, you don’t appreciate my little show of affection, Joanne?” she said, pulling me up to my feet, but I threw a desperation punch that caught her on the chin and she let me go. I stumbled back and raised my fists.
“Now you’ve done it… now you’ve fucking done it,” I was happy to hear that coming from her. I thought that if a girl’s mad, she’s not focused and Katrina would come rushing at me, throwing wild punches and I could pick her apart, take her down and submit her. But she must’ve taken some boxing classes or at least been in enough fights to know how to fight angry. And now that I think back on this, shit; doesn’t being angry lead to a fight like this? It’s not the anger that brings the lack of focus; it’s just a lack of focus. Anyway, she got me in the nose with a jab that snapped my head back, then she slammed a shot into my tummy and I backed up with an “Ough!!”
“Bitch, I’m gonna beat the shit out of you,” is what she said
“Heh heh heh,” I laughed between coughs, “You won’t beat me… maybe if this was a pie eating contest… GUUUHH!!”
Another hard shot on my bellybutton and I felt the piercing cut the skin around my oval shaped bellybutton. She grabbed it with her index finger and thumb and tugged at it… I gritted my teeth because the pain was unreal.
“Look at this little diamond butterfly,” she said, “But it’s getting in the way and I don’t like bugs; I think I better remove it.”
She ripped it out and I swear, it felt like my first Brazilian wax all over again. I looked down at my bleeding bellybutton, then I went “GOOOF!!!” as her fist hit me there again, folding me over, but I felt a very pleasant sensation when she ran her fingers just below my bellybutton as she locked on a belly claw and I felt probably the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life. Her thumb was in my bellybutton and her other four fingers were cupping the mound below it. I screamed and I kept trying to knock her arm away, but that just made her squeeze more and I had no choice but to double over.
“Did you just wet yourself, Joanne?” she said, and I couldn’t see her face, but I could hear her laughing at me, “And I don’t think it was piss either. You get off on this shit? You like me or something? Well, too fucking bad because you’re not gonna like what I do to your fake shit-talking ass!”
She beat me; I kept getting up, but she would hit my tummy or poke my bellybutton or knee me in the crotch or punch my face. I couldn’t hang with her; there’s no other way to say it… she was better than I was. She had me humbled and at her mercy the moment her fist hit my tummy. I still can’t believe how good she got me… right in my weak spot. I was thinking to myself, “damn, she nailed me… she must be really good; her punch felt like it drove my bellybutton to my spine.” But it’s what a punch like that did to my confidence. Yes, I’m pretty confident; my friends can attest to that and I’ve beaten my share of girls, but when she got my tummy, I thought she knew something about me that no one else knew and that I was in real trouble. I thought I could just outlast her and outwrestle her. You know; she’s bigger than I am, but on the ground, we’re all the same size and her pre-fight trash talk led me to believe that she wasn’t all that tough or knowledgeable about fighting. I thought she was just a big bag of wind that would run out of gas or wilt as soon as I put some pressure on her. But I was wrong. She tossed me all over the ring; she out punched me, repeatedly going to the tummy and talking through the whole fight.
She would grab me and hit me in the sides and kidneys and even punch my ass; she was breaking me down and giggling every time I moaned. She’d rub my pubic mound, then punch it; she had all kinds of dirty tricks to through me off from pleasure and pain, and when we got on the ground, I couldn’t get my legs around her because her wrestling was too good. She was able to pin me down and stop every attempt I made at a submission because she’s so damn deceptively fast and she knows how to use her weight, especially her breasts, to put added pressure on my body while I’m on my back and drain my energy. I can’t say I didn’t find some pleasure from it; I am bi and I have lost to girls and found pleasure out of being dominated, but it was humiliating this time because I really wanted to beat Katrina. Now, I’m pretty sure I can’t and I’m already thinking of how I’m going to have to post an admission of defeat on her wall and all her social networking pages… but I’m also going to ask for a rematch. She picks me up, wraps her arms around me and squeezes me in a bear hug. Uhhhhhhhh… this isn’t pleasure.
Everyone is stomping and cheering for me and that’s a mixed bag. Sometimes, I’m the good guy and sometimes, I’m the bad guy… but anyone who’s going up against Katrina is usually the good guy. She’s got a natural bitch appeal; it’s just that she always backs it up and she backs it all over my face and my weak lower tummy. I’m fighting hard, but we’ve been at this fifteen minutes and it feels like fifteen days the way she’s beaten me and slammed me. She’s really going after my back now and I can feel her knuckles grinding in the small of it, forcing moans and groans from me that are all too familiar, but not so familiar that I still have a mental doubt that I’m losing to her. Finally, I wave my hand and the referee tries to break the hold, but Katrina has other plans. She hoists me up and slams me across her knee with my tummy taking the impact. I hear myself let out an “OOOUUUGGGHHH!!!” and I roll into a fetal position… I’m done. She puts her blue boot with its white lightening lining on my throat.
“Like I said, bitch,” she growls, “Get the fuck out of New Orleans and don’t ever bring your ass back… or else, I’ll fuck you up worse and take your little belt too.”
Ah yes, the belt… I’ve been the champion of Rhode Island Championship Wrestling or RCW now for seven months… there’s just a problem… RCW doesn’t exist anymore. Let’s just say the promoter messed with road warrior brawler and self-proclaimed “big bad bullying bitch” Jenn Peccavi, and then, he disappeared. The guy was a real asshole, very hardheaded. Yes, I know Jenn Peccavi; traveling across the country brings you in contact with all kinds of people. I know Jenn; I know Jonica; I know Gemma Rox, though the latter two have gone on to fame in the biggest female wrestling promotion in the world OPW, while I’m paying my dues and traveling the country. One of my closest friends, Laurie Breeze, is in South Dakota, while the beat down I’ve gotten from Katrina is here in New Orleans. I keep that RCW belt and I wear it with pride because I’ve always had to deal with this thing about being a champion. It’s always been about being a champion for me, in look, in the way you carry yourself… I love that belt and I take a great amount of joy in the fact that I am Rhode Island Championship Wrestling’s last champion because it means that I will always be a champion. You see, not everyone had me in mind for that consideration.
My father was a famous wrestler, but I won’t tell you that unless you find out and ask me. He wanted sons, but he got four beautiful daughters and all of us became fighters; I’m the second youngest. In fact, most of my matches have been right there in dad’s basement… he went the Stu Hart route with us and he taught us how to defend ourselves and pushed us to our limits in training just like we were boys. My mother was the soft and sensitive type and my parents are still happily married. We’d have matches and draw in money back home in Scranton; we were known simply as the Girl Wrestlers. My oldest sister is the former Girl Wrestler Aubrey… she worked in the business and helped my dad run some of his shows. Then, when Dad got older and the Parkinson’s started from his constant matches, Aubrey took over. The problem was that Aubrey has always been bossy and pig-headed and while she‘s got great business sense, she really doesn‘t know how to talk to her employees… long curly blonde hair, a little darker than mine, same big cat’s eyes, but hers are blue like my Dad’s, and Aubrey has more of a round face. She was a great wrestler, but because she’s the oldest, she gave up what probably would’ve been a really good career to help the promotion.
Then, my second oldest sister is Girl Wrestler Iris… Iris is the black sheep of the family; she’s got the gothic look to this day, black hair, black nails, black clothes. Dad didn’t approve of Isis’ choice in boyfriends or girlfriends and Aubrey and Iris got into a huge fight one night. The fight itself was a draw, but our mother’s glass display of plates were destroyed and Iris left the house. She’s been on drugs; she’s been in and out of our house because every time she needed money, she’d come back. As a wrestler, she had a lot of talent, but she had a mean streak and she was lazy too. She could beat the best the east had to offer, then lose a fight to some drunk girl at a bar. She wasn’t consistent and she got deep into the sex industry, which is where she is now. I‘ve seen her wrestling videos and she‘s into some very hardcore stuff as a dominatrix. She even wrestles guys, which is something I never do. There’s my younger sister Girl Wrestler Erica, who I most resemble. Same height, a few pounds heavier with short blonde hair and blue eyes… she’s got a lot of promise and she’s just eighteen, but her natural toughness had me losing to her when she was a kid. We all love Erica; she is a really good person and her ring performances are top notch.
Once Aubrey became a promoter and Iris’ problems made it clear that she wasn’t going to have that great of a future in the sport, everything became about pushing Erica. My Dad’s promotions became centered around Girl Wrestler Erica and while I was giving my all too, I got lost in the shuffle and I just felt unloved. I wasn’t as smart as Aubrey; I wasn’t as unique as Iris and I wasn’t as talented as Erica… I was just Girl Wrestler Joanne and while the fans loved me when I was good and hated me enough when I was bad, I just didn‘t feel special. So, I decided to leave and try to strike it out on my own and that’s what got me into porn sites and drunken nights and bar fights and tiny black tights. I learned pretty early when I had my first few sparring sessions with girls who were NOT my sisters, that I really found pleasure in wrestling… yes, pleasure in that way. So, I especially loved and still love to pin a girl down and sit on her face so she can look right into my ‘area’ and see all the beauty that I am right before I smother her with it. My life was wilder than ever. When I was younger, I was into gymnastics and dancing. I was really good at them too; I could’ve been an Olympian and I was involved in drama and speech teams in school, but wrestling was what my family was about and that seemed to control everything, even when it was clear that Aubrey and Erica were the ones who were best at it. So, if I had to be a wrestler, if I had to be Girl Wrestler Joanne, I was going to be something different… something that made me happy and gave me a challenge, not something that only thrust me further into my father and sisters’ shadows.
When I was under my Dad, I was just a prop or a card filler; outside in that dirty world of basement wrestling and sexual domination, I was a star… not the star that my family wanted me to be, but a star on my terms. Erica pushed and still pushes that squeaky clean image because she doesn’t know any other way to be. She’s been clean her whole life; she’s a genuinely good girl and she doesn’t complain about anything. I just can’t be that way; I never have been that way. I was wrestling; I was sex-fighting; I was very much into what people like Erica and Aubrey would call “smut.” And I was able to beat most of the girls I’d faced in those fights and matches; I was becoming very popular online and around the country. But there are so many girls out there doing their thing; so many girls are into the female fighting or female sex-fighting, tit-fighting, toe-fighting, whatever… unless you’ve got some huge backing, no matter how many matches you have and how popular you become, you can still feel like a bit of a nobody when you look around and see so many other women doing what you’re doing. Yeah, Aubrey and Erica weren’t all that happy with what I was doing; Erica would call me up and ask me to come to my senses. It may not have been what they wanted, but it was what I wanted and people were noticing me. And when people start taking notice and you start making more money, that’s when bitches get jealous and get vindictive.
I really got pissed off at this Creole girl I’d wrestled and made submit via my face-sitter; her name was Dallas Dennis and she had curly strawberry blonde hair, honey skin, hazel eyes, and a good build. But she went to some cheap promoter, got some implants and stole some of my moves, then she changed her name to Grrrrl Wrestler Jo Han… I’m not joking. People who would go online and search for me or want to set up fights or put me on a card would “accidentally” get her. I saw her later that year at a wrestling event and I followed her to the showers and cornered her. When I started to go off on her, she just shrugged her shoulders and said, “All I’m trying to do is make some money.” But by the time we ran across each other, she told me she was back to going by her own name. That didn’t stop me from telling her that if she ever tried to rip me off again, the beating I put on her the last time would have nothing on what I would do to her when I found her. We were at a show in Trenton, New Jersey; she had wrestled earlier on the card and I was just there visiting some old friends. Her response… she slapped me. She was an inch taller than I was at 5’7” and she had at least fifteen pounds on me, but I’d beaten her before and I was going to beat her again. She threw the towel around my neck and pulled me towards her. She was trying to knee me in the stomach or the crotch, but she slipped on the wet floor and went down on her ass, pulling me down on top of her.
“Now, you stupid wannabe me bitch,” I said, “I’m going to show you the difference.”
I tried to pin her arms under my knees, but she was strong enough to shove me on my own ass and sit up. She managed to twist the towel around my neck and hold it with her left hand while punching me in the face with her right hand, but after two shots to the jaw, I got her with an underhanded shot to her belly and she doubled over with an “oof!” I hooked her head under my left arm, but she pushed off and we both got to our feet. She was punching me in the ribs with her fists while I was punching her left side with my right hand and kneeing her in the stomach while holding onto my guillotine choke. I had on a black tank top and some jeans while she was butt ass naked, but that didn’t help my back any when she shoved me against the shower wall and drove her shoulder into my tummy.
“Come on, Joanne!” she said as she broke my hold and popped me with a right cross to my left eye, “Bitch, you should’ve never showed up here!”
“Is that a fact?” I said, coming back with a kick to her ribs that set her up for a kick straight between her legs, doubling her over again and allowing me to slam her head into the tiled wall behind me. I stood there, smiling at her, but ready for more when she turned around, the area around her eyebrows swelling like a caveman and a trickle of blood from her mouth as she clutched her belly and crotch.
“Are you done?” I said sarcastically, looking at my watch, “If you’re trying to impress me, next time, shave down there… you look like you’re all thorn and no bush.”
“Fuck you, bitch!!” she charged in on me and I sidestepped her, falling to my left side and tripping her with a drop toehold. The dumb bitch crashed head on into the other wall and I put my arms around her neck and wrapped my legs around her waist. I rolled onto my back and knew she was beaten, but she sure didn’t know it. She thrashed and thrashed and thrashed, wasting all her energy when a simple “I give up” or even an “Alright bitch, let me go” would’ve sufficed. My legs were tight around her waist and her growls turned to moans and before I knew it, she was tapping my thigh to indicate a submission. I released my scissor sleeper and stood over her before I decided to give her a little bit more. I dropped to my knees, pinning her arms under them and putting her neck in a vice between my thighs… this is my face-sitter and once I’ve got you here, you’re finished. And she was finished, ha ha… let’s just say we settled the name issue over her naked body and we ended up being friends again.
Back to the present… I’m sitting in my car and I’m just sore from the beating Katrina put on me. I’m so embarrassed, I don’t even want to get out and go into the hotel. When I get in there, I sign some autographs, some naked pictures, and I head to my room. I’ve got a message on my phone from Renee Rizzo. Renee is a tall, strong fighter turned business woman from New Jersey who was the daughter of a mob hitman turned police informant. She’s got green eyes and dark kinda orange hair, like the color of the inside of a sweet potato and she’s got that Italian olive skin. I remember trying to wrestle her backstage at a show in Newark and she owned me from start to finish.
“I’ve got some work for you,” she says on my voicemail in that gravely Jersey accent, “I’ve got a new girl, Stacy from Milwaukee, she’s biracial, Black and Filipino, 5’2” 125 lbs, short black hair, brown gypsy eyes, six pack… we call her Six Pack Stacy. She’s got a boxing background and she’s left handed, but she needs to be taught a lesson in humility because I saw her beat the holy shit out of her girlfriend backstage at one of our shows. Usually, you know I wouldn’t give a fuck, but her girl is Raychel Mays, another one of our prospects. So, I’ve set her up with a crew to come to the spot in Chicago to film a match between the two of you for our new video. If you beat her, she learns a lesson, but if she beats you, Jo, then she moves up too. I suggest you get ready and when you see this girl, don’t let her size fool you. She’s tough. Ciao, bitch.”
I call Laurie and she’ll be meeting me in Chicago. Laurie is my girl; she’s my best friend and whenever I go into situations that I’m not completely sure of or fight some girl who I don’t know anything at all about, I give Laurie a ring. I trust Renee and I know that I’m safe as far as people trying stuff with me, but Renee doesn’t care if I get hurt or not because she’s in this business to make money. Still, it is an opportunity and you’ve got to take those as they come… there’s just something about this that makes me nervous. I take some Advil and fall asleep. I fly out to Chicago the next day.
To be continued…
