"FROM THE TOP!!"

“FROM THE TOP!! FROM THE TOP!!”

You perk up at the chant that quickly rises in volume and overshadows all the other ones.

From every direction, you hear them loud and clear.

They want you to come down on this bitch from high above.

Cracking your neck, you walk to the nearest corner.

Done.

Turning to put your back to the buckles, you push up into a seated perch while Kelsey continues to wince and whine in the center of the ring.

She’s sprawled and seems to be that way for the time being.

Gingerly ascending to the top rope with both boots bracing on the adjacent ropes, you steadily rise as the fans sustain their chant.

You don’t go high-risk often, but for my wife, well, this is a bit of a special occasion.

Measuring Kelsey from the top, you take a breath…

…and then take off!

Launching yourself into the air, you soar with your torso outstretched.

Directly down on her.

And then-

Thud!!

Or more specifically, the stretch of hard canvas she was just lying on.

My wife somehow manages to roll out of the way just in time, forcing you to eat the mat hard off the attempted frog splash.

“Fuck.” Grunting sharply, you grab at your midsection immediately.

That was a mistake.

Big mistake.

They don’t call it a high-risk maneuver for nothing, after all.

Fortunately, you have a high tolerance for pain…but boy your ribs are hurting right now.

Peeling your grimacing face off the canvas, you start to push up but the pain laced around your abdominal region is profound.

It takes some effort to get on all fours.

With irritable eyes, you see my wife crawling towards the ropes, the battered housewife still with the wherewithal to get some distance.

You bring yourself to a kneeling position as she clings to the cables and pulls herself up.

The crowd boos her recovery, but she hardly seems fazed.

Not when she’s the one standing, and you’re the one on your knees.

And once she turns around and realizes that fact, a smug grin crosses my wife’s face.

Right as she pushes off the ropes and makes her sauntering, slightly stumbling advance towards you.

Come on then, bitch.

You bait her in by playing wounded still, grabbing at your gut until she’s in range…

“Gotcha.” And then you take her off her feet with a double-leg takedown.

Standing up while she’s the one on her back (probably not a new position for her all things considered), you start to turn Kelsey over on her belly using both her legs.

But she uses her legs also to counter, twisting with her hips to free her ankles from under your pits.

From there she kicks against your stomach- your especially sore sternum that knocks you backwards.

Grunting out as you hit the mat, you eventually pick yourself up into a vertical base.

Hearing the warning shouts of the spectators, you look forward only to grunt once again and even louder as the stockinged soles of the Blue Angel slam into your chest with momentum!

The momentum that came courtesy of a running start as she delivers a shotgun dropkick that launches you backward against the near corner.

Hitting the buckles hard, you slump down and fall right on your ass in the corner.

That hurt. A lot.

But not as much as watching my wife now pick herself up and make her way over to you, her seductive saunter now restored at your expense.

“Time to teach you a lesson for underestimating me,” she taunts you.