[howardcosell]

So, you want to know how I got to this point, huh? You want to know why they cheer me when my music hits and why I stroll out from behind the curtain and walk down the aisle to the ring so confidently? I’m Perfect 10 to the fans, but my real name is Porsche Green… or PG, as some of the other fighters and critics call me, but we’ll get to that later. I’m 5’10” 140 lbs; I’ve got long wavy dark brown hair with a touch of red to it; it goes all the way down my back in a style I ripped right from WWE’s Eve Torres. I’ve got light green eyes and I’ve got a very, very nice body that I’ve put years into. I look like Jessica Biel and I’m damn proud of the way I look.


Jessica Biel


Eve Torres

I’m about to wrestle in front of the largest live audience I’ve ever performed in front of, here in Dallas, Texas. I can hear the fans chanting “Perfect Ten!!” from all the way backstage and I’m loving it. I came here to be a heel, or bad guy, but they got behind me after my first promo. I can go out there and insult anybody I want to and the fans will be behind me. Oh sure, there are some who hate me, most of them are female, but when I come out in my gold and red lycra two piece outfit with the flaming red boots with gold trim, the guys go crazy. I walk passed a couple of the girls.

“What’s up, Perfect,” Chica Loca says, walking around in her ring attire, which looks like an orange prison jumpsuit, and flapping her curly black hair like a valley girl, “You gonna be stuck up bitch today or girl next door.”

“I don’t know yet,” I reply, with my trademark cocky smile, “What’s your fantasy? Oh, I can see your fantasy is one that involves a life of crime. Good luck with that.”

And I keep on going, ignoring the fact that I heard her say “bitch” under her breath. I’m used to it; she plays that “Mexicans are prisoners and criminals” stereotype when she fights and I hate it, but that’s her. She’s jealous because I’ve only been here a month, but I’m the most popular wrestler in this federation and the fans love me. Even the ones who hate me still love me. I know a lot of it has to do with my looks; being Perfect 10 is how I make my living. See… I tried it the other way; I tried it the normal way, but there’s nothing so normal about me and nothing normal in the world.

I grew up in the north, Boston, Massachusetts to be exact, but I was born in Hope, Arkansas, the same as former President Bill Clinton. I worked as an intern at a high level news magazine in Boston. In fact, the way I got the ring name “Perfect 10” was from my boss Hannah. That was her screen name for most of her online accounts and she spent a lot of time making fun of other writers of other things… fetishes and stuff. Hannah doesn’t work there anymore and she was one of the best writers we had; she moved to New York City and got a better job, but rumor has it, she got beat up at a coffee shot by an angry reader (see my story “Friends Don’t Let Friends”). I was only nineteen, but I ended up writing a few columns in Hannah’s absence and I did a really great job. But I’ve always been a bit of a natural when it comes to stuff.

I could’ve stayed there and probably taken Hannah’s place, but the lack of feedback from my articles and the way some of the older writers didn’t like me and held me back caused me to leave. I wasn’t making a lot of money there and I was really working hard because my heart was in being a writer and a damn good one. But when people aren’t responding to what you’re writing or in my case, your bosses aren’t letting you read the feedback and have you ghostwriting for someone else, not giving you credit for your blood, sweat, and tears… it can turn your stomach and make you think about where you really want to be in life. You, the reader, are what we do this for, just like I’m fighting for my audience… if I don’t hear from you, it doesn’t matter how much I love it, I’m not sticking around and putting up with the crap. I can go somewhere else and get paid a lot more. Not to mention, I was writing under a male name. Male writers in female related magazines or stories, whether they be about women’s health or female fight fiction, are NOT going to be as popular or get as much feedback as female writers do. That’s just the way it is, and while I worked with some really great male writers, I didn’t want to be one.

The most hurtful thing was that I’d go on trips around the country to cover stories and issues, and they wouldn’t pay my travel fees. I didn’t have an identity because my work wasn’t being published in my own name; I didn’t have the respect of the readers because they didn’t know who the hell I was; I didn’t have the respect of the writers because they didn’t know I was ghostwriting and thought I was just some pretty intern with a smart mouth; and I didn’t have the money to keep up that lifestyle, even if I loved it. You have to understand something about me. I really, really worked hard to get that internship and I worked hard on that job. I wanted respect, but instead, I was discriminated against and mistreated the second Hannah left. And I never thought, as far as I’ve come to avoid discrimination, that I’d find myself being treated unfairly.

I’ve got a secret that I’m going to tell you. And it’s something that’s hard for me to admit and when you hear it, you’ll wonder why, in the 21st century, it’s hard for me to admit it. But it explains who I am and why I’ve come so far and why I’ve got to make it to the top. I look like Jessica Biel; I’ve got perfect tanned skin; I’ve got long wavy reddish brown hair, light green eyes, a million dollar smile and a cocky bitch exterior hiding the friendliest person you can meet underneath. But… I’m not White. I’m biracial; my father is Black and my mother is White. And you know what? I hate it. I HATE it. There… my father worked in Arkansas as a garbage man and before that, he worked gathering rice. My mother was a surgeon and she performed the surgery that saved my father’s life after his love of fried foods gave him a heart attack at the age of 30. That’s how they met and they’re love was accidental and so was my birth. So, I’ve never really felt like I had a purpose.

I was born in Arkansas, and the little time I spent there, I felt that Black people were inferior to Whites. I knew I looked more White than Black, so I stuck with it. I’d sit in elementary school and watch the little blonde and brunette girls make fun of the nappy headed Black girls and I’d laugh right with them. I’d get dropped off from school and my dad would come home with grass all over him and he’d smile at me and I’d hate him. Deep down, I would wish I had never been born and I just couldn’t get that black stain off of me, no matter how hard I tried. As I got older, I’d read about slavery and how Black people would mind the fields just like my father was still doing and it just made me hate him even more. I’d make my accent even thicker and “whiter,” so no one would suspect anything.

You’d ask me why I was doing this when I’m only 19 now; you’d wonder why I was acting like this was the early 1900s, right? Do you have any idea how hard it is to stop being ashamed of something if you started being ashamed when you were a child? And being White had it’s advantages. I never made lower than an A in school… and that’s elementary, high school, and the college I’ve had. I had to be perfect because if I wasn’t, maybe that blackness that I was running from would catch up to me… maybe I’d be a maid or a hairdresser or some other stereotypical job associated with being a Black woman and not me. And yes, I know now that what I thought then was completely ignorant and stupid, but it doesn’t change the fact that I thought it.

My father really loved me and he did what he could for me, but I hardly ever spoke to him unless it was to get something. He was a very protective father too; he had strict curfews for me when I got to be sixteen and he intimidated any boy who came to the door and would laugh about it later, looking at me like he expected me to laugh too. I hated that… and he would get up and go to bed. Now, I wish I could go back and make it different, but it’s too late for that now. Everything I did, I had to be the best. He made sure I had all my school supplies and he made sure I did my homework, even when I didn’t want to. Really, he was a big part of what made me so committed to perfection, which is ironic because I was avoiding what I believed to be his inferiority.

My parents divorced when I was sixteen and despite the fact that Mom was always on call and never around, I chose to move to Boston with her. I thought I’d be alright, but the world changed for me. She got a rare bone condition not too long after my internship/job started and a month later, she died. It was a shock to my system; she was here and in a month, she was gone. I barely got to know her and I’d known her my whole life. She was a good mother; she was just away saving people’s lives. My father came to the funeral and I remember saying to him that if he had made more money and not been such a “fucking Uncle Tom,” she would still be alive. I’ll never forget the look on his face; I saw him turn a shade pale and that was when I knew I had messed up. But the occasion was so bad, that I didn’t apologize. Every time I’d seen him, I’d seen the ugly side of me and in that moment, I didn’t know who I was anymore. I didn’t know who I was… ever.

So, that’s who I am, but how I became a fighter was a bit different. A little after I turned nineteen, when I was still interning and ghostwriting, I decided to go Jena, Louisiana to do a story revisiting the Jena 6, racial profiling and discrimination, and hate crimes in the state. I walked around Jena with no fear because I passed for White, but I was beginning to hate that part of me as well. After my mother’s death and the way I treated my father, I was desperate to understand who I was and what my place was in the world. I was at a gas station, going in to get a newspaper and some gum, and two girls and a guy approached me. The girls were both White; one had on daisy dukes and a white top tied up in the front. She had short dirty blonde hair, literally dirty and so were her feet. The other girl was a brunette who was a bit taller and chunkier and she had on a black tank top and daisy dukes. The guy had a shaved head, a white t-shirt and his pants were sagging, exposing his boxer shorts and he had on dirty white sneakers.

“You dat reporter girl who coming round here stirrin’ up trouble?” the blonde said

“I’m doing a story,” I said, “You want to be interviewed?”

They looked at one another and were confused. I guess they don’t understand sarcasm in some parts of Louisiana, but that’s all over the world. It was hot and Louisiana is hot, but it was really, really hot. I felt her fist hit the point of my chin and I stumbled back. For some dumb reason, I’d chosen to wear a pair of blue jeans with a black tank top and a pair of flip flops because it was so hot and I wasn’t planning on talking to anyone that day. I dropped the water bottle I was carrying and my shades flew off my face. I had never been hit before. In all my life and all those arguments I’d had with other girls growing up, it never came to that. I really didn’t know what to do. But she was bouncing around with her fists up while her friends were laughing.

“Come on ‘porter bitch!!” she said, scratching her blonde hair and flicking God knows what out of it, “Let me show you some southern hospitality!”

I was surprised the girl even knew a word as big as ‘hospitality,’ or for that matter, ‘show.’ Hannah had taken me to a couple of her kickboxing classes, and I knew how to defend myself, but like I said, I’d never been in a fight and I didn’t want to get into one here. If people thought I was making trouble, a fight with a local girl wouldn’t help my cause. Her two friends were yelling at me and saying that I came there to rouse up all the good Black people… but they weren’t referring to them as Black people. That made me angry; maybe this is what I was really here for. Maybe I was supposed to beat this little racist bitch up. I stepped forward, but my arms were still down and she hit my right in the nose. I yelped and my hands went up to it, and she tried to tackle me and bring me down, but my legs are pretty strong and she barely broke 5’2”. I bent forward and grabbed her around her waist and leaned my weight on her until she went to her knees.

“Give up?” I said; I didn’t know what I was doing; I was just trying to end the fight.

“Nope,” she said, so I kept leaning on her. I guess I should’ve been hitting her, but she was already down and she was squirming to. She moved me enough that I had to get on my feet to avoid falling in the dusty road, so I put her in a headlock. She had me around the waist, but my headlock was strong… that is, until she started looping right handed punches into my stomach and solar plexus. The first couple didn’t hurt that much, but some of them were hitting the pit of my stomach, right above the bellybutton, and I was starting to bend forward. I knew how to kickbox, but once again, I had never been in a fight and nobody trained me how to tighten my abs to take a punch. She knew the tide was turning when my grip started to loosen and she pulled herself free before hitting me with an uppercut to the bellybutton that doubled me over with an “OOUUGGHH!!!” I could barely stand, but when her knee hit my face, I went down on my side.

I kept wanting to get up because I didn’t want this racist bitch to win, but she was stomping on my ribs and kicking me in the stomach and as much as I’d hate to admit it, I was crying. I was crying because this was what I got for denying my heritage. This is what I got; I was passing for White for my entire life and had a hate crime committed against me anyway. They picked me up and the guy held me while the fat one pulled off my tank top while the blonde kept working my stomach with punches. I had gotten my bellybutton pierced a month earlier and they ripped it out. I’ve got a little scar just above my oval shaped bellybutton that barely sticks in and every time I see it, I’m reminded of that day and how I kept crying for help, but those old men were more interested in watching than stopping it. You can learn all the skills in the world, but if you don’t get the experience, you may not ever be that good. It’s strange that I’m saying that about my first fight because that’s what Siena Blaze told me when we first met. Siena owns OPW, the biggest and most well known female fighting federation in the world and she’s one of the greatest female fighters of all time. She said ‘Green’ was a fitting last name for me because that’s what I was, despite the fact that I‘m undefeated as a professional fighter. If only she knew that I got my experience right on a dirt road in Jena, Louisiana at the hands of a racist little blonde bitch who was at least eight inches shorter than I was.

At some points, they let me go and she’d square up against me and I’d be too beaten and afraid to fight back, so she’d hit me in the jaw and drop me with a punch or kick to the stomach. The guy said that if I wanted to be Black, he’d make me that way, and he pissed in the dirt and rubbed the mud in my face. I heard gunshots and they scattered. A Black man reached his hand down and pulled me off the ground. He insisted that I press charges against the three of them. He knew where they lived and he knew who they were. But I refused; I just wanted my shirt and I wanted out of Jena. It turns out, he pressed charges against them himself for something else, and they went to jail. I never bothered to find out what it was they were charged with. I was humiliated. It’s one thing to lose a fight, but to lose a fight to someone who is completely and utterly morally wrong is an entirely different experience. It makes you feel like you let down your cause, even if the factors that determine the winner have nothing to do with morals. I went back to the hotel and cried like I never had before. She beat me. A racist bitch beat me and for all my wanting to be perfect and beautiful and avoid my heritage, only to turn around and try to embrace it and make a difference, it didn’t mean anything. So maybe that’s why when I got back from Jena, I quit the magazine and moved down south to Texas. There’s a funny story of how I got my first fighting gig too.


MORE TO COME...

[harpua13]

I like this character a lot and I completely look forward to more of her adventures!
It also helps that even without the pictures I can tell she's flat out hot as hell. lol.

[howardcosell]

Thanks, guys! You know how we id-driven male authors are with our hot women lol  I just woke up that morning with an idea for a story and a new character and I ran with it. She's got a bright future ahead of her. Thanks again!

[howardcosell]

There comes a time in all our lives, and I guess for some people it may never come… but the time comes when you’re lying in bed and you’re saying to yourself, “Is this what my life is? Is this where I want to be?” I’d tried to do it the fake way; I’d ran from my own heritage and I may had burned a bridge with the one man who looked out for me, simply because I refused to accept who I was. I tried to do it the real way; my heritage and mission of self-discovery became my life, my job, my passion. But I couldn’t beat a racist dirty haired, dirty footed White girl in the middle of a racist town with all my new found Black pride. So… I wanted to do it my way, but I didn’t know what my way was and I didn’t know who I was. Mom was dead, so I couldn’t ask her, and Dad was gone, and I was too ashamed to look for him. They said it’s never too late to become what you might have been, but I didn’t know what I was to begin with.

How I became a fighter was not the usual route. I had met Kimberly Chaucer one night because she was one of my idols in the news world. Yes; the Japanese 38 million dollar a year interview queen, Kimberly Chaucer with her 5’6” 135 lb body, her long jet black hair, and green eyes, and super sarcastic style, was my idol. I read her book about how she went from being homeless in Osaka to living in a disease stricken sanitarian in Vietnam to being a muay thai fighter in South Korea to being nearly married to a high ranking military official in China, to making tons and tons of money just to talk to people. Kimberly’s real name is Kim Wu, but she went with Kimberly Chaucer after reading Geoffrey Chaucer’s “The Canterbury Tales” to learn how to speak English. I know she’s got a bad attitude and she’s mean to everyone she interviews, but she gets the answers and she came from nothing. I saw a lot of hope in that.

Kimberly had been doing interviews with OPW superstars as a study of the sport for her second dissertation. They were in Boston and I had to go see her. I waited inside that hotel for the longest time and that’s when people started coming up to me, asking me if I was a one of the wrestlers. I looked around and they started coming out. I didn’t really know who they were; I had limited exposure to that stuff growing up. My Dad loved it; he’d yell at the screen during matches and his favorite wrestler was Siena Blaze, the same woman who owns OPW. I saw Glory sitting with Lady Jasmine; they were in street clothes and signing autographs and Glory was sipping champagne and smoking a cigar. She looked every bit like a 6’2” Rosario Dawson as Jasmine looked like a black haired Angelina Jolie. 




Rosario Dawson




Angelina Jolie

There were others, but I recognized those two off the bat. I was surprised at how they had no problem with people coming up to them and talking to them, even when it was clear that they just wanted to enjoy their champagne. Then Christina Munoz, who is Siena’s estranged daughter, a very accomplished mma fighter, and the CEO of OPW came out in all black, looking about as menacing as Michelle Rodriguez, who she bares a resemblance to, except for Christina’s blue eyes.





She was making a beeline for the door and I ran after her; I had to know if Kimberly was at this hotel. I had to meet her.

“Ms. Munoz!! Ms. Munoz!! I’m Porsche Green!” I yelled

“I don’t have time,” she said without even looking back.

“Geez, well fuck you too,” I muttered and she stopped immediately. I don’t curse; I really don’t. In pursuit of perfection, I tried to keep the cursing to a minimum, but everything I’d heard about Christina was that she was a bitch. I felt a chill go down my spine when she turned around and looked at me. My stomach was in my throat and she smiled because she knew I was scared.

“That’s what I thought; don‘t get fucked up out here.” she said and started to turn around

“I just wanted to know if Kimberly Chaucer was coming down,” I said, “I wasn’t trying to offend you. Kimberly is my idol; I just want to meet her.”

Christina looked at me and licked her lips

“That’s a change,” she said, looking at me with some amusement in her face, “I thought you were one of these bitches who comes up to me, either wanting a job or wanting to fuck me for a job.”

“Well, I just quit my job, but if I could get another one, I‘d love to talk to Kimberly about it,” I replied… by then, fans were gathering around; they were taking photos of us talking. I knew I was going to be in a magazine or something, but it felt… exciting. People were looking at our body language and assuming we were going to have a confrontation and I was the mystery wrestler.

“Kimberly’s at another hotel,” she said, “So, I guess you want to get into the business. Well, I’m not a talent scout, but you’ve got the look for it.”

And with that, she got in her black Camero, which I assume was rented, and sped off. I found where Kim was staying and I waited in that lobby; I even fell asleep and she woke me up at the breakfast bar.

“I told Tony to get those eggs sunny fucking side up!!” she was shouting, “You want something done right; you have to do it yourself!”




Kelly Hu, who Kimberly Chaucer looks like

“Oh my God!! Kimberly Chaucer!!! I am your biggest fan!!!”

Okay, I completely marked out for her. She was in a pair of jeans, a blue t-shirt and flip flops with sunglasses so no one could recognize her, but she was soooooo cool.

“I want my eggs sunny side up!” she yelled right in my face, “I want those eggs and I have a headache, so be quick about it.”

“Uhm, I don’t work here, I’m just a fan of yours and--”

“FIX THE FUCKING EGGS!!!!” and that’s how I met my idol of the world of journalism. I went behind the counter and fixed her eggs sunny side up. She took her eggs, and started towards the elevator, but she saw me staring at her and turned around.

“What it is?” she said, “You want an autograph? You want a thank you?”

“No,” I said, “I just wanted to say that I’m a big fan of yours and I admire your work. I worked for a magazine that’s out of Boston and you’re really my inspiration.”

“Here’s some advice for you, girl,” she moved close and lowered her sunglasses, “If you want to make it in this world… don’t ever let anybody know you like them, unless it’s to kiss ass. Women… they’ve got all the tools. Look at you; you could’ve said anything to me, asked me any question, picked my brain for knowledge, whatever. But you just wanted to say hi. Lose the girl next door bullshit. Have a great day. What‘s your name?”

“Porsche Green.”

“I own Bentleys and I have drivers, but you are green. Thanks for the eggs.”

She was sooooo cool. I got some tickets and went to their second show that night and I was hooked. I started to think about whether or not I could be a fighter. I mean; I had been taking self defense classes and everything, but I really wanted to get in the ring and try it. Yet every time I thought about me coming out to music and getting in there with the crowd chanting my name… I just came back down to earth. And then, that urgency, that thing I was talking about earlier, it bit the hell out of me while I was trying to restart my journalist career in Houston, doing a story talking to people who evacuated New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina and decided to stay in Houston. I didn’t go to wrestling school or anything. Didn’t join a fighting camp or anything like that. I just got on the computer and started posting videos of myself cutting promos on other fighters in my bedroom on all the video sharing sites. I had a gold sports bra and some gold shorts and before I knew it, I was getting tons and tons of hits. It was amazing! I would get requests from people asking me to demonstrate my form and I’d throw some punches and kicks. I’d also post videos out of character, just talking about health and staying motivated. But my in ring persona was going to be a cocky bitch, even if I’d never had a match.

When I got to Dallas, I went to a match for one of the smaller promotions, which is the one I’m with now, and one of the wrestlers, a spunky light skinned Black girl who had looked like Nicki Minaj and had that weird gimmick named Diva Divine had seen my videos and was challenging me to a match that night. 





“Hey Perfect 10; why don’t you get in the ring with me and I’ll expose your fake ass, BITCH!!”

“I’m just here to enjoy the show. I’m not here to hurt anybody.” Apparently, that set her off. She started jumping up and down and pointing her finger at me while security held her back and taking off her heels. When she got in my face, I figured why not… I pushed her and she went down on her enormous butt. I looked down at her; she was only about 5’4” and she looked up at me embarrassed. I saw doubt in her eyes, but the second she got back up, she started jumping up and down and yelling “Hold me back; hold me back!! Don’t let me take off my earrings!!” and all that other stuff. With all those people around watching us, I decided foolishly to agree to the match. I had never been in a wrestling ring before; I didn’t know anything other than all the wrestling I had watched after going to that show in Boston. Oh, I raided Best Buy for OPW dvds. I raided the internet for info. But lots of luck that was going to do.

One of the interviewers decided to ask me what I planned on doing and I decided to answer with cocky honesty.

“I think I’m just going to go in there and wing it.”

I don’t know what she came out to, but the promotion gave me “She’s A Beauty” by the Tubes as my theme music… I still have it too. It fits my Perfect 10 persona perfectly. Why would I lieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee? The audience cheered me big time; I was shocked. People were on their cell phones calling their friends to come to the event to see me. I took the microphone and stood in the ring.

“Dallas, Texas!!! Perfect 10 is here!! They say everything’s bigger in Texas, bigger buildings, bigger cars, bigger money… and (looking at Diva) bigger bitches!!”

The crowd was eating it up. I was feeling it, even if cutting a promo in front of a crowd was a lot more nerve racking than doing it in front of a webcam.

“Diva, you’re anything but Divine. You’re more like Diva Decline, because I heard your skills are on decline. And with those big hips of yours, you’re looking more like Diva The Swine!!”

I was going to go on about her, but she charged me. I’m actually glad she did it because from that point on, I don’t do too long of a promo. Keep it short and cocky. I stuck my foot out and caught her right in the stomach.

“OUGH!!!!” she was soft in the middle and she doubled over and staggered back. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I bounced off the ropes and came at her with a clothesline. The problem was that I didn’t angle my arm correctly and because she was already doubled over, the arm just grazed her head. Then, instead of turning to bounce off the ropes I was running too, I grabbed them and stopped myself. The second I turned around, she charged in and tackled me through the ropes and to the matted floor.

“Now what, bitch?” she yelled in my face and started trying to punch me, but I got my arms up and wrapped my legs around her body, witch is what I saw a lot of girls do on those dvds I’d watched. I started punching her in her sides and she started groaning and moaning and I forcefully pushed her off of me. But she got to her feet and tried to stomp on me, but I got to my knees and drove a punch right above her bellybutton.

“OUGH!!!” she went up on her toes and her eyes got really wide. This time, I didn’t miss the clothesline. I dropped her flat on her back and the crowd went crazy. I decided to try a move I had seen called a slingshot. I put my feet under hers and grabbed her arms and fell backwards… her body shot over mine and her face and chest hit the steel ring post. I was shocked… it actually worked. She was down and hurt and I was surprised at how easy this was. Maybe I was just lucky. I walked up on her and did some poses and stuff for the fans, but then, this pink powder hit me in the face and I went near the commentator’s table.

“Oh No!! Diva Divine has hit Perfect 10 in the face with her dreaded Diva Dust!! Come on Perfect 10!! You can do it!! Oh oh, here she comes… watch out!! She‘s going to try the Maneater!!”

The Maneater was Diva’s finisher. It’s just a sleeper ddt bomb… yeah, I know; that sounds pretty painful, but the second I felt her on my back and felt the table, I turned so that our backs were to it and I hooked her legs and climbed onto the ring apron. The sleeper was in tight and she was trying to yank me off the apron to slam the back of my head down on the mat… so I gave her what she wanted. I jumped, but I held onto her and we both went crashing through the table… but she took the impact because she was behind me. I heard the fans chanting “PERFECT TEN!!!” I got up and looked down at her. I was still a bit dizzy from the sleeper, but I tossed her into the ring. I decided to try another move. Marie B. does this move where she flips off the top rope and lands in a gymnast Y pose… she calls that move the Perfect 10. I figured, why not steal it? That is my name. So that’s what I did… but I missed and I flipped wrong too because my balance wasn’t set. Diva rolled out of the ring to buy time and she was resting her face and arms on the ring apron, so I decided to steal Kayla’s blow a kiss baseball slide and I connected on that one.

She was down again and I was in control of the match. It was such a rush. I grabbed the top rope and pulled myself over, flipping and landing across her stomach. I had seen Samantha do a move called the Moneymaker with a similar motion except that her crotch lands on her opponent’s head. Since Diva was on the mat outside of the ring and not lying on the apron, I had to continue the flip. But that’s a new move that I keep in my arsenal. I rolled Diva back into the ring, but she surprised me with an elbow right to the pit of my stomach, doubling me over and reminding me of the defeat I’d suffered in Jena. She whipped me across the ring into the corner and charged in behind me, nailing me with a hard knee to the stomach and forcing the air out of me.

“Yeah bitch!” she said, “I like the sound of that!”

She threw a combo to my stomach and I started to cover up and surrender again. I started to think this was my undoing because those body shots don’t just take your air; they take your confidence and hearing yourself groaning and moaning isn’t a good thing either. But I decided to do something very foolish… I clapped my hands together on either side of her head. It worked; she staggered back, but I had left my whole body exposed when I brought my arms back. I gave her a shove and a sidekick to her stomach, grabbed her over the back and around the waist, lifted her up in a gut wrench, then dropped her on her back. I couldn’t believe I just did a gut wrench Powerbomb. The problem was doing it quickly; if I held her in the air too long, I may have dropped her on her neck and broken it. And she had huge hips and a huge butt; that was awkward enough to lift. I bounced off the ropes and jumped, landing my butt right on her gut. But instead of staying there for the pin, I climbed the top turnbuckle and thought about what I was going to do. I decided to try a 450 and I hit it!! 1,2,3!!! I had beaten Diva Divine in my first match and when the ref raised my arm, the crowd was chanting my name.

I haven’t lost a match since, but I’m learning as I go. A lot of the girls like me because I’m the nicest person you can meet outside of the ring. But for the ones who don’t, I keep my Perfect 10 cockiness out there. I’ve had and still have my share of critics who are calling me the “Tim Tebow” of the female fighting world because I’m a great athlete, but I look lost; I have no clue what the hell I’m doing, and I would get killed in the big leagues. Okay, but I’m also undefeated, so how does that work? My first name is Porsche so they say I’m fast and light, but easy to wreck. My last name is Green and I get more jokes about that because of my lack of experience. My initials are PG, so the critics say my matches are PG because they aren’t hardcore, despite me beating hardcore legend Emily “The Grey Goose” Funk in a hardcore match. Well, she is almost 60 years old; I hated to do it, but she did hit me with a chair after one of my matches.

People either love me or hate me, but they come to see me regardless and soon, they’re going to watch me on television. Siena Blaze and I met a few times and she sees potential in me, but she wants me to earn a shot at OPW on the reality show, The Ultimate Catfighter. I went ahead and agreed to do it. And one more thing. I’m comfortable with who I am now, or at least, I think I am. Maybe obligation will pull me back into soul searching, and maybe Perfect 10 is a way for me to be someone else and not face the enigma of my life. Dr. Martin Luther King wanted Blacks and Whites to integrate, and I’m the result of that, so is President Obama and a lot of other people, known and unknown. I really am beginning to see the beauty in being a living symbol of unity and I carry it with me wherever I go. Make sure you root for me on Ultimate Catfighter; I’m going to try my best to win!

THE END?

[howardcosell]

I have to say that I really enjoyed doing this story and you can bet that they'll be more from Porsche Green on "Ultimate Catfighter" and beyond 

[Kayla]

A perfect 10, indeed! 

[howardcosell]

but will she stay perfect by the time Ultimate Catfighter is over, or will she get her first loss? Hmmm....

[~Rox Erotique~]

I really enjoyed that character! some personal demons to fight at the begining of the story and a great introcuction to the pro fighting world too! it's fun to see her as this green, wet behind the ears fighter who's living on a wing and a prayer but now I'm really looking forward to seeing how she does in Ultimate Catfighter... will she be more polished now? or will she still have an air of uncertanty about her?

Can't wait to find out!

x G x

[Kayla]

but will she stay perfect by the time Ultimate Catfighter is over, or will she get her first loss? Hmmm....

Well, we'll have to see, but yup a 1st time loss would be something to see - winks! 

[howardcosell]

but will she stay perfect by the time Ultimate Catfighter is over, or will she get her first loss? Hmmm....

Well, we'll have to see, but yup a 1st time loss would be something to see - winks! 

And I heard you have someone in mind who you think would give Porsche her first loss... but that's just a "rumor" 

Gemma, she shall see how Porsche does... she's not the only undefeated fighter in that house, so she's going to have her work cut out for her lol.