"I screw women. I don't spar them. I sure as hell don't fight them." - (see excerpt below!)
Hello hello! It's Friday, and I decided to do another #FierceFriday. While I usually do smaller snippets, I decided to share a bit of a longer excerpt. If you've never heard of Fierce, Fierce is a sports fiction novel centered around MMA and a female fighter. Being a female in a relatively male-dominated sport greatly impacts Tori, (and a good chunk of the plot revolves around a gender related issue), and so I thought I would share a scene that shows some of the **** girls in the sport hear. PS: Tom is a new guy trying out the gym, and the two are working on a drill. Quick note- jab is a straight punch with the leading hand (Toris' left), and a cross is a punch thrown with the dominant hand (Tori's right).
© 2014 From Fierce by L.G. Kelso
"I screw women. I don't spar them. I sure as hell don't fight them."
Heat flared under my ribs. I had heard similar statements—usually much more vulgar—but it had been quite some time. I had hoped that during my absence there would be fewer chauvinists.
"Well, we aren't sparring. Nor are we fighting. So stop being a douche bag and put your hands up," I replied.
Tom snorted. I threw a cross. He didn't move. I sent out two jabs. Once again, he stayed still.
I moved in, so we were only inches away. "Here. If you aren't going to work and find your range, I'll help you. Now throw something."
He sighed and swatted at me. The minimal touch was a nuance, nothing more.
I stared, insulted.
"Was that too hard?" Tom asked.
"That wasn't hard and you know it."
"What? You want to get beat up by a guy? You have some weird dominance issues or something?"
"Just do the exercise, Tom. Or, maybe, you're not hitting me because you can't." Maybe that would motivate him. I posted off him, to the right, and threw a jab and a cross. A few more hits, and he finally started moving.
It was immediately obvious that he had no real, technical training. He had taught himself, and he hadn't done a good job. His feet moved slowly and came too close together; he telegraphed most of his throws. He kept trying an overhand that, while it could probably knock me out, would also jack his shoulder in the process.
Not that I gave a damn about his shoulder.
I felt the change in his force before the blow connected with my arm. I had blocked the hook, but pain radiated down to my bone. He followed with a body shot that hit my elbow.
At first, I didn't want to say anything. I didn't want to give him anymore of a reason to think less of women in boxing. I could take it. Being a girl in the early MMA days meant it was always okay and you never told anyone to back off or pull back. Then his hook made hard contact with my jaw, and I felt the joint slip out of place, sublaxing. I liked my teeth too much to lose them because of some idiot on an ego rampage.
"Ease up a bit, Tom. Still use force but don't go fight mode. This is an exercise. I don't have in a mouthpiece. Focus on technique and not impact."
He threw hard again, and this time he threw a cross.
"That was long range," I reminded.
"Stop telling me what to do, girl."
Another hard hit.
I sent one back at him, smashing his nose. "I said, back off."
He lunged forward, sending out a cross. The brute force and lack of technique caused me to retreat a few steps in an attempt to dodge a hit that would have landed on my wrist. Instead of regrouping, he advanced. His movements became worse, too wide and swinging. He would hurt himself, but probably me in the process, if I couldn't block. He had no rhythm for me to find; his aim sucked.
It took me much longer than it should have to realize he was pissed.
You can read the first chapter or so on Amazon, Barnes & Nobles, Smashwords (and kobo and itunes).
Don't forget, I also have a pinterest board of Fierce Teasers.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
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