With a bun half stuffed in her mouth, Mark replied to the question given to him by the waiter.
"Yes, we are ready to order."
Marjorie had the look of ‘no we are not’ on her face, which he clearly noticed and waved away without so much as a second thought.
"I would love some lobster, anything lobster. Just bring me a big lobster and the lovely lady over there, she will take a steak, well done?…" His eyebrows lifted upward, indicating that she would need to fill in the blanks herself.
"Well done."
"Well done." Mark mimicries the answer, though the waiter had already been jotting down the reply given to him by Marjorie. "and instead of fries, or whatever else it comes with, a potato, a few of them in fact. The girl over here needs her healthy foods. And a little bit of gravy, just enough but not too much. Use your best judgment on too much and not enough." Mark said before the waiter inquired for beverages. "Water for the both of us. If the food you are making is actually good, we don’t want to drown out the taste now do we?" Mark looked at Marjorie, as if cueing her to speak again. She questioning shook her head, Mark shook his head as well, his eyes darting to the waiter, who also smiled in kind and shook his head also.
"Definitely not. Only the best tasting food is served." The waiter then scurried off.
Marjorie didn’t really know what to say. Her order was hijacked but it wasn’t as if she was angry about it or anything, after all, she didn’t mind steak and potatoes, well, if they were delicious and in a place 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 small sized females thoughts. "Because tonight, you and me, we are going to work on your technique. See if we can’t make you a better wrestler. But enough with that talk, that is business talk, we are out at a nice restaurant, let us enjoy ourselves. Besides, I would love 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 charge, but he didn’t demand being a leader, Marjorie guessed that people just wanted to follow him. But with a body, and charm 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 station in life, not many refused what he said, and sometimes he needed to be reminded of this fact, as much by someone else as himself. It had just become rather natural to assume certain things.
Marjorie thought wickedly fast. Work. Work. More work. Probably house cleaning. But those things came second to Mark, the Undertaker. She shrugged off her duties the moment they came to mind, which came to mind only after the fact of her unspoken agreement to his offer by shaking her head up and down. Training!? With The, THE! Undertaker. Who could refuse?
"Why…?"
There was a long silence between them both.
"I don’t understand…" Mark started saying before Marjorie quickly realized her mistake of conveyance.
"Why me… I mean, I really am not anything that special." Marjorie was honest to people around her but she, herself, was also cursed with being honest with herself. Not just time to time, but always. She couldn’t lie to herself, what type of person could?
"Look at me, Marjorie. Look at me…" Mark’s words firm as his elegant body. 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 time, listening to his words which made her body melt. "Everyone is special, they all have their own little special qualities to them, you know? Like me, If I wasn’t the undertaker, would I be less special 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 soul and soul 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, solid look of determination. 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, guide you on the path to a sold out stadium of cheering, wild fans." Marjorie could definitely tell he had to pause with each sentence, 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 patient, though she didn’t know what to say, it felt weird… it sounded almost as if Mark was a fan of hers. Odd. Mutual fans 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 think 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, trust me and in my opinion. My professional opinion. But I am not here to give you a pep talk or anything of that sort. Nobody loves a preacher."
"Unless you are Christian."
Mark laughed a little. The sensual little minx was quick minded. He used to be as quick as her but age got the better of him now a days, even then though, in his more youthful and ambitious 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 good, really good, you have what makes a star a star." The Undertaker spoke with unwavering 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 consideration prior to speaking, he would slowly consider after speaking.. "What’s wrong?"
Mark had realized Marjorie’s attention was divided between him and the other patrons which inhabited this unique, high scale establishment.
"I just feel so under dressed…" Marjorie finally said after snapping her attention back to the goliath before her, once her eyes reconnected with him though, she slowly felt compelled not to drift her eyes away. This conversation had become too real, and she just wasn’t comfortable with it, which gave her proper time, rather spare time to consider her physical conditions as much herself as the people around her. "Not that there is a problem being underdressed." She coyly remarked, winking a little, a small grin dashing across her lips before following up with "but not in a place like this."
"Would you like to go some place 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 chair and walked around the table, his hands struggling with each button, thankfully there wasn’t many, but finally he stood behind her. She didn’t look behind her, her eyes looking as if petrified, to the couple in front of her. No one really paid much attention 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 movement.
"Stand up, Kiddo." Mark said, this time though, his voice lowered into a playful, knowing mannerism. He was toying with her. Not in a mean nor malicious manner though, but toying with her all the same.
Was he flirting with her? Was Mark Calaway flirting with her!? The Under Taker? THE Under Taker. No. Definitely not. She drank a little too much alcohol without having drank any. She was attention drunk, perhaps. As she stood up, he slowly draped her youthful form with the leather black biker jacket, leaving him with but an undershirt, an under shirt that clutched to his form for dear life.
Marjorie’s reactions were slow, her mind working at full speed but her mouth unable to process the word she wished she could say, wanted to say, but at the same time didn’t want to say. What if… what if she would say something wrong. What if this business meeting / meal turned just a little 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 fellow patrons of this upper class establishment. It took all of her willpower and aged experience around guys to muster up a retort. "You don’t have a good memory, do you?"
Marjorie smiled, Mark smiled. She couldn’t see it per say but she could feel it. Feel it in each stroke of his clammy palms upon her shoulder as he straightened and readjusted the article of clothing gifted to her. The jacket was large enough to dip down to her knees, or just about near that vicinity. Bending down, Mark brushed his mustache against her ear as he whispered. But, to be frank, even his whispering came out to be as imposing as his 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 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 remain would be sand dunes and sand blasting soullessly through the wind. Petrified apparently wasn’t a strong enough word to be used at this moment.
"Doesn’t change that you are making it, now does it?" And with that, like the mirage dissipated, those warm, robust hands left her leather coated shoulders. He extended his hand outward to indicate for her to sit down again, at which time he lifted the chair clean off the floor, an inch or so, but the feat was rather… demonstrative of his physical capability. With her promptly up toward the table, he walked back to his own seat. Moments lingered, her teeth nervously bouncing off her lower lip but she couldn’t help but feel this was kind of personal. It was ironic also, it was now Mark who was ---
"Looks like now I am the one underdressed." Mark smiled. The food had come just then. Had time flied that fast, how long had they been there. How much time was spent talking and how much in awkward silence? Was this sexual tension. Marjorie was unsure about a lot of things but she was certain that with each passing moment she was hiding more and more in her shell. Mark just then grew silent as he began to eat his meal. Even though her own meal was literally right under her nose, she could still smell his lobster. And it looked so utterly fresh. It was fantastic and though she wasn’t a glutton, the strong desire to eat both meals was just in the tip of her mind.
Finally she began to eat, cutting the steak up with her keen edged knife. She cut the entire thing though, not yet even taking a piece of it to her mouth. She was intimately self-conscious. It wasn’t because of Mark, not about him being a male either, it was because of The Under Taker. The legend. The hero. The person with such strong resolve and business sense 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 things to business but given the situation, Marjorie was an open book – at least to most things but Mark was quick to backpedal from a topic that made her uncomfortable. They even got onto the topic of family, which Marjorie didn’t volunteer much on the subject but Mark did. It was hard to imagine, The UnderTaker as a person but it was becoming easier every moment they shared a menagerie of conversational topics.
Mark talked about Texas Red, his first name he went under, and how he missed being a rookie. He spoke with sobering wisdom and perhaps even a touch of regret but he never really showed it, his words already usually well thought out.
"But onetime as Texas Red, the debut match in WCCW, me and the other guy were oiled up with this special oil, I don’t know what the hell it was but when we got into the ring, it was a disaster. It was probably the worst day of my life to tell you the truth, Marjorie. We wanted to end the match as soon as possible but even trying to make a pin was horrible. 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 other. I don’t really see how horrible it could be. Maybe I just need to visualize it better to understand your pain. How did you take him down to the mat. Did you spear him, maybe grab his leg with your hands and who was on top ----"
"Alright, Alright. Take 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 years ago but what was happening right at this very moment.
"Think I might just do that."
The trip back to the gym didn’t go as smoothly as it did getting to the restaurant. Marjorie’s hand clutched around Mark who still remained underdressed, his warm leather coat, fit for a giant, wrapped around her as she was to him, or she should have been at least. Her gripped remained as loose as when they started this journey, perhaps even looser then that. She wasn’t leaning with the turns and on more then one occasion she wondered if her grip was firm 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 extension of his own body when he rode. Coming upon a stoplight, his callus hands repositioned the youthful wrestlers reassuringly around him, smiling at her over his shoulder. She still needed to look up to see this. "Don’t worry." Though she couldn’t connect her hands, her fingers found something to hold onto. The grooves of his very articulated muscles of his stomach.
"That a girl!"
As time slipped by, it went unnoticed as Marjorie was enveloped by something else entirely, something that robbed time away like a thief. From the butterflies in her stomach, to the frantic, yet calming haze of fog that clouded her mind and every action she took, to the softness of the cotton material as she kneaded her fingers into the hardened abdominal muscles of Mark gave her a relaxation that she’d never thought she would feel with or even about another person. A feeling reserved for her jogs or being on a bike, alone, wind in your hair. Turning her head, she placed her ear upon his back and despite all the noises that wiped about their forms, she only wanted to hear one thing and it was singing to her, and her alone. The gentle thud of this man’s heart.
The constant, consistent, steady vibrations of the motor between her strong legs did have something to play with just how willing she was to toss out her inhibitions enough to actual sink so far down in romantic bliss unbeknownst to Mark. But for right now, it was probably best. This entire day was intensely stimulating.
The problem was, however, that Mark was feeling this pull of attraction also. Mutually. And that went a little different for him than for the youthful scarlet latched upon his body, clutching him closely, with a death grip of softness. This was business though. Business, 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, dead even. It was odd that she had forgotten that today was an event, 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 thing and one thing only- training. It looked like a ghost town. Lights still remained on, just desolate.
Mark refused his jacket being handed back to him, citing he was comfortable as is and he was going to take 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 back 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 crash 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 have again. God, she just hoped she wasn’t going to look like a moron or something. He saw something in her, He is taking time out of his excruciatingly busy and painful schedule to train her, specifically. It was a lot of pressure to say the least.
With her familiar black karate shorts and an earth 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 different. This wasn’t just an ordinary day for either of them. Which is an easy feat for the short 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 legs and thighs. Like a helpful instructor, a trainer 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 bulge 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 palm grasped her bare foot, covered only by a brand new fresh pair of socks which she’d put on just moments before, and he pulled inward. Marjorie tried to keep perfectly still as her foot was pulled toward his stomach, stretching it perfectly. Rinse and repeat a few times, a few to many. Much like putty, Marjorie’s legs were as limber and dexterous as a ballerina. They burnt, they tingled, but with the collection of sweat that slipped down her energetic, sleek body was a much less welcomed sensation, at least 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 wall of the gym, taking the newly filled silver canteen of water to her mouth, as instructed, again, by Mark.
"Gotta do it in the middle also. You should stretch slightly less then you drink water for breaks. Need to keep that heart beating on down time not to mention loosening you up for the real training."
The gavel fell. He was sadistic, she swore.
Each moment of their training 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 training, however, it became more complicated. Wrestling is a very hand on sport…
Legs like lead, Marjorie leaned against the corner of the ring as Mark paced to and fro. He was a lumbering hulk in the significantly smaller ring then what he was accustomed to. He didn’t just dwarf Marjorie, but the ring also. Sweat beaded from her damp, weighted down hair, catching themselves ever so often upon her thick, full eyebrows where its path was altered to steam down the outer part of her eye and then her cheek. She’d never been so tired in her life. What was he thinking about? She wasn’t complaining though. The rest was good.
Deep in confliction with the situation he found himself in. Each grazing touch between them since they meet had been like electricity and often met with awkwardness 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. Times were always tough, having to flee to Japan for a few years as wrestling’s popularity was in jeopardy, having no real friends except for the kindness of whatever league he was in at the time. Some leagues much more unfriendly then others. There were upsides to being a loner by nature, he’d always have his bike and the great outdoors – the roads just keep going on, until they don’t. That’s when you make your own road. Your own adventure.
With canteen in hand he handed it to Marjorie, silence. He was having a moment, she could tell, what it was about, she knew not but even in her muscle searing state, she was curious but didn’t inquire. "Drink up." He said as Marjorie devoured the canteen, the drink was long, sloppy, and greedy. The water flowed from her mouth as she poured it inside, dribbling much like her sweat down her body. The coolness 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 concern her.
Plucking the tip from her pouty, thick 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.
Mark lifted one of his hands, in it, a bottle of Fuji Water that he’d been nursing on since the trainings start. "Yeah but you missed a spot… The most important spot." He undid the cap, Marjorie looked at the 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 Water bottle, Marjorie was finally able to wrestle it from one of his hands using both of her own… and her shoulder. There may or may not have even been a bite or two. She wasn’t sure. Victory was hers though!
"I am doing it for your own good, 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 contents however was slightly lightened as water whipped at the taller figure, his white shirt sporting large damp puddles that dripped down his body. His leather pants didn’t get much of the water, but the liquid rolling down his chest would eventually make its way down there. Boots, thankfully, didn’t get wet either.
Coming 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 little girls no matter how strong they be. Marjorie laced her arms upon the second mid rope, hanging as she laughed. Mark Calway, however was not at all pleased. His mouth was firm, his teeth running upon the lower bit of lip as he watched in silence at his … student took light of the situation. Was that what she was to him, a student?
"What, you don’t look amused. Oh, come on Mark. You started this, the very second we met each other." She leaned her back against the tall corner post, her lush, despite being dried, lips twisted into an amused grin. "I can see why you like doing it though. Look at you. You’re so soaked." The silence was making Marjorie feel uneasy now, perhaps however it was the lingering, leering, licentious look that Mark gifted her. Nervously, she brought the water bottle to his lips and took a quick drink of the remains. A anxious chuckle or two later all entire gym was dead of sound, it was eerie.
Advancing, light dimmed. It was almost like an eclipse as the Undertaker loomed over her. Something about that steel resolve face gave Marjorie the impression of her being in trouble. She kind of liked that look. Its effects were almost entirely instantaneous upon her. Clasping his strong hand under the chin of Marjorie, playfully slid down, pulling her lower lip downward. The tip of his thumb, which spanned from chin to upper lip with ease, strummed. With demand but guidance, Marjorie’s face was lifted upward to give each perfect vantage point of the others eyes. Her eyes 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… Well I noticed you’ve been nursing your own marinade down there." Marjorie jerked upward as one finger, with precision and articulation, glided along her heavy shorts, right above her pussy mound.
There was no veil of uncertainty anymore. Mark smirked, in turn so did Marjorie, even if hers was following with rolling eyes, that finger applying pressure upon her nether lips. It was so strong, yet its movements, touches were graceful. It didn’t require much movement. Mark was practiced and it showed. "You are perfect, Marjorie. In everyway…" His hand cupped along her thick rear end, giving it a secure squeeze, flesh much like pudding as it filled his massive palm. "shape." He leaned forward, slowly, tentatively slower. It was worse yet though because he was just so damn tall. A fact Marjorie loved, was not subject to her frustration. 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 occasions, and sometimes when she felt particularly frisky.. it was right here. Her expressive lips curled and pouted, ready to accept the kiss that was coming. Her eyes closed, trusting him to land the plane himself. This was ‘her’ time. "and form…"
No kiss came. The hand which teased her most precious of rosebuds, and violated her shapely rear end now stretched from behind her leg to her knee. His palm 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 legs, didn’t mean she wasn’t flexible. Looping her leg, with his support upon one of the ropes, Marjorie’s hands coiled upon his long, hearty chest, fingers grazing upon the wet white shirt as she followed his ‘advice’.
Standing on one leg now, Marjorie trembled as that dancing, adventurous hand slipped from the back of the knee upward along her thighs, caressing with just the right amount of force before his thumb pressed into her spread yet clothed mound. Imprisoning her swollen, white nub with the thumb, his movement became sheerly blissfully circulate. His spare hand ran along her sweating medium length hair, right through but not before grasping a little bit of it between his fingers, drawing her to look upward, as if he enjoyed becoming lost in her eyes. Marjorie couldn’t lie, she’d look at them if she could but with such empowering sensations roiling, boiling throughout her body, it was hard to lift her heavy head.
"I think I finally figured it out, Marjorie. It’s your eyebrows that make you unique and gorgeous. That and those lively lips you have." The hand with hair in it, maneuvers itself over her shoulder so he could run a finger caressingly through one of her eyebrows before his tongue slipped out, just a little, but enough. "I have a lively tongue myself." He purred like a bear as he pounced upon her, his lips crashing into Marjorie’s.
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