Water Slide
by Jowlm
Agraf's note – This story was uploaded to The Arena’s story archive (one of the earlier Internet sites dealing with combative women). The author warned it “and may be considered violent by some, and feedback of a technical nature is appreciated.” I downloaded it on September 28, 1997, and re-reading it I was wondering why, as I do not like one-sided beatings passed out as fight stories. Then the last paragraphs made me smile, as I recalled why. Paragraph 2 also contains a reflection of the 21st trend to make accusations on people in order to disgrace them in society, without the need to prove the accusations are founded. Then we wonder why we are not living in an orderly society anymore...There were five of them, considered the "bad girls" of the private junior High School they went to, they were therefore the recipients of that peculiar liberal arts theory that the worse someone acts, the more perks they should receive, so they will feel more loved and spontaneously become model citizens. This is important to understand so one can see the background of these kids.
When the last principal tried to enforce the disciplinary code, it was suddenly rumoured that he had made improper advances towards the innocent children. He was now a (rather vivid) memory. These experiences, along with youthful arrogance and feelings of invulnerability common to teenagers is what leads us to our story.
The girls, at least four-fifths of them, were a rather homogenous group of upper middle class teens, varying shades of hair from blonde to black, some with soft baby fat still clinging to their young bodies, all dressed in the bikinis that the school forbade them to wear.
One of the two exceptions to this homogeneity were the student teacher, Ms. Anderson, adored by the girls, considered one of them, a local tough girl that although "old" at twenty, seemed to enjoy their pranks even harassing some of the "geeks" if they protested, she would show them her powerful arms and ask, "What did they plan to do?" Invariably, it was nothing.
The other was an exquisitely beautiful Asian girl, at 5’ 5", 120 lbs, bright alert brown eyes that glistened with an almost stereotypical confidence, her mouth seemed permanently set in a tight seemingly bemused grin, dimpling ever so slightly at the tips. She had long black hair, parted in the middle and falling just below her shoulders. Her unblemished skin, the light almond colour a prelude to the chestnut brown that would follow a few more weeks exposure to the sun, ran unbroken from the white bikini top to her ultra low slung bikini bottoms pulled just above her pubic region, confidently showing off her entire abdominal region.
If I may digress here briefly, fat is a funny thing, with as many personalities as the people it attaches, lumping itself together to create shame and embarrassment of "spare tires”, “love handles” or “thunder thighs" on some, it was also capable of creating beauty, of forming perfectly in the belly of a young girl, with the resulting soft "pooch", a slight roll of baby fat around her middle, creating a gentle swell, giving her navel a soft, deep, appearance.
Pan revelled in the openly admiring stares of men (and boys) of all ages, as well as the envious looks of many women (and girls). The girls called her Pan, (a shortening of her hobby, collecting Panda bears), she was new to the school this year, the result of a discreet transfer from her old school. (Of course had her parents made several hundred thousand dollars a year less she would be in jail.) She quickly fit in with the bad element joining them in shaking down and frightening the other girls in the school, quickly rising to the rank of leader in that peculiar way suburban white girl packs have of deciding the "pecking order" without actually having to fight for it.
The trigger of this whole affair, a lanky seventeen year old black girl (although these types come in all colours, ages and genders), her tall clumsy body, eyes that sparkled but with the instinctive joy of the innocent, bereft of any potential for development past her present state, her nose flat and broad with a lower lip protruding such that, had a white artist drawn it in caricature they would be branded a cruel racist, unshaven legs and "infantile dress" was enough to cause even decent folks to reluctantly snicker behind her back, to these girls it was as a red cape to a bull. They had circled around her, taunting, becoming enraged when, instead of being frightened, she seemed to smile as if she were part of the fun. It was only after one of the girls (I leave you to guess which girl) cruelly yanked on her lower lip, while making a rather vulgar observation as to the usefulness of said protuberance that she seemed to understand the cruelty confronting her, and crying, ran away.
The girls laughing at their success stopped suddenly as they saw Ms. Anderson approaching, she was surely going to give it to them now, even they were surprised when she watched the retreating form and protruding her lower lip, mocked "Poor Bubba Gum", The girls exploded with glee. Why couldn’t all adults be as cool as her? That was how they would all end up they thought proudly which brings us up to the present, more precisely, next to the soda trailer, wonderfully secluded so underage girls can sneak smokes. The girls have just finished reminding the boy behind the counter of his wretched skin condition, and were discussing where to go next when Pan set down her fanny pack to adjust her bikini bottom.
As she finished, a short slim black girl about her age, slightly shorter and "tighter", say 5’ 3", 115 lbs, wearing black bicycle shorts and a cut-off tee shirt that spelled out TINA, picked up the fanny pack, smiled sweetly, purred softly, "Why, here it is, I’ve been looking all over for it," winked and smiled at Pan and began walking away.
Pan, recovering from her initial surprise jogged after her, "Hey, that’s mine".
Turning around at the soft rich voice, the black girl sneered, "You calling me a thief bitch"? Gone was the smile and friendly tone, replaced with an ominous softness.
Pan, not used to such direct confrontation began a series of rapid mental calculations, first she figured she had four friends and an adult to back her up. Second, she had never been in a fight before, neither had any of her friends which meant that the odds were good that neither had this black girl. Third, she had assumed the leadership of the toughest girls in her Junior High. Finally, she was several inches taller and heavier than the black teen. So brimming with her usual confidence, she turned smirking to her friends expecting a cavalcade of support, instead she saw them hanging back, strangely silent, almost as if they didn’t notice what was happening.
However, having disastrously miscalculated on all four points, the young Asian lifted her right fist to a 90 degree angle to her body and sealed her fate with a smiling, "OK bitch, enjoy this," and with an awkward roundhouse Pan kept her appointment with destiny.
The black teen waited for the badly telegraphed punch, easily grabbed the soft arm just below the elbow, held it briefly in mid air, just long enough to savour the brief look of surprise on the girl’s face which lasted right to the point Tina slammed her own fist into the soft pouch of belly meat. The single blow elicited three separate, simultaneous reactions from the people in the area, from Pan, a whoosh of air as her lungs, suddenly sharing space with her abdominal contents emptied from the blow, an audible gasp of horror from her classmates as they watched the fist, along with the Asian’s navel disappear deep into the abdominal cavity, and an almost sing-song hum from Tina as her fist, used as it was to fighting to break down hard muscled flesh, felt the pillow soft abdomen give way without any resistance at all.
Pan was, of course, unaware of any of this, since the blow, unexpected as it was compounded by the fact that she had never been punched before in her young life had effectively ended the fight for her. So gagging, arms instinctively wrapping around her middle Pan began to double forward, causing her face to meet the right uppercut Tina snapped into the pretty features, drawing blood from her lip snapping her head back, instincts again betrayed Pan, unthinkingly trying to cover her face, leaving her long pale abdomen open, Tina wasted no time sinking three rapid right hooks deep into the weak stomach muscles, which were totally inadequate for the defence they were being asked to do. The sounds from Pan’s mouth were a cross between deep grunts and piteous whines, each blow, after lifting her off her toes, doubled her over farther, until Tina grabbing the long black hair at it’s tips used it as a whip, spinning the teen around, smashing the Asian’s face into the wall, pressing her forearm against the bare upper back of her victim trapped her against the wall, began to pepper the lower back and kidneys of the helpless girl, the soft flesh jumped and jiggled each time the hard black fist slammed into her (it was a testament to the one sided nature of the fight that while Pan was jerking helplessly almost senseless with pain and panic, Tina mused that this girl’s lower back skeletal muscles were barely as strong as the stomach muscles of the girls she was used to fighting) each blow caused Pans head to jerk and her arms to flail uselessly, her cries and grunts seeming to give Tina extra energy, finally spinning the Asian around Tina began to alternate deep belly punches with an uppercut to straighten the battered girl up then a hard fist deep into the girls soft pot belly, another cross to the face, each fist to the face snapped the Asian girl farther and farther to the side, sweat mingling with free flowing blood drenched the front of the beaten teen, long pale arms dangling uselessly at her sides, moving only to flail wildly in reaction to a punch received by the host body, the Asian danced at the mercy of her tormentor’s brutal commands.
Tina, stopping only because it was becoming tiresome holding the teen up, grabbed a handful of the long hair near the tips, seeming to fall forward snapped face first, into the graveled road, the once beautiful face of her opponent, noting smugly the grimaces from the audience as the thumping, crunching sound caused a few spectators to turn. Lifting the almost unrecognizable teen to her knees by the same grip in her hair, Tina doubled her over backwards, so she looked like she was doing a sort of macabre limbo, placed her knee into the soft belly began alternating right and left fists crunching into her preys face, each punch causing the head to bounce off the gravel and into the other waiting fist.
Finally, when even she was becoming a little nauseous from the sound her fist was making as it hit the broken face, she lifted Pan by tangled, matted hair and drove a fist into the totally vulnerable soft pot belly, when this barely elicited a grunt from the bloody rag-doll that a few moments ago had been a proud rival, Tina looked at the girl’s classmates and smiled: "Anyone wanna help her?" No response, her voice became mockingly sweet, "If you all rush me, I can only beat up a couple of you."
Still holding Pan by the hair, in a kneeling position, her soft pale tummy going in and out with each breath, the blood spattered belly moving rhythmically with each tortured gasp, the pretty Asian facial features unrecognizable, Tina stared and faced each girl one at a time, barely breathing heavily, a thin sheen of sweat the only evidence she had nearly killed their friend and leader, Tina silently kept her gaze on each girl, if they had been looking at her she locked gazes until they turned away, if they pretended to be looking away she kept her eyes on them until they actively turned and left, each girl was forced to make a silent admission that day, she was breaking them one by one, exposing the cowardice that lay beneath the tough exteriors, finally facing their beloved teacher.
"How about it teacher, big tough ole’ white girl against poor little me"? "I’ll only use my right hand since my left seems to be occupied at the moment." The students, suddenly encouraged, looked hopefully at her, but she quickly made her silent confession looking down at her feet and away from her slaughtered charge.
This seemed to enrage Tina, she lifted the poor girl to her feet and drove a particularly vicious blow deep into the softness under the sternum, the fist meeting absolutely nothing except flesh and relaxed muscle travelled in so deeply causing such a look of silent wide eyed horror on Pan's bloody face even Tina was afraid it would puncture the soft almond skin and kill the girl.
"You should let her go", the small voice came from behind her. Startled, Tina whipped around, the sight of the bloody Asian flopping along with her would have seemed comical if one forgot what the bloody rag-doll had once been.
"Why should I do that?" Tina snarled menacingly.
With the innocence of youth, the little girl calmly replied, "Because she’s helpless and my mummy said we shouldn’t pick on anyone that can’t defend themselves." As the small child walked away, Tina relaxed visibly seeming to notice for the first time the human wreckage she held, the powerful black seemed tired and spent, almost absent-mindedly releasing Pan, dropping her face first onto the road, eliciting a slight "Uughn" from the Asian.
Looking from Pan, spread eagle, face down in the dirt, no longer a formidable teenager but a broken, bloody kid, back at the stunned, sheepish glances of the students, settling finally on a scrawny gangly black teen gleefully clapping as she climbed on to the kiddy rides, she whispered, shockingly, barely audible, to no one in particular, "That’s all I wanted them to learn, It ain’t right to pick on anyone that can’t defend themselves."
The next day in science class, Mr. Cocker, a morbidly obese, balding, homely man, named to delight high school students, was puzzled; the students were quiet today, not well behaved, they still refused to participate, but sullen, none had shown any surprise when he announced his student teacher had called and abruptly quit teaching, which was odd enough, considering her position as the closest thing to a role model these thuglets had.
The kicker came when the police, asking if anyone could identify the gang of skinhead racists they thought responsible for the attack on their friend, were greeted with stares and silence. ‘Spooky,’ Mr. Cocker thought. ‘Oh well.’ he reflected, ‘maybe today they will finally learn a lesson...’
