Madeleine (aka Ms. Liberty) vs. Chantalle
The “Tough Woman” Contest!
It was the weekend before Thanksgiving and I was trying to figure out what to do for the holiday. I had to work Friday and so couldn’t join my family on their holiday vacation. But that night I got a call from Aunt Madeleine who sounded cheery and jovial, inviting me
to dinner with her family since she knew that my own family was going away. I readily accepted and found ringing her doorbell on Thanksgiving Day.
It had been about 2 months since Aunt Madeleine’s fight against Domina, and though she had slept in my apartment the night of the match, I hadn’t spoken to her since. She was pretty beat up
afterward and I knew that it would take her a couple of weeks to completely recover. But although she had suffered a brutal beating, I was nonetheless amazed at her resiliency and wrestling prowess, especially for a woman her age. She had control of much of the fight, overcoming adversity several times to mount effective comebacks, though in the end, the younger, stronger Domina proved to be too much for her to handle.
For as long as I could remember I always had a thing for her, sort of a Mrs. Robinson type attraction. And since she wasn’t really my aunt, but rather a close friend of the family, I never really felt any guilt about it. But despite my feelings, I was shocked at how incredibly excited I was at discovering that she was a retired, pro wrestler. And even more shocking was how aroused I was at watching her be manhandled by another woman. I must have watched the video tape of her match a few dozen times since then, and each time it aroused me even more.
But aside from this one match, Aunt Madeleine had retired from wrestling a few years earlier, and after seeing her bruised and limping after the fight, I realized why. So I cherished having a
copy of the tape to remember it by, assuming I would never see her fight again.
Dressed in a long skirt and turtleneck sweater, she answered the door and gave me a kiss on the cheek. She was also wearing a patchwork apron with a big turkey in the middle, and though I tried not to stare, I couldn’t help it.
“Now don’t make fun of my apron!”, she said before I could comment, “it was a gift from my kids when they were younger so I’ve worn it every Thanksgiving since!”
She looked very much like a middle-aged, domestic homemaker, quite the contrary to the last time I saw her. But as I walked in and sat there with her husband and kids, most of whom I had been friends with when I was younger, it was a strange feeling. Just two months ago I had been aroused by the sight of her, dressed in a two piece outfit and battling against another woman. But now I was seated at the dinner table in her house while she magnificently played the role of
a traditional housewife.
After dinner her husband and sons went out to the movies, though I declined their invitation, choosing instead to stay home alone with Aunt Madeleine. After helping her do the dishes and clean up, she excused herself and went upstairs to clean herself up. When she came down, we sat in her living room and began to talk. I stared at her thinking how great she looked, quickly realizing that she had forever changed the way I would look at her. Since we were home alone, she took the opportunity to talk about the fight.
“You know, I never thanked you for taking care of me that night. I was really grateful for the way you treated me and were so supportive.”
She leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek as I blushed, before she then got serious.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about that fight and in the end I know that I out-wrestled Domina. Don’t get me wrong, she beat me, there’s no question about that, but that’s only because she was a better brawler than I was, not a better wrestler. And the only reason she was able to win was because I didn’t put her away when I had the chance. Going into that fight I knew exactly what she was going to do . I knew that she was going to fight dirty. I knew that she was going to try and hurt me. I just didn’t do a good enough job of beating her to the punch. But that won’t happen next time!”
There it was again! She had mentioned “Next Time” right after the fight, but I disregarded it. And now she was bringing up again. How could she possibly want to face Domina again, especially after the beating she had taken. I was going to tell her that, but then she moved to the edge of her chair and with an intense glare, stared at me before continuing.
“I want to fight her again! I realize now that I wasn’t prepared the last time. So in order to prepare I need to get myself back into fighting shape and then have another match or two. Then I’ll be ready for Domina. I’ve already started working out, so the next step is to find a match.”
I was stunned that she felt this way! Though she did put up a good fight, in the end Domina had trashed her to the point where she could barely walk, even the day after the fight! But I could tell that she was deadly serious, so I kept my mouth shut. She then handed me a newspaper clipping for a dive bar located about an hour outside of town which featured a “Tough Woman Contest” once each month, the winner getting a $100 prize. She explained that it was just the type of fight she needed in order to prepare to face Domina again. It would be a true brawl and the perfect opportunity to practice the type of tactics she would have to use in order to defeat Domina. She then asked me if I wanted to come with her.
I sat there with my mouth open as she spoke, shocked. I looked down at the ad and noticed that the tough woman contest was scheduled for Friday, the very next night! She suggested that since I did such a good job of taking care of her the last time, that I pick her up and we go together. My conscious told me to protest, but the prospect of seeing her fight again left me too aroused to do so. So ignoring my conscience, I nodded my head in agreement without saying a word. She informed that she was going to tell her husband that she would be spending the night at my apartment to help me redecorate, not letting him know about the fight, so I agreed to go along with the plan. The next night I pulled up in front of her house and watched as she walked toward my car.
I was dressed in pair of ratty jeans and sweatshirt, knowing that the bar would be a dump. But Aunt Madeleine was dressed much more discerningly, wearing a long, cotton dress which flowed all the way down to her black pumps. As she got in and gave me a kiss on the cheek, the aroma of her sweet smelling perfume filled my car with her scent. Her short, close-cropped black hair was done nicely and she had on just enough make-up to enhance her pretty facial features. Her nails were manicured and painted red making her look much too pretty to soon be engaged in a tough woman contest at a dive bar. I pulled away and drove on, reaching the bar as we walked inside, Aunt Madeleine on my arm.
The place was truly a dump, located in the heart of a tough, poor neighborhood. Loud hip-hop music was blaring from the speakers and the pungent smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke filled the air. Most of the “patrons” looked liked thugs, making Aunt Madeleine stand out from the crowd like a sore thumb and causing a stir when we entered. Everyone seemed to stop and stare at her. Some of them chuckled at the sight of her while others glared suspiciously, wondering what she was doing there. Undeterred, she submitted her name and was told to go wait near the ring to be called. She would be the second match of the night, so we took our place and waited.
In the middle of the room stood a boxing ring, about a hundred or so people, mostly men, crowded around it. There were no chairs, so everyone crowded right up against the four sides as the action began. The first fight ended quickly with the loser being knocked out cold by a vicious punch to the face and kick to the side of the head. This was definitely not the pro-style wrestling my aunt was used to! The losers of these fights ended up either knocked out cold, in tears and screaming for mercy or a bloody mess. Pins were not an option so if Aunt Madeleine was truly looking for a brawl, she was going to get it!
Finally she was called up into the ring, drawing a hostile greeting from the much younger, mostly black crowd as she climbed through the ropes and into the ring. Being a classy-looking, white, middle-aged woman wearing a dress, she stood for everything this crowd despised. She didn’t seem to mind the crowd’s hostility toward her though, which incited them even more. Standing in her corner she then pulled her dress up and over her head to reveal a simple, black leotard beneath it.
She folded her dress up neatly and placed it near the corner as the crowd continued to give her a hard time while she kicked her shoes off and stood in her bare feet. As I stared at her pedicured, red toenails, my mind switched back to the day before as I reflected on the irony. Here I was watching this leotard-clad woman standing in a boxing ring before a hostile crowd who was screaming for her blood to be spilled, when just the night before I had watched her cook Thanksgiving dinner for her family wearing a patchwork, turkey emblazoned apron!
Her challenger was then summoned and soon after, Aunt Madeleine was standing toe to toe with her opponent. Chantalle was a brawny, black woman with a wild head of dyed orange hair and pair of dark sunglasses covering her eyes. She looked like she had been in more than her share of barfights, which was a direct contrast to my demure looking aunt. She was dressed in a pair of cut-off jean shorts, a beer-stained, plaid top which was tied to reveal most of her hard, dimpled stomach and a pair of cowboy boots. Taking off her sunglasses, she scowled angrily at my aunt, trying to intimidate her as the crowd cheered, clearly on Chantalle’s side. The two women then received their instructions and walked back to their corners, my aunt now seconds away from facing a twenty-something, hard-looking, hard-bodied woman who was eager to kick her ass!
Chantalle was much burlier than Aunt Madeleine, with a stocky build and muscular, powerful looking arms. She worked in the steel mill, the town’s main employer, and looked the part. She had a nasty sneer and a bad attitude with a string of silver hoops lining the perimeter of her left ear, a small silver ball piercing her belly button. I guessed that she had never had any formal training in any form of fighting, other than what she learned on the street, but knew that she could fight. Apparently Aunt Madeleine was in for exactly the type of match she wanted, a true, street brawl, and I worried if she was ready for that!
Within a few seconds however the bell rang and my aunt moved forward, circling the ring as Chantalle waited in her corner, glaring irreverently at her. As Aunt Madeleine reached the side of the ring however, finally Chantalle rushed her. My aunt adeptly sidestepped the charge, forcing her opponent to stumble past.
Skillfully, Aunt Madeline rushed up behind her, grabbing Chantalle by the wrist and twisting her arm behind her back. Chantalle began to scream loudly as my aunt applied more pressure, securing the arm hold and wrenching her shoulder in the process. After a few more moments
she then moved alongside the woman, jerking her arm with a quick maneuver before flipping her off of her feet. Chantalle landed hard on her back, but Aunt Madeleine kept a grip on her wrist, twisting and pulling up on her arm as she wedged her bare foot into Chantalle’s ribs.
The small crowd began to snarl, upset that the hometown girl was down on the mat. But Aunt Madeleine kept the pressure on, using the arm hold to roll Chantalle onto her stomach before grabbing her legs, twisting one over the other and bending them in toward her body. Chantalle was completely outclassed in terms of her technical skill as Aunt Madeleine skillfully switched holds several times over the next few minutes while keeping her on the mat and working over her limbs. Finally she pulled Chantalle onto her feet, lugging her back into the corner before shooting her across the ring.
Chantalle barreled forward, her mop of orange hair swirling all around her head as she ran until slamming into the turnbuckles, the entire ring shaking from the impact of her landing. Aunt Madeleine stormed toward her, reaching forward and grabbing her wrist again. Securing it, she prepared to heave her back across the ring once more, but Chantalle showed her strength by planting her feet and resisting, too strong to be overpowered by my older aunt. As Aunt Madeleine tugged on her arm, Chantalle barely budged, forcing my aunt
to release her grip. But she then hastily took a step out of the corner while cocking her arm before unleashing a ferocious uppercut into my aunt’s midsection.
The blow drew an immediate and enthusiastic reaction from the crowd who cheered the turn around. Right away I knew that Aunt Madeleine was in trouble as the brute force of the punch lifted her onto her toes. Within a second her face turned as pale as a ghost as she doubled forward, wrapping her arms around her stomach. But Chantalle did not relent, grabbing my wheezing aunt and shoving her against the ropes like a ragdoll. My aunt’s head snapped back as her arms flew over the top rope, Chantalle storming in and grabbing her by the throat. Squeezing her throat with one hand, Chantalle then cocked the other before lifting a series of brutal right hooks and uppercuts into my aunt’s soft gut.
“OOOFFF ….. AAAHHH ….. OOOOOO ….. FWOOOF ….. AAAHHH ….. OOOFFF!”
Aunt Madeleine’s bawls were loud and clear, her pretty face wincing with each shot as her stomach swallowed Chantalle’s brown fist each time before spitting it back out. I counted six unanswered blows before finally Chantalle relented, stuffing her hand in my aunt’s ample chest and shoving her back against the ropes. She then receded, leaving my aunt dangling with one arm hooked over the top rope while the other hung down to cover her battered midsection. With her legs were wavering below and unable to hold her up, Aunt Madeleine wilted from the ropes, her face looking frighteningly pale, her eyes vacant.
Though my aunt looked out of it, the crowd was definitely into it, cheering for Chantalle to attack again and finish her off. The blows had been so devastating that I doubted she could recover, even knowing how resilient she could be. Chantalle complied with the urging of the mob and quickly moved in, dipping her shoulders into my aunt’s body before hoisting it onto them, carrying her like a slab of beef. She then paraded her around, showing her off like a prize
before finally walking over to the side and dumping her body over the top rope. The fans celebrated as my aunt’s body plunged down onto the ring apron and landed with a loud THUD, her momentum then forcing her to roll over and fall onto the beer-puddled, sticky and cold floor.
The hostile crowd hovered over her as my aunt wallowed on the floor, her body splashing in the puddles of beer. As I watched her lying there, trying to get up, I couldn’t help but think of our car ride together. She had smelled and looked so elegant, but now she was lying in a pool of dirty, spilled beer on the filthy floor, an angry mob lurking above her and screaming for her demise as she struggled to get up.
As Chantalle stood in the ring, leaning menacingly over the top rope and glaring down at my fallen aunt, I grew fearful for her safety. I was worried not so much about Chantalle, but rather about the impassioned horde who were surrounding her. But just then a bouncer rushed up and began to push the crowd back, giving my aunt room to get up. As she did however an older, heavy-set, black woman rushed up and began to taunt her. Aunt Madeleine was startled by the verbal barrage, but the bouncer soon grabbed her and pulled her away as the crowd cheered and laughed at the spectacle.
A couple of minutes had passed by now, and though Aunt Madeleine was still struggling, she was at least on her feet and trying to get back into the ring. She pushed herself up onto the ring apron and began to get to her feet, holding onto the ropes for support, but Chantalle then reached down, grabbing her by the air and ripping her the rest of the way up. The muscles on her powerful arms bulged from the strain as she yanked on my aunt’s short, black hair with both
hands while standing inside of the ring. With my aunt jerked upright on the other side of the ropes, Chantalle then began to pull her by the hair toward the corner. Aunt Madeleine stumbled along the ring apron to keep up with her assailant until they reached the corner.
Chantalle then pulled my aunt’s head back before propelling it forward and slamming it against the steel ringpost. There was a loud CLANK as Aunt Madeleine’s head ricocheted off of the pole, her legs turning rubbery while the crowd collectively gasped. I watched in horror, wondering how much damage the brutal blow had done as Aunt Madeleine teetered on the ring apron in a daze. Her body then spun before she slumped down, her right arm falling inside of the ring as her armpit came to rest on the rope. With no legs beneath her, all of her weight was held by the one arm until finally she collapsed, falling back onto the ring apron. Chantalle sneered down at her before kicking her with her foot, punting my aunt to the floor below.
Landing facedown, my aunt slowly rolled onto her back, her arms flopping over her head as she lay on the floor, two other bouncers moving in to help push the crowd back. The fight looked over as Chantalle proclaimed her supremacy to the fans who waved their fists up at her in a show of support. Meanwhile, Aunt Madeleine tediously began the process of getting to her feet, her head pounding and her body still wracked with pain. Her leotard was soaked with beer and she smelled of it as she continued to try to get up. Watching her struggle, I wondered how she could possibly continue, never mind having any chance to win the fight. She had wanted a brawl and had certainly gotten one, though I doubt that she fully understood the consequences.
As the crowd harassed her, my aunt finally got to her feet again, her arms resting against the side of the ring as she shook her head to clear the cobwebs. She moved slowly, finally lifting her leg and rolling herself onto the ring apron, aware that Chantalle was just a few feet away. She lay there for a few moments, almost as if she were waiting for Chantalle to drag her back into the ring. But the brawny brawler did not, instead using the opportunity to verbally taunt her.
“COME ON, GET UP! I AIN’T DONE WITH YOU YET”
Still on the ring apron, Aunt Madeleine reached up and grabbed the ropes, using them to pull herself up as Chantalle stood ominously across from her. She slowly got to her knees, pulling on the top rope as she staggered onto her feet. Chantalle then reached over and pulled her head into the ring, pressing down on the back of her neck and forcing her body to bow over the ropes. With the top rope digging into her ribs directly below her chest, her large breasts drooped down toward the mat. Chantalle then reached over and grabbed the back of my aunt’s tights, forcefully pulling on them to flip her back into the ring. Aunt Madeleine’s legs shot straight up into
the air as her body whirled forward, completely upended before somersaulting over and landing on her back. Flat on her back, Chantalle rushed in and stomped down into her ribs, forcing both ends of my aunt’s body to lurch upward in reaction before settling back down.
Lying flat on her back with her right arm stretched overhead while her left arm was draped across her ribs, both legs bent at the knee, I stared as my aunt’s chest heaved from her heavy breathing. Chantalle also stared down at her, getting cocky as she realized my aunt was finished. Chantalle had thrown her around like a lightweight and my aunt had been powerless against the onslaught, the crowd enjoying every minute of it.
She then placed her foot on my aunt’s stomach and lifted her arms, flexing her biceps to the delight of her fans. She was celebrating her victory, and although premature, there was little doubt about the outcome. Finally removing her foot, Chantalle then lifted her right arm, again flexing her bicep as my aunt peered up at her. Taking a couple of steps back, Chantalle then fell forward, driving her elbow down toward Aunt Madeleine’s ribs. But in a last desperate maneuver, my aunt hastily rolled onto her side as Chantalle’s elbow smashed against the mat, missing it’s target.
The landing was painful and Chantalle remained on her stomach for a second or two, just long enough for my aunt to scoot over and crawl onto her back. The crowd reacted immediately, and angrily, yelling their disapproval as my aunt’s legs now straddled Chantalle as she sat on her lower back. Trying feverishly to roll from side to side, Chantalle could nonetheless not get out from under my aunt’s weight pressing down on her. She then tried to reach back at Aunt Madeleine with right arm, but my aunt was able to avoid her grasp, and instead grab hold of her wrist.
Clutching it tightly, Aunt Madeleine pushed Chantalle’s arm back down against the canvas before quickly sliding over and kneeling on her elbow. I felt a tingle run down my spine as my aunt then began to pull up on Chantalle’s wrist, bending her arm awkwardly, and painfully. Immediately Chantalle began to scream, furiously kicking her legs as she struggled to get free. The crowd grew angry, screaming in protest as Chantalle screamed in pain. But watching in
amazement, I soon realized that only one of two things could now happen. Either Chantalle would have to quit, or my aunt was going to break her arm. Leaning forward, Aunt Madeleine then yelled down to her trapped victim.
“I’m not going to let go!”
Chantalle squealed in pain for a few seconds more, but then had no choice but to yell her submission. The bell rang soon after and Aunt Madeleine immediately broke the hold, freeing Chantalle’s arm. The crowd was furious and began to throw things into the ring as Aunt
Madeleine slowly got to her feet, her arm raised to declare her as the winner. I was stunned, and cheered loudly for my aunt as all of those around glared at me in contempt. Aunt Madeleine flashed a pained smiled as her arm was lifted, an occasional cringe crossing her face as she was walked around the ring.
Chantalle was furious though, and quickly got to her feet, rushing my aunt, who did not see her coming. She bulled her into the corner and prepared to throw a punch at her gut, but several bouncers rushed in and prevented it, pulling her off of my aunt, kicking and screaming.
Once Chantalle was removed from the ring, the next step was to get my aunt out of there. The crowd was angry though, and I was worried for her safety. But a row of bouncers cleared her path and escorted her into an office in the back of the bar before anything happened.
I followed and gave her a big hug once were safely away from the crowd, though I guess my hug was a bit too energetic as I heard her moan while I squeezed her tightly. But I was very proud of her, and wanted to make sure that she knew it.
I didn't however realize just how wet and sticky she was from when she had hit the floor outside of the ring and been forced to roll around in the puddles of beer. She also didn't smell nearly as nice as she had earlier, the scent of stale beer emananting from her, though none of that mattered much to me. I was proud of her and elated at her victory.
Just then the owner of the bar came in and congratulated her. He told her that she would be in the finals which would take place next month. Aunt Madeleine’s head bowed as she contemplated the offer. He could sense her hesitation,
and decided to make her an offer.
“Listen Madeleine, you really got a rise out of this crowd. They hate you and I love it! They’ll definitely come back for the finals if they know you’ll be there!”
Aunt Madeleine lifted her head and looked back at him, calmly replying.
“Yeah, they’ll be cheering for me to get killed!”
I nodded my head, knowing that she was right.
“You’re right!”, he said, “They want to see you get killed. But I’ll make sure that you’re safe. And if you win, I’ll give you five hundred bucks!”
I was surprised by the generous offer, but could not gauge my aunt’s reaction. She told him she would think about it, but then turned to me, letting me know that she was ready to go. One of the bouncers handed me her dress and shoes, but I simply draped my coat over her shoulders as I held the door open and together we walked out to my car for the ride back to my place.
