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Thursday, February 14, 2013
Nashville- Sybil Starr Fan Fiction
Bam! Bam! Wham! The gloved fists were pounding into Sybil like rockets, smashing into her face and midsection, as she hung onto the ropes trying to stay on her feet.
She was being beaten silly and it was only the first round. And, worse, Sybil realized, she was being beaten by an amateur!
The email had been a surprise. It had come from some corporation claiming the sender had been watching her web site and wanted to hire Sybil for a private match in Nashville.
Plane tickets and hotel accommodations would be provided, too, if she agreed. Most of all, discretion was absolutely required as to her opponent’s identity, which would be revealed the evening of the match.
All Sybil could conclude was that her intended opponent/host was female and most likely rich.
The driver who picked her up at Nashville International said little as they made their way to the suburbs. He left her at the front door of large, tasteful estate, where she was greeted by a man in his 40s, dressed in sweat pants, T-shirt and denim jacket.
“I’ll let the boss and her guests know you’re here. You can change down here,” he said, leading Sybil to a room off the main hall.
On the bed inside she found a blue-and-white striped bikini — about a size too small even for Sybil’s slender frame — and a pair of regulation boxing gloves. No boots — but she was used to fighting barefoot.
After pulling on the tiny bikini, Sybil followed the sounds of laughter and talking along the hall, then down a short flight of stairs.
There she found about a dozen people sipping drinks. They all turned around when she entered.
“Hi, I’m Sybil,” she smiled, with a small wave.
“Great, let’s get this party going,” one woman in a cowboy hat replied, raising her glass. The party had started some time ago, it seemed.
In the middle of the room was a not-quite regulation-sized boxing ring. Standing at the far end was the guy who’d met her at the door and, with her back to Sybil, a tall — probably 5’10” or 5’11”, which gave her several inches on Sybil — woman in a minuscule gold-colored bikini and brown western boots.
The woman had long blond hair and very long legs. Though slender, the definition in those thighs and calves and in her back suggested she was familiar with serious exercise.
Sybil climbed into the ring and the woman turned to face her.
Sybil stopped in her tracks: “You’re Tay — …”
“Just call me T,” the blond replied with a broad smile, “if we’re going to be friends.”
“All right, if you’re both ready,” the man in the denim jacket said, signaling them both to the center of the ring.
“This is Jimmy. He’ll be our referee,” the woman said cheerily as she sauntered forward, gloved fists raised.
Sybil still couldn’t get over it: This woman had been awarded a handful of Grammys for her country and pop albums. And now she wanted to box.
And, Sybil then realized, this meant her opponent was not only taller, she was younger.
But a job’s a job, she thought, and she’d fought bigger, more experienced opponents — and beaten them. She KOed more than a few men, too.
“We’ll continue the rounds until one of you cries uncle or is unable to continue,” Jimmy explained. “Understood?”
“Your house, your rules,” Sybil nodded to the leggy blond.
“Well, let’s go then,” she replied, as Jimmy ducked out of the way and party crowd let out a cheer.
“Aren’t you going to take off the boots?” Sybil asked.
“Make me,” T said.
The woman smiled and — Bang! — the next thing Sybil knew she was flat out on her back. The singer had caught her with a killer straight-armed punch directly to her mouth!
So she was taller, younger and really fast.
T stood over her, feet planted on either side of Sybil’s prone body, and raising her fists, flexing her biceps. Not immense, but with clear muscle definition.
“Wooo, down with one punch!” she yelled. Seeing Sybil looking up at her, she added, “I try to work out even when we’re on tour.”
The people in the room were yelling their delight as Sybil stood. The two fighters circled.
In a burst of speed the singer slammed the more-experienced female with a half-dozen punches to her face and jaw! So taller, younger, fast and very strong!
Sybil tried to weather the blows, but woman continued pummeling her, forcing her back, back ….
Soon Sybil could feel the ropes brushing against her back, and still the singer pounded her. Then a devastating punch to Sybil’s belly — Wham! Another! Another!
She could feel her knees weaken and it was all she could do to hold onto the top rope.
T laughed as she hammered lefts and rights into Sybil’s unprotected gut — again, again and again.
The woman paused, smiled, and then one more deep punch — Whump! — to Sybil’s gut. The redhead dropped to the canvas as if shot.
Sybil could hear the crowd cheer their host, who strutted around the ring with her gloves raised over her hear. Jimmy began counting: “1. 2. 3. 4 ….”
She couldn’t believe she was going to be counted out after what seemed like only minutes into the fight.
“Wait, not yet,” she heard T tell Jimmy. “She’s awfully pretty, and we don’t want the fun to be over already. Let Sybil get up — if she can.”
That did it. Sybil stood, ready to show this amateur the kind of damage she could inflict.
T stood waiting, gloves up, and still smiling.
And she immediately pounded Sybil with a right to the chin, a left to her ribs, a left jab to the face, a right to face, then another solid right to the jaw!
Sybil’s knees buckled and she crashed to the mat.
“OK, now you can count,” T told Jimmy.
“1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7 ….”
Then, from somewhere far away, a bell sounded. The first round was over.
Sybil got to her feet and made her way to her corner. This was incredible — she seemed to be losing to this inexperienced rich girl.
But, Sybil had to concede, though her eager opponent was overconfident and possessed scant boxing skill, she certainly was strong.
“Here, take a swig,” Jimmy said, offering her an opened water bottle. “You’re going to have a shiner on that left eye.”
“Thanks,” Sybil said, sipping the water gratefully. “Are you friends with our host?”
“‘Friends’? No, I work for her. And sometimes I’ve been doing some sparring with her.”
He made to leave, but then turned back: “Look, she’s tough and fast. But I’ve seen some of your videos — you’ve got experience. Use it.”
The bell rang, and the two sexy fighters again approached in the center of the ring.
“This is a rush, a lot more fun than ever expected,” the young blond gushed.
“Glad you’re having a good time,” Sybil smiled back — then slammed her left directly into her opponent’s flat tummy! Then her right, left, right!
“Uhhh …,” T moaned, backing up. Sybil stayed on her, 1-2, 1-2, 1-2!
The woman’s midsection was surprisingly hard — she clearly was no stranger to sit-ups — so Sybil then pounded with a right, left, right across the jaw.
And for good measure, another right directly to the eye — Pow!
The blond collapsed to the canvas.
“Now who’s so tough?” Sybil demanded as she stood over her downed foe, making sure the audience got a good look at her own feminine but fit physique.
They cheered even more, while some urged their host to get up.
Jimmy started counting: “1. 2. 3. 4 ….” But T, now angry, forced herself to her feet.
“For that, I’m going to knock you out,” the blond declared.
“You can try,” Sybil responded, and slammed her left fist deep into the woman’s belly — Wham!
Another left, then a right! Sybil added two lefts to the face, a right cross to the jaw.
T staggered back. Another hard right to the singer’s exposed taut belly — Whump! She tried to cover up, but Sybil’s speed didn’t desert her — more lefts and rights to the head!
The singer dropped to one knee. The crowd gasped.
“You want to give up, boss?” Jimmy asked softly.
“No,” she replied determinedly, standing. “Let’s finish this, one way or the other.”
“OK, but remember, you asked for this. In fact, you’re paying for it,” Sybil said with a grin, confident now of the outcome of this fight.
But to her shock, the blond suddenly slammed her right fist, boring into Sybil’s belly and knocking the air out her body! “Uhh!”
T followed with a left to Sybil’s unprotected head, a right, another left.
Sybil tried to counter, but her opponent was too powerful now.
T muscled Sybil back against the ropes, then hammered her furiously, mostly smashing her fists into Sybil’s reddened belly.
“I said I’d knock you out, and a promise …,” the woman gasped, punching Sybil’s midsection for punctuation, “is … a … promise!”
The woman stopped and showed off biceps one more time for her trapped opponent’s benefit, then — Wham! — a final blow to her victim’s belly!
Sybil crashed to the mat. Later, she couldn’t swear that she had heard the complete 10-count against her.
“1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8 ….”
On the limo ride to the hotel where she’d spend the night until her return flight to Michigan the next morning, Sybil thought about the fight.
She’d lost, true, but she also knew her benefactor — unlike some who clearly wanted Sybil to beat them — definitely had wanted to win. T had wanted that victory.
And Sybil knew the future benefits that could be gained in keeping the customer happy.
That’s when she opened the large box she’d discovered on the back seat next to her. Inside was card, signed with a bright red “Thank you, T,” and a very fine, worn-only-once pair of brown western boots.