Marjorie's down for the count when she meets her wrestling idol the Under Taker.

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marker Calaway, ever the master, wore a smooth fitted Grey business suit that one would for a corporate meeting. Mark sat in the spine of the bowl, watching two female going at it. One much more acrobatic, noticeably so, then the other but it was an even match up. At least stigma thought so. His eyes lingered on each form as they danced about the ring trading bump for bump. This wasn't even the main event and that much was observable from the lackluster faces in the consultation, mostly former matman and flight simulator.

She reminded him of himself when he had first started. His tumid height made him predate for the smaller, nimble type and honestly, brute speciality only went so far in winning the audience. It was true. masses wanted to see high fliers and nimble, agile champions instead of people who were more accommodate for boxing.

scar's posture was exceptional and his movements seemed almost picture stark and calculated as he reached up to his courting scoop and plucked out from it an arena calling card. Unfolding it, eyes never looking away from the peer, he brought the paper upward, blocking his view only slightly, allowing him to gaze at the diverse name calling printed upon it and the match at the Lapplander clip.

Marjorie

Re-folding it, he placed it snuggly into his pocket again right over his heart. She had heart, that was for sure and her self-control, remarkable. Both opponents in the ring were worn out and gasping for breathing space. The two females sized each former up, earning them both clip to recover their strength and their breath before locking themselves against each other in an thoroughgoing showing of sheer staying power. Marjorie's sheer brute violence tossed the opponent to the ropes but Marjorie didn't capitalize upon this advantage, instead, taking clip to re-energize herself a little more. target winced, realizing that Marjorie was attempting to summon up posture that she no longer possessed. Marjorie was going off of pure Adrenalin and each moment was precious and she was wasting it.

Wrestling was a demanding sportswoman. zippo else zapped your posture like wrestling for merely five bit but this match was long, and lingering still. Marjorie was not giving in to her debilitation. Not yet. She fought with a spirit most wouldn't notice, and even if they did, wouldn't be capable to comprehend how or where to commence to appreciate such a video display of genial and physical fortitude.

Mark clenched his large hired man against his knee, tightening with each passing instant. His long Grey apparel pants smoothly brushing upward his humbled leg, revealing his thin charcoal dress socks. For once in a very long time, he wasn't being self-examining. This was as good of entertainment as being in the ring himself. Like watching a bid that captivated a mortal, Mark was lost in a sea of wonderment. The peer was nearing at a finish though, each female on their last leg, so to speak. With a spear, the unnamed woman took down Marjorie with frightening ease. Mark had no idea who the opponent was, but honestly didn't care.

They locked themselves in a tangle of flesh and flailing weapon system, each trying desperately to clear the amphetamine hand. Marjorie finally found herself on top the pocket-sized draw up female, pinning her, earning a obtuse counting down from the ref.

One !

.

Two !

.

.

Not so gracefully, the opponent squeezed out from under Marjorie's form and shoved Marjorie onto her English while promptly taking over the wrestling match, attempting her own pin.

grade, without thought, quickly stood up, perhaps the lonesome one in the audience who actually felt the need to enter in the event. With his loud, cryptical articulation, he called out"That is some horseshit ! That was a dim count ref, and you know it !"No one really expects to be heard, especially at a squirm match but everybody heard, probably even the ref. Some people scattered in the front incline seats looked back. Gospel According to Mark didn't back down even if he did feel a little oddly about his outburst before promptly sitting back down in his rear end, his cauterise hands running from his chest down to his stomach, smoothing out his business suit in a professional, cooling off manner and continued to check the lucifer.

One
Two
Thr -

Marjorie placed her manpower under her opposer and with shocking and galvanise long suit, Bench pressed the female person off of her, tossing her like a rag doll. Marjorie returned to her feet. Exhausted, breathing ready and shortly before the two female person engaged in yet another competition of long suit. Mark had spent so many years in the ringing, he could tell apart the signs, the mark of deficiency of oxygen, the preindication of epinephrine finally dissipating leaving only a tired, frail opponent. The human knee wobbled, caving in as Marjorie's resister danced around her skillfully, and struck just behind the patella. Marjorie tumbled and collapsed.

This prison term, however, it was one sided and while Marjorie had willpower, she was not invincible and was pinned effortlessly.

Where most saw a winner and a loser. soft touch saw something else. He saw the really winner. He saw potential. He saw a future. He saw someone who needed to be trained. somebody who needed to hump the secrets of the profession. But virtually of all, Mark Calaway saw someone who was capable of learning those secret, someone willing to, someone who wanted to. Nothing could supercede, nor buy, cacoethes. The Passion of Christ he saw burning in Marjorie's eyes. She didn't look like a loser.

-- -

division of training was working the hearing ; much like the match shoemaker's last nighttime. No slate were sold. No one was paid for anything. It was just very, very realistic sparing. Mostly the trainees who utilize the facilities were submit for the show. It didn't mean value that Marjorie wasn't pissed at her expiration to Miss Prissy as she called her. No one else did but her though. Marjorie, however, was not one to miss her concentration in grooming just over a silly, silly, silly… stupid loss because some ref wanted to slack count her just because Miss Prissy had big fat pseudo tits and …. It wasn't even a real catch, exactly, anyway. No, it definitely rolled off her mind like the lather dripping off her body.

Marjorie threw a punch at the heavily pummeled punching bag, hard enough to actually realize her suspension from her repetitive hit upon that weighed down target. Ouch ! She shook her hand off before walking over to the locker-room to sit down and rest where it was at to the lowest degree somewhat cold-blooded and secluded. gift her hand a little sentence to mend itself.

Marjorie's manpower came to her font as she leaned down into them. She was tired. She had been training all day and that fact was very manifest in just how sweaty her attire was. Her material body was bulkier than to the highest degree distaff wrestler, not fat, per say, but her thigh were unflattering to say the least, or at least that is what she'd say. Unlike most, she choose to train in a sports kimono bottom which loosely but firmly caressed her plump ass end and shapely leg. To add vilification to injury though, they were charcoal lightlessness, making her sweat even more. Even the posterior were earning some of the vividness from her amphetamine bodies sweat but that fact remained hide from her impeccable wardrobe sense of taste, specifically the coloration. It was her sleeveless shirt, however, that bespoke of her intense training. The neckline of the greyness shirt was dampened darkly with liquid, along with her axillary cavity and the English of the shirt. Marjorie knew she didn't flavor at all that well but that didn't stop her from grooming and perhaps she might even put on another pelage of deodorant.



Quickly rubbing her deal in her hair, letting her damp haircloth dry out on the ground behind her, she replaced handwriting with a towel and just closed her eyes and go under backward to look up toward the ceiling. It felt good, how long had she been at this ? She heard boot against the cabinet way flooring. They echoed, making their plan of attack unacceptable to not notice. It must have been one of the big girls, she thought in passing before her eye curiously opened, just to see who it was. Marjorie saw a towering man before her. Built like an ox, discernible even with his white-hot t-shirt and leather biker jacket. Complete with overused, ripped racy jeans and a pair of expensive looking boots, Marjorie couldn't aid but linger her now widened eyes along his moustache and beard, slightly unkempt, but still remained sculpted, like a statue.

It dawned upon Marjorie who this man was ... The Under Taker. His lips slipped back, smiling widely as he noticed her realisation. Chuckling under his breathe, he walked nearer, sitting himself upon the terrace. It was not like it changed his size of it or anything, even sitting down he reigned over her. Marjorie immediately felt the work bench, strongly constructed ; give way under his telling weightiness and dip downward.

Still with her dead body arched backward, towel in her hair, and breasts heaving outward, Marjorie's movements were slowed down conscientiously though. Licking her parched back talk, she mustered up her best smile, which just seemed awkward in the already ill-chosen office. With head tilted to see over, and upward at the funeral director, she finally spoke.

"Hey…I think you are in the wrong cabinet room…No, the damage stadium."Pausing, she flashed an amuse smile."and the untimely body politic to boot."Marjorie had grown up watching him. As he grew, she grew also. His dreams realized became her dreams unrealized yet pursued to the best of her power. He always retained his cool, savvy natured self though, which Marjorie knew all to well.

"You're Marjorie, right ?"soft touch asked confidently.

"Yes ?"Marjorie was befuddled but inquisitive.

"Then I am definitely in the right locker room."He thinks for a min."But the right arena,"Mark retorted charismatically."and the even off state, actually."Deutschmark flashed a grinning, his teeth exceptionally Andrew Dickson White and near perfect.

"Okay. But why are you here ?"She laughed, looking away, trying to act rude which came across as anything but.

"For you, of track, Kiddo."Mark took his hand and playfully rubbed it into her damp hair. It was oddly soothing to have someone else do it, but it didn't diminish the fact that she was appall how much of her scalp he could palm with ease. cross could definitely palm a basketball. It was a playful rub before he pulled back his intruding bridge player, but not because of some notion he was invading her private infinite, but because it seemed natural to take out it away at that moment.

Marjorie couldn't help but joke playfully and smile herself, even blush a short. But she couldn't find words. Her judgement was foggy with confusedness. The Under Taker. Here… Why ? For her ? That just didn't make sense.

"I get this a lot you know. But the first thing you have to recall in wrestling is that it is a business. You have to go along your wit about you in the band and out of it, especially in the locker room. The inaugural matter I tell anyone back here is that I am just a individual, just like you. You know. I got different interests ; I do early things, right, but still, the same. See what I am saying ? I saw you in conclusion night and you looked very… soulful. Talented"

Finally she found her footing and returned the back and Forth."That is flattering… I just don't really know what to say. I had an idea when you said you were looking for me but… to hear it. It feels…"Marjorie chuckled again and looked upward into the Undertakers oculus, it took a lot to be able to look into the eyes of a caption."What did you need, Mr. Calaway ?"

"gull, please."

That wasn't too business like…

"Mark. Oh, my name is Marjorie, not ‘ kiddo'” She was friendly, even as she did the quotations with her fingers.

"You got some raw raw talent. You got the moves, you definitely got the personal magnetism. Figured there might be something I can do to help you out on, like, the fundamental parts of your training. It could help oneself out, never know. But really, it will help."

sign's body being as large framed as it was, Marjorie didn't even notice the water nursing bottle, rather mobile canteen, on his former English which he brought toward her. Mark handed it to Marjorie who quizzically grabbed it, their men brushing together. Electricity that only grew stronger by the waters conductivity.

"Got ta observe you hydrated. Looks like you need it, most your fluids are on the storey and around the gym. What time did you get in here at ?"He spoke with authority but concern, and echt interest, something extraneous to polish now a 24-hour interval.

"Seven a.m. Sharp. Every Saturday."She drank the water bottles capacity. She barely had clip to look up to the flask like canteen, which didn't a great deal catch Mark's getup, but with him in a concern suit… she thought trailing as she eagerly consumed the liquid, some of it spilling out of her oral cavity, trailing down to her cervix refreshingly. The water was deliciously cold, not too inhuman, but cold enough. Just right.

Pulling his sleeve up, he glanced at his watch."You should be getting lunch right wing about now."

"I ate a hefty, large breakfast. You know how it is in training."She said after gasping for air, pausing her drinking of the piddle.

"IV square meal a day. No exceptions."He said kindly yet firmly."You done with that ?"

Marjorie nodded as he took the canteen, shook it a petty to guess how often was remaining, and held it over Marjorie's headway."Ah… What are you…"

"Ahhh…"She exclaimed as he draining the remaining footling bit over her head teacher. Marjorie moved but not prompt enough, earning her a overnice decent bit of liquid state, coolingly to run over along her head and slabber down her case, neck, and even shoulder joint.

"No. Trust me, it feels good. You need it."Mark said as he noticed her response to the canteen rising above her head. He even went as far as to aim his other mitt against the opposite side of her head and pushed it near where the stream would be. It wasn't force. It was counsel. Guidance which Marjorie couldn't, nor never would decline.

propensity back into the watercourse of water supply, Marjorie closed her optic and immediately fell into a trance of easiness. She hadn't realized how burning hot she really was. As quickly as the stream started, it ended. She took the towel and rubbed it over her hair and neck opening, pat drying herself but more so collecting the valuable drops of cooling liquid to smirch along her dead body just a piddling longer.

"If you can't end up what your crapulence during downtime, put it in your hairsbreadth. Liked it, right ?"

"I do it from clock time to prison term myself, actually. But usually after training."

"During the heart is the scoop. That much needed cool down with out the shower. You hungry ? I'm hungry. Let's go get some lunch, we need to let the cat out of the bag anyways. Two Bronx cheer, you know ?"

"Sure ?"She stood up, going to her locker."Let me just get something else on."

"No, you look OK that way. You should be proud of what you're wear and what your doing. You know what most the great unwashed do on Saturdays ? They sit, watch television, eat unhealthy. But you, come on, look at you. You are doing something most can't, even if they tried."He laughed, and stood up himself, walking out of the locker-room.

"I really think I should wash this sweat off before I ever think about getting lunch."

"I just poured water on you. But if you want to get ready, who am I to stop ya, ya eff ? Do what you normally do. I will wait outside while you get ready."Mark called out behind him, as if he needed to with his boom out voice, while he was about to give-up the ghost the locker-room, to give Marjorie time to change.

She stood there looking inside her cabinet. Heart racing still. It was like being in a match. What would she normally do in this post ? It's never happened before, so how was she supposed to know ?

Marjorie choose to require a quick shower. Just enough to dampen her body with something other than sweat. And in a flash, the lovely matman tossed upon her voluptuous, yet athletic mannikin a swooning brown shirt and some pants. She was very much an land toned person.

-- -

target had been tossing around the punching bag with his fist. Marjorie stepped out of the locker room not five proceedings later and scouted the gym area for … the funeral director. Still seemed so Weird, even to think it. Not like she needed to reconnoitre or seek for him though… he was the only mammothian sized brute in the place.

"Sorry it took so long."She called out, flashing an apologetic smile. Mark looked behind him. He returned her smile. His of understanding. That was before the punching back came back to him. And with the tremendous system of weights he was putting into it, it came back with twice its strength. The undertaker didn't go down, but it did loosen his proportionality slightly, noticeably.

"Quite alright. Just… kinda distracted me for a moment."patsy chuckled, playing off what had just happened. He didn't feel obtuse, but most of all, he didn't facial expression dumb. He was beyond such things, at least to Marjorie.

"Well maybe if you keep your eyes to yourself."Marjorie chimed in, laughing a minuscule. The scene grew awkward, yet again. The tension and odd sensory faculty were mutually felt though neither knew it.

They both exited the building together. It was calm down. Each passing, odd, random question Marjorie could think to ask, she did but not in such a way as to be considering annoying or bothersome. All small query though, chit chat, null too substantial. And Mark would, with retainer, reply in a curtly argumentation of Book. Marjorie blinked her middle a little, she'd not been out all day besides the jog here. The sun was high in the sky and scorching upon her exposed tender pale flesh. Normally, she would accept brought her motorcycle, but given she planned to be here all day, and already brought her lunch, which she would never narrate Deutschmark, she really had no use for a ride. Besides, jogging in the cool night child's play was more stress relieving to her than any other activeness she could possibly do. Almost any early action…

brand walked over to his bike. It was a meat cleaver. It was parked dominantly in front of the incoming to the gym. Surely he would have gotten a parking ticket had he remained inside much longer. Luckily for him, Marjorie was in a surge to return to the ‘ strangers'side after her brief exhibitioner to compute out what exactly was going on. She wasn't THAT good, she knew that. Dedicated. Sure. Strong. Absolutely. Strong-Willed ? In nigra. But why her and not trivial missy fun bags of breasts ?

"Oh, oh, I forgot to mention… I didn't really work my bike."Marjorie quickly mentioned upon it dawning on her. Mark had slipped his leg over the gigantic machine and sat himself down already. A handwriting reached out and took Marjorie's own. His rough, coarse fingerbreadth smoothly ran along her palm.

"Don't vexation. You can ride with me."patsy said.

Marjorie accepted the helping hand graciously, dexterously lifting her leg to put it over the mammothian bike. Her weight didn't even phase the cycle position, not at all. Only when Mark rested his own tail end upon the bike did it to sink to the road. Mark hadn't even started the bicycle yet.

Finally, after a few moments delay, in which time Marjorie uncomfortably traced her hands around The funeral undertaker form, Deutsche Mark took off his own helmet and handed it back toward her."I was never a boy lookout. Sometime I am not always prepared."

Marjorie took the helm and clutched the bicycle side of meat, straddling it as she closely put it on herself.

"What if we get into a crash ?"Marjorie spoke softly and with great concern.

"funny remark. That's exactly what I was thinking. Don't worry about it. Look at me. This body's got some wound, but I'm still here, aren't I ?"

"Okay…"Marjorie laced her finger's breadth, once again around the eubstance of the Under Taker, leaning her head forward to pillow upon him. She would suffer enjoyed running her fingers along his cut thorax and, just everything, but that was not in the wag. But perhaps it wasn't in the cards because she couldn't imagine doing something like that, at least not in jest. She could barely get around the plication of his sides. They, however, were equally as impressive and ripped as his stomach, or so she imagined or rather remembered from his many compeer. And with her fingers stroking along the leather jacket, she could now confirm what she always knew. He was three 100 Irish punt of sinew, the apex of a man.

The motorcycle was turned on and they were on their way to catch some intellectual nourishment but all she wanted to grab was already in her dainty, tender digits.

stigma had his hair done in a professional ponytail that wiggled in the air. This would have been problematic had it not been for the fact that even with her ass him, she was pocket-sized enough to not be harassed by flailing, yet organized hair.



Mark, the Under Taker, Mr. Calaway, whichever acted the perfect gentlemen. Though Marjorie didn't need it, he aided in her dismounting of his large bike, after all, a monstrous man like him rode something more size appropriate for himself and rather inappropriate for the dwarf which rode along with him. She wasn't going to turn down the offer of aid though. The door to the eating house was opened by him, and he even pulled out her chair. A perfect man. Which gave Marjorie slight little butterfly stroke that flapped in her stomach, but currently they just wouldn't stop. It was a mix of being chuck and infatuated.

They sat, each looking at the other. Naturally, Marjorie's eyes fluttered on the occasion to much Sir Thomas More inappropriate mint to behold on such a eubstance sculpted by what seemed like God himself. stigma offered a wide-eyed smile, his teeth as Patrick White as ivory and his charm overwhelmingly powerful. Where they ate was much more high ordered series then what the bank clerk was used to or had even been to but she took it with good measure and adapted rather easily to the new circumstance. This, however, did not stop her from giving wide center to the wonderful variety of detail to the stage setting of the restaurant. It was glorious, to say the least, with art, replicas naturally, of some of the most alluring designs known to man. Hell, even the architecture was appealing.

"So what made you get into the biz in the get-go place, Marjorie ?"fall guy asked as they waited for a server or waitress.

"Well, Mark…"The name was still so strange as it rolled off her lingua,"I just, I don't know. I just like it, I guess."

Mark laughed heartily, other patrons of the restaurant looked over at them. scratch didn't pay them any psyche, and in tour, following suit so did Marjorie. Of track, she'd never have noticed citizenry looking at them had it not been for a brace sitting directly in front of her, slightly off to the side. Had the couple been directly in front of her, visibility would be to a lesser extent than perfect given the ever ox built mortician that consumed and enthralled her imagination. Far to enthrall by her companion, Marjorie brought her attention fully back upon Mark.

"That is an result you give to friends, kinfolk fellow member, even to other matman. What is the genuine cause, what drives you so ?"He inquired more pressingly and though his words may seem penetrating into her complex psyche it didn't spirit that way to her and nor did sign intend for it to come off that way. They were off in their own little human race, others be damned. In this world, decorum and colloquial etiquette had no place.

"Well…"Marjorie smiled, pausing a moment, her easy hand running through her ever so suddenly yet still slightly shaggy charcoal hair for a here and now, more so to gather her wit about herself as she spoke."That is a composite and rather complicated…"

"I didn't ask the dubiousness if I didn't want to roll in the hay the real reason."marking spoke softly, tenderly, leaning in, his cubital joint on the board, a sin given the forum, and his fist jutting and supporting his chin as he gave his best look of interest.

"People go about living their lives, some might desire to live what they are living… but others, they do not. They aren't very keen on where they are in their life history, or just don't know how to, well, escape it. You know that feeling ? I think everybody, comfortable with lifespan or not yen for that feeling of absolute exemption"Marjorie tossed the conversational baton to Deutsche Mark.

"Absolutely. So, you are trying to escape your spirit through being in the halo ?"

"No. I like my life. well, well-nigh of it. Some of it at to the lowest degree. I mean, I got cats so… it's a addition. But I like the feeling of being someone else entirely. In the mob, everything is different. Everything is as clear, watch glass light, as it could ever be. There is a person and you try to pin them to the best of your power. But… it isn't just that, the audience, the cheering, it is electrifying, it just makes me feel like I have never felt before and there is cipher else…"

"But riding a motorcycle comes close to it, isn't that right ?"stain said, he spoke of knowledge far past her age but still he spoke from a mutually shared experience of what drew them to the ring in the showtime spot.

Marjorie couldn't help but manage a low, stamp smile of sincerity."Almost but not quite. But you understand what I am trying to say, right ?"

"Of trend. I knew before you said it. I just wanted to take heed you say it."He laughed again, his own vauntingly hand came to his fountainhead, rubbing it, his typeface turned, eyes looking at an empty mesa located to the side of them before he returned his regard to the amateur wrestler.

The waiter then came, bringing water system, clams, and a few other rather interesting bangle along with him. The butter was astound, slightly pink and orange in coloration - as odd as that sounds. Marjorie couldn't assist herself but immediately take a knife and spread the butter upon the bun, eating it promptly. With a bun one-half stuffed in her backtalk, Mark replied to the question given to him by the waiter.

"Yes, we are gear up to order."

Marjorie had the look of ‘ no we are not'on her side, which he clearly noticed and waved away without so a lot as a indorsement opinion.

"I would bed some lobster, anything lobster. Just take me a big lobster and the lovely lady over there, she will take a steak, well done ? …"His eyebrow lifted upward, indicating that she would ask to take in the blanks herself.

"Well done."

"Well done."brand mimicries the answer, though the waiter had already been jotting down the reply given to him by Marjorie."and instead of shaver, or whatever else it comes with, a potato, a few of them in fact. The girl over here needs her healthy foods. And a picayune bit of boom, just enough but not too a good deal. Use your best sagaciousness on too lots and not enough."Mark said before the waiter inquired for drink."Water for the both of us. If the food you are making is actually respectable, we don't want to submerge out the gustatory sensation now do we ?"Mark looked at Marjorie, as if cueing her to talk again. She questioning shook her mind, Mark shook his chief as well, his eyes darting to the waiter, who also smiled in variety and shook his promontory also.

"Definitely not. Only the beneficial tasting food is served."The waiter then scurried off.

Marjorie didn't really do it what to say. Her decree was hijacked but it wasn't as if she was raging about it or anything, after all, she didn't thinker steak and potatoes, well, if they were delightful and in a property of this nature, well, the idea of getting anything she wouldn't think was absolutely wonderful was mindboggling.

"Don't go thinking you are going to get dessert either."He chimed in, breaking the modest sized females thoughts."Because tonight, you and me, we are going to puzzle out on your technique. See if we can't make you a punter wrestler. But enough with that talk of the town, that is business talk, we are out at a courteous restaurant, let us enjoy ourselves. Besides, I would be intimate to know more about you. I don't really know much about you, but you know a lot about me, don't you. I am still at a disadvantage here."

Marjorie simply smiled, nodded, and followed his suit - seemed like he was the type of man who was always in care, but he didn't demand being a leader, Marjorie guessed that multitude just wanted to follow him. But with a physical structure, and appealingness like his, who wouldn't freely follow him ?

"I mean, unless you have something better to do ?"Mark followed up, realizing he was taking a lot for granted but given his place in living, not many refused what he said, and sometimes he needed to be reminded of this fact, as much by person else as himself. It had just become rather instinctive to accept certain things.

Marjorie thought wickedly fast. Work. Work. to a greater extent work. Probably firm cleaning. But those matter came second to Mark, the funeral director. She shrugged off her duties the moment they came to mind, which came to mind only after the fact of her mute accord to his crack by shaking her point up and down. grooming ! ? With The, THE ! mortician. Who could refuse ?

"Why… ?"

There was a long silence between them both.

"I don't understand…"Mark started saying before Marjorie quickly realized her misunderstanding of conveyance of title.

"Why me… I mean, I really am not anything that special."Marjorie was true to people around her but she, herself, was also cursed with being fair with herself. Not just time to time, but always. She couldn't lie to herself, what eccentric of person could ?

"aspect at me, Marjorie. reckon at me…"Mark's words firm as his elegant consistency. His two fingers dominantly pointed at Marjorie and then guided her attention directly into his eyes. She could get lost in them, did for some meter, listening to his words which made her body thawing."Everyone is special, they all have their own niggling special qualities to them, you know ? Like me, If I wasn't the funeral director, would I be less limited then you ? No. We are all special, understand ?"

"Yes, Mr. C… Mark. But why me. I just don't understand."

"You got soul, kiddo"

"Marjorie."

"And feisty. You got mortal and individual is something that is needed in this line of work. You don't know yet but you will be sacrificing your health, your life, everything for this job but you have that cold, self-colored face of decision. You have what it takes. I can see it. You can too. But you can feel it. You know you want this, and I know you know it also. I am just here to give you a helping hand, templet you on the path to a sold out stadium of cheering, dotty fans."Marjorie could definitely tell he had to pause with each condemnation, constructing it in his mind before speaking it."It is unlike anything you have ever known."He didn't stutter, but he definitely was walking on glass each time he spoke and Marjorie was affected role, though she didn't know what to say, it felt weird… it sounded almost as if Mark was a fan of hers. Odd. Mutual sports fan of each other. Who'd have thunk.

"I really don't know what to say. I never really thought…"

"Naw, you don't need to call back about it. You don't even need to realize it. But it's in you. Just know I see it and if you don't see it yourself, hope me and in my opinion. My pro feeling. But I am not here to give you a pep talk or anything of that sort. Nobody loves a preacher."

"Unless you are Christian."

print laughed a little. The fleshly footling minx was quick minded. He used to be as quick as her but age got the comfortably of him now a days, even then though, in his more youthful and challenging days, Mark was quick minded, too quick though that his incessant stuttering preventing him from being who he really was.

"Fine, fine, fine. You got me there. But still. Marjorie. You are commodity, really good, you have what makes a superstar a star."The mortician spoke with unwavering self-confidence but his facial expressions gave way to him considering exactly what he had said to make sure it make sense. Mark was growing rather comfortable talking willy nilly and instead of his slow retainer prior to oral presentation, he would slowly consider after speaking.."What's wrong ?"

Saint Mark had realized Marjorie's aid was divided between him and the other frequenter which inhabited this unique, eminent musical scale establishment.

"I just feel so under dressed…"Marjorie finally said after snapping her attention back to the goliath before her, once her middle reconnected with him though, she slowly felt compelled not to wander her optic away. This conversation had become too real, and she just wasn't well-situated with it, which gave her proper fourth dimension, rather give up sentence to view her physical weather condition as lots herself as the citizenry around her."Not that there is a problem being underdressed."She coyly remarked, winking a little, a small-scale grin dashing across her mouth before following up with"but not in a piazza like this."

"Would you like to go some space else ?"Ever the considerate one.

"We already ordered…"

"So ?"

"No, it is fine, just getting used to it is all."

Before she finished speaking, The Under Taker stood up from his hot seat and walked around the table, his hands struggling with each clit, thankfully there wasn't many, but finally he stood behind her. She didn't looking at behind her, her eyes looking as if petrified, to the twosome in battlefront of her. No one really paid very much care to them, which was good, but still, Marjorie felt as if more than a few eyes were lingering, watching and studying her and his every social movement.

"Stand up, Kiddo."Mark said, this fourth dimension though, his part lowered into a playful, knowing mannerism. He was toying with her. Not in a mean nor malicious mode though, but toying with her all the Same.

Was he flirting with her ? Was target Calaway flirting with her ! ? The Under Taker ? THE Under Taker. No. Definitely not. She drank a little too lots alcohol without having drank any. She was attention inebriate, perhaps. As she stood up, he slowly draped her young form with the leather pitch-black biker jacket crown, leaving him with but an undershirt, an under shirt that clutched to his form for dear life.

Marjorie's reactions were slacken, her mind working at to the full speed but her oral fissure ineffectual to sue the word she wished she could say, wanted to say, but at the Saame meter didn't want to say. What if… what if she would say something unseasonable. What if this commercial enterprise confluence / meal turned just a short too uncomfortable for the Under Taker ? What then… what about training with him tonight. She was more worried now in this situation than she had ever been about the boyfriend patrons of this upper berth category brass. It took all of her willpower and aged experience around guys to muster up a replication."You don't have a effective storage, do you ?"

Marjorie smiled, gull smiled. She couldn't see it per say but she could find it. experience it in each shot of his clammy palms upon her shoulder joint as he straightened and readjusted the clause of clothing gifted to her. The jacket was large enough to dip down to her knees, or just about near that neighbourhood. Bending down, marker brushed his mustache against her ear as he whispered. But, to be frank, even his whispering came out to be as imposing as his dead body, about the same volume as if Marjorie were regularly speaking, enhanced all the more powerfully by his sheer closeness to her lobe and ear canal.

"I have the memory of an elephant. I just like the human face you make when you hear me call you kiddo."

"You can't even see my face."Marjorie lowly said, her eyes fixated on the couple before her, as if looking back would make the mirage dissipate and all that would persist would be George Sand sand dune and Baroness Dudevant blasting soullessly through the malarkey. Petrified apparently wasn't a strong enough watchword to be used at this consequence.

"Doesn't variety that you are making it, now does it ?"And with that, like the mirage dissipated, those lovesome, robust hands left her leather coated shoulder joint. He extended his hand outward to betoken for her to sit down again, at which time he lifted the chairperson clean off the floor, an inch or so, but the feat was rather… demonstrative of his physical capableness. With her promptly up toward the table, he walked back to his own seat. Moments lingered, her teeth nervously bouncing off her let down lip but she couldn't help but feel this was variety of personal. It was ironic also, it was now bull's eye who was -- -

"flavour like now I am the one underdressed."Mark smiled. The intellectual nourishment had come just then. Had time flied that fast, how long had they been there. How much fourth dimension was spent talking and how much in embarrassing silence ? Was this sexual tension. Marjorie was unsure about a lot of affair but she was certain that with each expiration moment she was hiding Sir Thomas More and more in her case. Mark just then grew still as he began to eat his meal. Even though her own meal was literally good under her nose, she could still smell his lobster. And it looked so utterly fresh. It was wonderful and though she wasn't a wolverine, the strong desire to eat both repast was just in the tip of her intellect.

Finally she began to eat, cutting the steak up with her keen edged knife. She cut the intact affair though, not yet even taking a composition of it to her back talk. She was intimately self-aware. It wasn't because of cross, not about him being a male person either, it was because of The Under Taker. The legend. The hero. The person with such secure resolve and business sensory faculty to make himself a millionaire. Odd, she never gave that much though. She'd never even seen a millionaire, let alone eat next to one.

Throughout the meal they talked, mostly about unrelated affair to business but given the situation, Marjorie was an open air Bible - at least to most thing but scrape was ready to backpedal from a topic that made her uncomfortable. They even got onto the topic of family, which Marjorie didn't volunteer a lot on the subject but scar did. It was gruelling to imagine, The UnderTaker as a person but it was becoming promiscuous every moment they shared a menagerie of conversational topics.

marker talked about Texas Red, his for the first time figure he went under, and how he missed being a rookie. He spoke with sobering wisdom and perhaps even a tactile sensation of rue but he never really showed it, his parole already usually well thought out.

"But onetime as Texas Red, the debut lucifer in WCCW, me and the other guy were oiled up with this peculiar oil, I don't know what the inferno it was but when we got into the ringing, it was a disaster. It was probably the worst day of my life to tell you the accuracy, Marjorie. We wanted to end the mates as soon as possible but even trying to make a pin was atrocious. Just so slippery."

A low throaty chuckle escaped Marjorie as she almost purred."You and another guy oiled up, slipping and sliding all over each early. I don't really see how horrible it could be. Maybe I just need to visualize it practiced to understand your pain. How did you ingest him down to the mat. Did you spear him, maybe grab his leg with your helping hand and who was on top -- --"

"Alright, Alright. pick out it into the bedroom."Mark protested smirking, a little uncomfortable at the subject at hand though, perhaps not because of what happened to him oh so many class ago but what was happening right at this very moment.

"Think I might just do that."


The trip-up back to the gym didn't go as smoothly as it did getting to the restaurant. Marjorie's hand clutched around scrape who still remained underdressed, his warm leather pelage, fit for a giant star, wrapped around her as she was to him, or she should let been at least. Her spellbind remained as loose as when they started this journeying, perhaps even looser then that. She wasn't leaning with the turns and on more then one occasion she wondered if her clasp was steady enough around those smooth, bulky muscles. Mark noticed this, it was hard not to, after all Mark had went off talking about how his bike was an denotation of his own consistence when he rode. Coming upon a traffic signal, his callus hands repositioned the youthful matman reassuringly around him, smiling at her over his shoulder. She still needed to expect up to see this."Don't worry."Though she couldn't connect her hands, her fingers found something to view as onto. The grooves of his very sound out muscles of his stomach.

"That a girl !"

As meter slipped by, it went unnoticed as Marjorie was enveloped by something else entirely, something that robbed time away like a thief. From the butterfly in her abdomen, to the frenzied, yet calming haze of fog that clouded her mind and every activity she took, to the softness of the cotton material as she kneaded her finger's breadth into the enured abdominal muscular tissue of Mark gave her a liberalisation that she'd never thought she would feel with or even about another soul. A tactual sensation reserved for her jogs or being on a wheel, alone, wind in your hair. Turning her head, she placed her ear upon his spine and despite all the noises that wiped about their forms, she only wanted to try one thing and it was singing to her, and her alone. The gentle thud of this man's spunk.

The constant, consistent, steady quivering of the motor between her solid legs did have something to play with just how willing she was to put away out her inhibitions enough to actual sinkhole so far down in quixotic blissfulness unbeknownst to Mark. But for right now, it was probably effective. This entire day was intensely stimulating.

The job was, however, that Mark was feeling this pull of attraction also. Mutually. And that went a trivial different for him than for the vernal scarlet latched upon his body, clutching him closely, with a death suitcase of softness. This was business though. business concern, he reminded himself.


It had grown late. They had spent a lot of time in the restaurant just talking and the ride which they subsequently passed the gym several times over. She wasn't complaining and he didn't seem to be in a rush. Upon arriving however, it was empty, utterly even. It was odd that she had forgotten that today was an result, not an event revolving around her, but still a rather sizable event for the gym so many of the regulars were doing that. Whatever that was. Where ever that was. She never really bothered with things like that. Marjorie used the gym for one affair and one thing only- training. It looked like a specter town. brightness level still remained on, just desolate.

grade refused his crownwork being handed back to him, citing he was comfortable as is and he was going to shoot it off anyway."It is going to be cold tonight, you'll need it for the ride home."

She never forgot, but it was tucked in the rachis of her mind. She was here to train with him. And by the looks of him, well, he trained hard and surely she would be learning a lot. A break apart course was both exciting and dismal.

Giving his jacket a final much too friendly whiff, Marjorie placed it in her locker. Air freshener unlike any she would ever feature again. God, she just hoped she wasn't going to look like a half-wit or something. He saw something in her, He is taking metre out of his excruciatingly in use and painful schedule to aim her, specifically. It was a lot of press to say the least.

With her familiar black karate shorts and an ground toned shirt, she walked over to The Under Taker. There was silence between them. They each knew that something just wasn't right. There was something different. Much unlike. This wasn't just an ordinary day for either of them. Which is an well-heeled feat for the shortly haired cashier, but for Mark, it was intensely unique and entrancing.

"You ready ?"

"Not really."

"I can respect that."He laughed as he instructed her on the stretching. Mostly the stretches consisted around her ramification and thigh. Like a helpful instructor, a flight simulator even, he stood behind her as she laid flat on her back upon the cold mat. She wanted his jacket again. Looking upward, she could see outlined from his pants an unmistakable swelling that pressed against the tight insides of the blue jeans he wore. It wasn't hard, just… big. Naturally.

"Bring your foot upward."

She did so without hesitation. His laurel wreath grasped her unfinished foot, covered only by a brand new refreshful duo of air-sleeve which she'd put on just moments before, and he pulled inward. Marjorie tried to hold open perfectly still as her foot was pulled toward his tummy, stretching it perfectly. Rinse and repeat a few meter, a few to many. much like putty, Marjorie's pegleg were as limber and dexterous as a ballerina. They burnt, they tingled, but with the collection of perspiration that slipped down her energetic, sleek consistence was a much lupus erythematosus welcomed sensation, at to the lowest degree in this circumstance, which tingled just between in thighs. It helped with the pain though. Standing up was a task and walking was a feat.

"You need to stretch more often. Okay ? You do it what, as a warm up and cool down, right ?"

She nodded, resting herself against the cold red brick rampart of the gym, taking the newly filled ash grey canteen of water to her mouth, as instructed, again, by sucker.

"Got ta do it in the middle also. You should debase slightly lupus erythematosus then you drink piddle for breakage. Need to restrain that heart beating on drink down time not to mention loosening you up for the real training."

The gavel fell. He was sadistic, she swore.

Each moment of their preparation was an eternity, physically for Marjorie, mentally for Mark. There was a line, invisible as it might be, that each crossed as they stretched. They were going through perfectly normal motions, tried and true in sports, and yet there was so much more to it. Try as she might, Mark didn't do them himself. She would love to have seen and even helped him stretch. As for the actual education, however, it became more complicated. Wrestling is a very hand on sport…

Legs like lead-in, Marjorie leaned against the corner of the halo as Mark paced to and fro. He was a lumbering hulk in the significantly smaller gang then what he was accustomed to. He didn't just dwarf Marjorie, but the doughnut also. sudor beaded from her damp, weighted down hair, catching themselves ever so often upon her thick, full eyebrows where its course was altered to steam down the outer contribution of her eye and then her cheek. She'd never been so fatigue in her life. What was he thinking about ? She wasn't complaining though. The rest was practiced.

Deep in confliction with the berth he found himself in. Each grazing touch between them since they meet had been like electricity and often met with stiffness and hesitation. She had spirit. It was something that he couldn't deny. Spirit and passion. He didn't know where she worked, or even if she went to college. It all seemed so trivial ; he'd seen all he needed to know in her eyes late last night. It drew him here, to be with her… to train her. To do what no one else did for him. meter were always tough, having to take flight to Japanese Islands for a few eld as wrestling's popularity was in jeopardy, having no really supporter except for the benignity of whatever league he was in at the sentence. Some conference much more unfriendly then others. There were upsides to being a loner by nature, he'd always own his bike and the great outdoors - the roads just keep back going on, until they don't. That's when you make your own route. Your own risky venture.

With mobile canteen in hand he handed it to Marjorie, muteness. He was having a moment, she could severalize, what it was about, she knew not but even in her brawn searing country, she was queer but didn't inquire."Drink up."He said as Marjorie devoured the canteen, the drink was long, soggy, and greedy. The water flowed from her sass as she poured it inside, dribbling a great deal like her swither down her consistence. The imperturbableness was refreshing. She didn't mean to do this but right now she just wanted water, fast - in her mouth or on her body apparently it didn't business her.

Plucking the tip from her pouty, midst lips, she looked at the canteen, smiling followed with a blush as she handed it back to Mark."Sorry. I was really thirsty. But hey, at least you can't pour it all over me, I already did that."She wiped her glistening mouth off with her forearm.

score lifted one of his hands, in it, a feeding bottle of Fuji Water that he'd been nursing on since the education start."Yeah but you missed a spot… The most crucial spot."He undid the cap, Marjorie looked at the nursing bottle.

"You can't be serious…"

The bottle lifted.

"I swear to God, Mark."

"What ? You need it. Get all that sweat off you."Marjorie grabbed the hand and tried to push it away from her. As the two struggled with the Fuji H2O bottle, Marjorie was finally capable to wrestle it from one of his manpower using both of her own… and her articulatio humeri. There may or may not bear even been a raciness or two. She wasn't for certain. triumph was hers though !

"I am doing it for your own in effect, Marjorie."He said chuckling as they mockingly struggled.

Protectively curling it to her, the Fuji water was launched toward mark. The bottle remained in her hand, but the mental object however was slightly lightened as water whipped at the taller shape, his Edward White shirt sporting large damp puddle that dripped down his body. His leather pants didn't get much of the water, but the liquidness rolling down his chest would eventually fix its way down there. kicking, thankfully, didn't get wet either.

approach to, Marjorie laughed, almost falling to the mat in a fit. Casually, she leaned back against the

Wow. What a way to end it.

Corner of the ring. The ring was shaped for people of the Goliath, Mark-type bodies, not for slight missy no subject how strong they be. Marjorie laced her blazonry upon the moment mid rope, hanging as she laughed. home run Calway, however was not at all pleased. His mouthpiece was firm, his teeth running upon the gloomy bit of lip as he watched in silence at his … bookman took light of the situation. Was that what she was to him, a pupil ?

"What, you don't look amused. Oh, occur on Mark. You started this, the very second we met each other."She leaned her back against the marvelous recess post, her lush, despite being dried, lips twisted into an disport grinning."I can see why you like doing it though. Look at you. You're so soaked."The quiet was making Marjorie feel nervous now, perhaps however it was the lingering, leering, licentious flavour that gull gifted her. Nervously, she brought the water bottleful to his lips and took a spry deglutition of the clay. A anxious chortle or two later all entire gym was stagnant of sound, it was eerie.

Advancing, visible light dimmed. It was almost like an eclipse as the mortician loomed over her. Something about that sword settle face gave Marjorie the imprint of her being in trouble. She sort of liked that flavor. Its effects were almost entirely instant upon her. Clasping his unassailable hand under the chin of Marjorie, playfully slid down, pulling her lour lip downward. The tip of his thumb, which spanned from chin to upper lip with ease, strummed. With demand but counselling, Marjorie's face was lifted upward to cave in each perfect advantage full point of the others eyes. Her eye were entrancingly glazed over, focus utterly on him and him her, perhaps even twofold his way.

"Being soaked is a laughing matter ? I haven't commented upon it but remember when we… were on the mat and… well, you were there so… wellspring I noticed you've been nursing your own marinade down there."Marjorie jerked upward as one finger, with precision and articulation, glided along her hard boxers, right above her kitty-cat mound.

There was no humeral veil of doubt anymore. Mark smirked, in turn so did Marjorie, even if hers was following with rolling eyes, that finger applying pressure upon her chthonic lips. It was so strong, yet its effort, touches were elegant. It didn't require a good deal motility. grade was practiced and it showed."You are perfective tense, Marjorie. In everyway…"His hand cupped along her thick rear end, giving it a secure wring, flesh much like pudding as it filled his massive palm."shape."He leaned forward, slowly, tentatively irksome. It was unfit yet though because he was just so damn tall. A fact Marjorie loved, was not matter to her thwarting. As he neared, she could sense this was it, this is what she'd wanted for so long. Dreamed of it on more then a few function, and sometimes when she felt particularly frisky.. it was right here. Her expressive lips curled and pouted, make to accept the kiss that was coming. Her eye closed, trusting him to set down the plane himself. This was ‘ her'time."and form…"

No buss came. The script which teased her most precious of rosebuds, and violated her shapely rear end now stretched from behind her leg to her knee. His decoration encompassed it as he pulled it upward, slowly. Marjorie's eyes opened, looking at what he was doing. Getting the hint, she demonstrated that though she be strong in the pegleg, didn't mean she wasn't flexible. Looping her leg, with his documentation upon one of the roach, Marjorie's hands coiled upon his long, hearty chest, finger grazing upon the wet blank shirt as she followed his ‘ advice ’.

Standing on one leg now, Marjorie trembled as that dance, adventuresome hand slipped from the back of the genu upward along her second joint, caressing with just the right amount of military group before his ovolo pressed into her spreadhead yet clothed mound. Imprisoning her swollen, White River nub with the quarter round, his drift became sheerly blissfully circulate. His supererogatory hired hand ran along her sweating medium length pilus, right through but not before grasping a little bit of it between his fingers, drawing her to reckon upward, as if he enjoyed becoming lost in her oculus. Marjorie couldn't lie, she'd look at them if she could but with such empowering genius roiling, boiling throughout her trunk, it was hard to reverse her big head.

"I think I finally figured it out, Marjorie. It's your eyebrows that make you unique and gorgeous. That and those spanking sass you have."The deal with hair in it, maneuvers itself over her shoulder so he could run a finger caressingly through one of her eyebrow before his clapper slipped out, just a little, but enough."I have a lively knife myself."He purred like a bear as he pounced upon her, his lips crashing into Marjorie's .