Spider

I usher out my lingering doubts and move. We head towards the center of the hall and eventually make a space of at least ten square meters for our challenge, right next to one wall of the living room. Jonathan has his back turned to the wall and I get the sofas behind. "So, do you want to fight in this condition? Get change!", he says contemptuously, hopping on the carpet with his bare feet. "Change what? I'm perfectly comfortable like this,” I say, letting my bathrobe slide to the floor. "Do you like what you see?", I ask, winking and acting like a provocative spider. “Problems kid? We're dressed the same now, both shirtless", I tell him, assuming a position of preparation for the fight. He is speechless. I hop on my feet like he did, feeling my female body strong and stable as a small but unbreakable tower of hard diamond. I don't know why so many women hide their nudeness under clothes while men parade every inch of their skin; this must be an ancient sign of male domination, deeply rooted in psychology, and with no logic reason behind. Indeed, in the ancient Sparta, both men and women would compete in sports in the nude and I read once that even during the Roman Empire in-house naked wrestling was a widespread practice for females of different age. I believe that, after centuries, we need to go forward by looking back, and restart the old good traditions.

Indeed, I doubt that it was really common even then for a woman challenging her suitor in a fight pound-to-pound...but who knows, the 21th century can well be the beginning of a new historical trend. In the meanwhile, my opponent is assuming a messy fighting stance and looks focused only on my breast. Pheraps he's convinced that after all this fight will be only a show and I'm not serious about that. This will work to my advantage. Jonathan smiles and walks towards me rather relaxed. He throws a couple of middle kicks. I skew the first but the second lands on my left arm. Actually, it hurts. His leg is no joke but I am not afraid; I knew that he would have started with a kicking strategy. My foot arises, looking for a suitable target and failing to find one. Another low kick arrives. It is paired by my shin bone and doesn't bother me. If the male limbs are long and powerful, even my shaved legs display muscles that many men could only desire. I keep circling. A new middle kick comes forward and I brace myself. That turns to be a fake though; the guy's leg goes up and finally connects with my head, which was its real target. The hit stumbles me a bit. There is no time to rebreath. Immediately, I see the ball of the other male foot before my chest. Before I can get away or even think, the toes pierce my guard, bite my breast and thrust me back. The wall is behind me and I know that if I get pinned against it is over.