I met this thirty-year-old biker chick from the Czech Republic a few years ago in Oklahoma City. I had been living there the past three months, working as a substitute high school English teacher. The biker chick had just moved to this country and was just learning English. She was working as a Coyote Ugly girl when I met her after one of her dances. Her name was Karolina.
Karolina was a pretty blonde who was about 5’4” and 108 pounds. She had slim hips and wore her tight jeans to perfection. I didn’t understand much of what she was saying but later found out she was one of these sub girls who liked to wrestle larger girls for money. They call these women jobbers . . . and Karolina was apparently making lots of money working as one when she wasn’t shaking her tight-jeaned ass at the bar.
I got to know Karolina over the next couple months and dated her often. I even went to a few of her matches - - most of which ended with Karolina twisted like a pretzel on the mat or apartment floor. I mean Karolina was hot, but she had arms like sticks and probably couldn't punch her way out of a paper bag. During these matches, Karolina dressed as a biker chick like she did at the bar.
During the time I dated Karolina, I also worked with her on her English. She soon learned to speak fairly decent English, which made life easier understanding her. One evening in May, Karolina said she was going to one of her wrestling matches, which was to take place the next afternoon. Little did I know, Karolina advertised her services online on some fetish site and had received an invitation to take on some eighteen-year-old high school girl. Unfortunately for Karolina, some devious high school girls (all of whom were eighteen) had answered the ad and tricked her into going to a sporting event after school. And when I pulled up to the lot, I realized we were at a track and field event a half hour from where we lived.
“You sure you want to do this?” I asked her.
“Yeah, no problem,” she said, in broken English, as she got out of the car and starting walking toward the back of the school. I followed her around the side of the school, then down some steps as I listened to her boots clop against the sidewalk. She then walked up to a locker room door and knocked on it. Some girl answered and pointed to the far field, where a track event was winding down.
I caught up with her as she started walking toward the field.
“Someone’s probably just messing with you, Karolina. This doesn’t seem legit.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I go wrestle now, huh, and you stay here.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No,” she said, holding her hand up and tapping my chest.
“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Over the years, I've had the unique opportunity of dating biker chicks and teaching high school girls. That’s how I know how tough some of these high school girls are. Some of these girls even talk about their fights. And after dating and talking to biker chicks, I knew their biggest fear was fighting some huge jock girl who had no compunction about beating them senseless.
So, I did what Karolina said. I stayed back and watched her walk toward the field. I still followed her but kept my distance. But I was surprised as hell when she walked onto the open field toward the awards circle and approached the winner of the shot put event.
“You fight me?” she asked the girl, which I surprisingly heard over my phone as Karolina hadn’t hung her cell up after an earlier conversation.
“What the f*ck did you say to me?” the girl replied.
“Fight me now. Okay?”
The three-hundred-pound girl chuckled as she stood on the winning platform, staring down at the skinny blonde clad in tight jeans, knee-high leather boots and pink forehead bandana. The girl already had the gold medal around her neck. She waved Karolina forward and my girlfriend obliged. When Karolina got close enough, the girl reached down, grabbed Karolina’s bicep and pulled her up on an adjacent platform. Karolina tried to shake her arm free but caught a quick backhand to the gut.
“Uhhhhhh,” she cried, as the blow bent her at the waist.
The crowd started cheering as the action ensued.
“Get down on your knees if you know what’s good for you, bitch!”
Karolina obliged and kneeled on the lower platform.
“Not that one, you dumb cxnt. Kneel on the one I’m standing on.”
Karolina stepped up and kneeled on the higher platform.
“Move forward a bit,” the girl shouted.
Karolina moved forward until she was kneeling between the girl’s two elephantine legs. The fat eighteen-year-old chuckled again, then placed her hand on top of my girlfriend’s head.
“That’s a good little biker bitch.” The girl patted her head a couple times -- the second time a bit too hard. Karolina winced.
About that time, the crowd had really started getting into the spectacle. A few girls in the crowd – the instigators, I assumed – started chanting, “Kick her ass . . . kick her ass . . . kick her ass.” Soon, all of these f*ckin' hillbillies were chanting it.
“How dare you show up during my awards ceremony, challenging me to a fight,” the girl shouted. “I’m going to beat the living shit out of you after I get done here.”
“Good . . . good,” said Karolina.
“What?” the girl shouted. “You should be shaking in your boots.”
“Me shaking,” said Karolina.
I grabbed my phone and started shouting into it. “Karolina, get off that platform and field. The girl means what she said.”
Karolina couldn’t hear me as her cell was in her back jeans pocket -- and I was worried as hell that this overgrown teen was going to slaughter my girlfriend.
I started trotting toward the field as I watched the girl point to a distant venue. She was obviously instructing my girlfriend to meet her somewhere off the field. The crowd started dissipating. Karolina walked through a gate in the fence as the girl followed her.
I finally caught up to the pair five minutes later, just in time for the first punch -- a loud thud that reverberated through the nearby woods. Karolina was staggering with her back to me as I cleared the back of the bleachers. A second punch knocked her on her back.
"You're not tough enough to go running your mouth like that," the fat girl shouted. "Now, I'm going to break your skinny little body in half." The girl tottered toward my girlfriend, who was now splayed on the grass.
“Stop,” I shouted.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m her boyfriend,” I said. “She’s from the Czech Republic. She thought she was going to a wrestling session with another girl.”
“A what?”
I explained the misunderstanding. Apparently, the girl knew nothing about the set up. The other girls had just decided to set Karolina up so the girl would beat her up.
The girl walked over and pulled Karolina up by her hair. My girlfriend screamed. “I guess it’s your lucky day, skinny cxnt. Your boyfriend saved your life.”
Karolina looked at me. Blood was sluicing from her split lips. She had a black eye and bloody nose. She looked stunned. I walked over and grabbed her arm as she dropped to her knees. Her eyes looked glassy.
"If I were you, I'd keep that little pussy of yours on a leash 'cause if she shows up here again, I'm gonna maul her ass."
"She won't come back here."
"Then I guess she has eight more lives."
I traipsed back to the car with Karolina teetering beside me. When I got inside the car, I handed Karolina some napkins from my console storage unit to wipe the blood from her face. I then explained what happened.
“They set you up, hon. Some girls saw your Craigslist ad and decided to embarrass you in front of a crowd. They must’ve known you weren’t from this country. Did you mention your nationality in the ad?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve got to be careful with that wrestling stuff. If that fat girl had a few more minutes with you, I’d be taking you to the hospital instead of home.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. These high school girls are brutal today. And they hate biker chicks. That girl shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. She knew you weren’t from around here once you started talking, then she decided to beat you. If that’s not ruthless, nothing is.”
Karolina recovered over the next few weeks. The behemoth had broken her nose and loosened one of her teeth, so she had to go to the hospital and dentist. Karolina eventually gave up the wrestling job and stuck with the dancing. We dated for a few more months, then I moved away.
Bikeman
