The day he changed my life

The day he changed my life

After a long day of prepping and preening, the moment had finally come for me to step out of my safe space and walk among the bustling crowd. The noise of it was overwhelming, inhibiting my ability to focus on the task at hand. My eyes darted from side to side as my attention was drawn to the chaotic flashing of lights above and around me. It reminded me of Times Square on New Years eve. All I could hear was my favorite song, echoing so loudly in my ears that it was almost deafening. It’s angry beat and hateful guitar riffs culminated in an intimidating chorus of emotional pain.

The way some of them stared at me in admiration while others did so with such fury that I could sense the vitriol fighting for an opportunity to spew from their mouths. Even though this was nothing new, it baffled me, nonetheless. What had I done to earn such raw emotion from people whom I’d never met? Why did some of them look at me like a love-struck puppy on adoption day while others appeared to be advocating for my demise?

The world is a crazy place, I guess. So why should this place, in this city, be any different than the others?

I traversed my pathway through the crowd, drawing nearer-and-nearer to the most important intersection of my life. As much as I’d studied and planned for the eventual challenge of facing what would assuredly be waiting for me on the opposite side, it was still a mystery, a ghost that haunted my thoughts day and night for almost a year prior. Some of whom still do, reminding me of the opportunity that I blew on that fateful night.

The nervous anticipation in the pit of my stomach began to fester and turn my insides sour. Less than an hour earlier I was excited and looking forward to this adventure, confident in my abilities. I couldn’t wait to get out there and, once again, demonstrate what I was capable of, regardless of who stood in my way. But now, on my path, surrounded by hundreds of people, I felt more alone than I ever had. Like so many times before, the reality of having to face another massive challenge alone was taking its toll on my confidence. Sure, there were a few good friends in my corner, but none of them could offer what I really needed. And none of them could expose my hidden softness like he did.

I’ve gone to great lengths to solidify my masculinity. Proving, time-and-time again, that I am more man than the next guy. Feeling nothing for each of them but a desire to dominate and take what I want from them. And, so far, they’ve all fallen prey to my relentless pressure and manipulation, striking where and when I knew they were weakest. Until that day, I’d always had my way with them, using them for my own glory and casting them aside for my next conquest. My ego had grown exponentially.

Being alone, at the top of your game, gives you many opportunities to reflect on your life choices. To look back at how you orchestrated them and who you hurt in the process. Some of those images are forever burned in the annals of my subconscious mind, never to be forgotten. Sorrowful reminders of my success, and my decision to walk away from a scholarship in favor of this brutal existence. This endless pursuit of masculinity merit badges that my Christian parents are absolutely appalled by. But hey, you can’t put bullets back in guns or toothpaste back in tubes, right?

None of these things brought comfort as I neared the place of my next challenge. Looking up at the colorful lights alternating from one color to another I felt, for the first time, the heat of the day. A bead of sweat dripped from my brow only to be caught by my lashes and channeled into my eye. With nothing but a few steps separating me from what was, most certainly, destiny, I lowered my head and closed my eyes to wipe away the sweat. Three steps later, I was standing at the corner and lifting my head to look across to the other side.

That’s when I saw him. Not for the first time, but in a way that I had never seen him before. This time was different. This time I was made uncomfortable by the way he stared at me from the opposite corner. He looked at me with the hunger of a bear who’d just awakened from a long winter’s hibernation. Like he had been hunting me for weeks and was finally about to taste my flesh.

This was the first time, in my life, that I felt more like prey than predator. The first time I was the drool inspiring piece of meat that was about to be tenderized and served on a plate to an apex predator. I have to admit that the role reversal was kind of exhilarating. It sparked a fear that I hadn’t experienced before. An apprehension that, until then, was foreign to me. Or should I say, taboo?

This might sound odd but I kind of liked it. In a strange way, I enjoyed the feeling of being hunted. Being looked at as prey changed the dynamic of what had always been a way for me to satisfy my natural instinct to hunt. It changed everything about who I thought I was, and what I thought I defined as satisfying.

I couldn’t help noticing the impressive curves of his powerful physique as we stepped away from our respective corners and toward each other. The gentle sway of his head and penetrating gaze of his crystal blue eyes was hypnotic as he pulled toward me like a magnet to steel. Soon, I found myself turning my eyes away to avoid the potential for distraction from the task at hand. I feared that his energy would strip me of my own before I could employ it to achieve my previously determined goal. I had to stay focused. Had to keep my eye on the prize. I couldn’t afford to allow this specimen of pure manhood to throw me off my trajectory. At least that’s what I tried to convince myself of, but it was unavoidable. As I said before, he was my destiny, I just hadn’t figured that out yet, not until after our encounter.

For some reason, I woke up this morning with no memory of what happened after that. After turning my eyes away from him. I spent all morning straining to remember. At first, the only thing I could remember was a large man, dressed in black, stepping between us with his hand extended in front of him like a blade that was cutting through the palpable tension. Everything after that was a blur, hazy at best. When I tried again after lunch, to recall the events that followed, the only clue that my memory was willing to disclose was a series of flashing lights and blurred colors, mixed with periods of darkness, and an assertive, yet muffled voice. A feeling of pressure against my whole body, and hints of rhythmic pounding echoing throughout my bones.

Then, without warning, I broke. The subdued interior spirit that I had locked away in the interest of supporting the cold, hard exterior that I relied on in my pursuit of masculine achievement, was suddenly gone. I was absent of emotional restraint and before I could gain control of myself, I cried. I didn’t know why, or what could have caused the walls around my heart to collapse like that. I just sat up in bed, bowed my head and wept like a teenage girl who’d just realized that the man of her dreams was head over heels for the prom queen.

Suddenly, I felt a stiff hand with rough skin wrapping around my forearm and a voice said to me, “Hey, man, it’s okay. That was a hell of a pounding, it’s impressive that you took as much of it as you did”.

At first, his touch made me twitch as if jolted with static electricity. But then, as if the on/off switch of my memory system had been flipped to the on position, my mind was flooded with memories of the night before.

First, I saw his eyes staring down at me as I laid on my back, barely able to move under the weight of his straddling body. I remembered feeling as if I’d been drugged, as if someone had slipped something in my drink. I was telling my arms and legs to move but they wouldn’t. I felt like I was swimming in glue. I soon remembered turning my head to look at each of my hands and seeing his hands wrapped tightly around my wrists and pushing them down toward the floor.

I looked back up at him as I tried again to move my legs, this time with slightly more success. The glue was thinning and the strength was returning to my limbs. I mustered all the strength I could, bending my knees and planting my heels firmly against the floor before lifting my hips up against him as hard as I could. The sudden thrust caused him to fall forward on top of me. I quickly wrapped my legs around his waist and locked my ankles. I could feel the warmth of his breath and the sharp tickle of his scruff against my neck as I wrapped my arms around him and held on to him with all my might.

His hands cradled my face for a moment before pressing firmly over my mouth as he pushed repeatedly with his legs, sliding me several inches across the floor with every push. In the moment, it was hard to determine who was controlling who. All I could think about was being on the bottom for the first time in my life. Before that day, I had pridefully boasted of my ability to own the top position in every one of my previous encounters. But there I was, trapped beneath the glistening body of the muscular man with piercing blue eyes who had, unbeknown to me at the time, exposed the man that I had hidden away for so long. The man whose only motivation for always being on top was the fear of being unable to perform as effectively from the bottom.

The next thing I remembered was when he finally managed to push me far enough that my head was pressing against something. But he still didn’t relent. Instead, he pushed harder with his legs, forcing my neck to bend and my torso to curl. Lifting our hips in unison and forcing me to let go of him and use my hands to brace myself against whatever he’d pushed me into. At that point, he had complete control of my body, and I knew that I would soon become helpless against the strength of his. No matter how much I wanted to keep my legs wrapped around him, the sweat that coated our bodies made it increasingly difficult to do so. Before long I could feel his hips pushing harder against mine as the expression on his face changed from a look of determination to that of someone who had held his breath for as long as he could and was about to release it with an explosive exhale.

And then, as his body came crashing down on top of mine, the world went dark. And it stayed dark until I woke up to find a guy in a baseball cap, with the name “Stitch” embroidered on it, waving something soaked in ammonia in front of my face.

That was the moment I finally remembered what happened that night. I finally remembered that I failed my mission to earn my last, and final, masculinity merit badge. After almost ten years on top, I failed to defend my title and relieve him of his. I’d given my life to mixed martial arts and on my last day as a professional fighter, I walked out of the octagon with nothing. I left behind a legacy of violent victory only to be remembered for the worst two minutes and seventeen seconds of my life.