Post by ant1s0c1alk1d on Sept 4, 2006 22:12:02 GMT -5
Nar-cis-sism [nahr-suh-siz-em]
–noun
1. inordinate fascination with oneself; excessive self-love; vanity.
2. Psychoanalysis. erotic gratification derived from admiration of one's own physical or mental attributes, being a normal condition at the infantile level of personality development
Dear Adoring Fans of Mine,
Thank you all for the kind support of my return to the wrestling ring after a long recuperation period. It has been a very dramatic last few months since the closure of the last federation I was in. For those of you who were NHW marks, I can assure you that I had no idea that the owner, one Marcus Gary, was sleeping with the staff members. I assumed I was the only one screwing the old f***. I would, however, like to say that despite the closure and my immediate “firing” for “lewd conduct in the work place,” I am back and ready to prove myself to a bunch of nobodies once again. Tune your televisions to WFWF from now on, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll see your Empress, your First Lady of Wrestling. Until Then, remember, if you can’t be good, be good at it!
Your Heroine of Masochism,
Shane Sanders
September 4, 2006
Las Vegas- All afternoon KWAR 98.9 FM had been advertising the biggest party of the century, The Silver Anniversary of Porn Sensation, Misty Herne, who was celebrating the release of her 25th production at the Sands Hotel and Casino. It was the envy of every superstar for acquiring a large named Casino to host an even larger smut business event was a feat of accomplishment indeed. The “average people” were in an uproar as the Casino had been especially closed down to all outsiders and non-invitation holding guests. Outside, there would be lines of paparazzi, lines of porn addicted fans, and lines of tourists and locals anxious to sneak a peek at the hot bodies of the sex industry and plastic surgery world would stroll by dressed for the occasion….and by occasion I mean mass orgy that would take place...
Like most large scale parties as this one, a few uninvited guests would manage to squeeze their way inside with the fit of the crowd rush and somehow “blend” in with the stars of lust and fantasy. However, those “lucky” few, chose to keep to themselves for fear of being tossed out into an embarrassing heap onto the crowded sidewalk, therefore, never really enjoyed themselves. Fortunately for me, I knew how to persuade my way into every situation. Call me a wh*re, call me cheap….trust me I won’t object at all, for I hold true to the phrase, “If you can’t be good, be good at it.” And if you ask anyone who knows of me, or knows me personally, (I stress the knows with a wink and nudge) they will vouch for me. Shane Sanders is a woman of skill, a woman among women, she is the innovator of promiscuity…..Besides….I used to sleep with a girl in the “biz”, I had an invite anyways….
My plus one for the night was none other than……(drum roll please)…..some girl I met at a bar on Lexington. She just happened to be the type of girl who was attractive, but not nearly as attractive as I was, therefore she didn’t take away from my allure. Her names was Lisa, I think. At least, that is what she responded to. Tory was a plain jane who only recently (thanks to a large bank account from Daddy dearest) was able to afford the T & A that distinguishes pretty girls from sultry sex kittens. Her curves weren’t as defined as mine, yet she didn’t look too shabby in the purple bodysuit that clung to her expensive chest and un-proportioned hips. On my arm she hang, like a mindless gold digger to a wealthy coot, as we pushed our way past the crowd of porn stars and starlets, strippers, escorts, musicians, etc etc. The “beautiful people” so to speak. Along the west wall, trays of finger foods, and rows of free champagne flowed a plenty as I stopped our “social tour” short of the dance floor that appeared as a sea of people all dressed in white and silver for the special occasion. Their bodies swayed in rhythm to the beat of the bass that pounded the speakers with the latest rap beat. To an outsider of this world of sin and sex, it looked almost immoral. To me, it was just another flashback of my days of “rolling” at one of the abandoned warehouses in North Las Vegas at a random teenager’s rave.
Lisa: “Should we mingle, or dance?”
“I should mingle; you should fetch me a drink.”
She looked annoyed as I released her arm and walked away giving her no time to rebut my idea. Near the back of the dance floor, through an open archway, led to the lounge of the casino that was roped off with a single velvet rope, un guarded by any oversized punk with a constant attitude problem. Perhaps this was someone’s “bad”, but I was going to take my chances. Carefully, not to trip in fall in the stilettos that I bore on my feet, I stepped over the rope and made my way through the darkened room. A smaller crowd of sex stars sat along the walls in the red leather booths, others crowded the bar area, chatting about their latest Golden Boner nomination and what not. A free stool sat in the far left corner, it caught my eye quickly. I moved without haste for fear of having to stand any longer in these heels.
Bartender: “What’ll it be?”
“Absolute on the rocks.”
He nodded while turning his back to me to fetch the glass and ice and Vodka. I pulled a cigarette from the clutch hand bag that I had been carrying all night. Lighting it, I sat back, pressing my back to the wall, peering through the dark at the people around. A man who had been sitting beside me, turned his head to catch a better glimpse of the woman who had snuck her way into the VIP section. He was handsome, a man of his mid-thirties, dark brown hair, insane green eyes. He was all too charming.\
Man: “Black dress at a silver anniversary party? That must mean either one of two things, you are a nonconformist, or you are trying to attract more than just confusion.”
“I’m an attention wh*re.”
He chuckled as he sipped his Scotch.
Man: “How much?”
I licked my lips, just slightly for sexual innuendo as I leaned closer to him, his cologne rising around my nostrils. Just enough, not over bearing like most men wear it, but just enough to attract a closer attention.
“How much you got?”
Man: “I hit the Roulette wheel earlier…so about twenty grand.”
“I think we can work something out.”
He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear as he returned his look back to the bartender who placed my Absolute on the rocks at my hands.
Man: “I’m impressed. Most of these girls down Apple Martinis and Smirnoff. You drink like a man.”
I f*** like one too. Sounds scary? Not in the least. I take pride in my female libido.
“I like to drown my sorrows.”
Man: “Here’s to that.”
He raised his glass to Cheers with me as we both took large swallows before returning out looks back to the people around us. The silence was unnerving as he spun his stool to face me.
Man: “Sean Troy.”
He offered his hand to me in hopes I would shake it welcomingly.
“A handshake? How noble, Mr. Troy.”
I offered the back of my hand to his for a kiss in tradition of the French.
“Shane.”
He abided by my gesture of kindness by returning a soft kiss to my hand before dropping it easily at my side.
Sean Troy: “No last name? You are doing the Madonna thing, right?”
“Something like that.”
Sean Troy: “So, what brings you to this gala?”
I wasn’t one for answering personal questions right away…
“You first.”
Sean Troy: “Photojournalist for Esquire magazine sent to cover Misty’s anniversary speech.”
“I used to sleep with Tory Lane.”
Sean Troy: “Ahhh….”
His eyes arched curiously.
Sean Troy: “There goes my plan to whisk you back to my classy Motel 6 penthouse.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Troy, I enjoy the best of both worlds.”
Sean Troy: “I feel somewhat better already. Now, how does an attractive woman like yourself, former lover of Tory Lane, end up alone at this party?”
“I ditched my plus one in hopes of obtaining a plus two.”
Sean Troy: “I’m afraid I am only but one man.”
He hung his head in fake shame.
“I’m sure you are very resourceful for a photojournalist. You could always take the pictures.”
Sean Troy: “That, my dear, sounds like a plan.”
He rose his glass to toast the idea
Sean Troy: “To bisexuals with a love for voyeurism.”
“To photojournalists with raging erections.”
Mr. Troy was nice, but hardly the man I wanted to take home with me as I scanned the room looking for someone more….devious….more sinful. I was a narcissistic nymphomaniac craving the same. A long pause of silence lingered between us, as I felt tempted to leave at once in hopes to retrieve my plus one for a pity screw.
Sean Troy: “I must bore a porn star like yourself.”
“Just because I enjoy sex, doesn’t make me a porn star.”
He flushed with embarrassment.
Sean Troy: “Sorry, I was under the impression that you had met Tory Lane through the business.”
“I met Tory through a mutual friend and total inebriation. Although my current profession is quite similar to the porn industry. I’m a “professional” wrestler.”
His eyes narrowed in a confused look.
“I know, seems unorthodox doesn’t it? How such an attractive woman falls in line with such barbarism. Perhaps it is a bit queer, but I believe that the most interesting of women do the most eccentric things. Models die out after they break thirty. Actresses lose their flames after box office flops. Porn stars only hold such appeal in the cult classic world. But a female wrestler, that is a feat to accomplish. What man doesn’t want to take home a woman who could single handedly contort her body into a pleasurable position of great detail and curiousness?”
He was speechless.
“Without appearing any more boastful than what I am, I can safely assure you, Mr. Troy, my competitive side is as strong if not stronger than my lusty side. I see each opponent as another notch on my bedpost, so to speak. The more notches I acquire, the quicker my name spreads, and of course the experience that follows hand in hand. For instance, my opponent, my debut opponent that is, Immune, “The Animal” Immune to be more specific. Apparently this man is “something” although I wouldn’t know where to begin in finding what exactly he is. To the WFWF fans, I’m sure he’s a legend…or a hero…or a good wrestler just to be more vague….I dare not research any of my opponents anymore than I need to….but to me, he is just one more man that will have to feel what it is like being beneath a woman far out of his league. “The Animal”, indeed!
The only “animal” I see going into this match is that of a raging bitch with an itchy trigger finger, impatiently waiting her chance to get her feet wet again. I’ve been out for a while, but I am far from rusty. Call me a superstitious woman, but I believe the reason most stars and starlettes lose their first matches is due to the fact that they don’t apply themselves enough physically. It isn’t that I spend hours in the gym a day, or that I randomly pick fights with pedestrians, it is that I find my own “methods” of in ring preparation and run with them.”
Sean Troy: “I assume that’s your linking porn to wrestling? Using random sex for training?”
“I am very selective with who I sleep with, thank you! But, no, don’t go about labeling me as just a woman who sleeps around and doesn’t apply herself to her career. I love to f*** but I love to wrestle as well. My father was a professional wrestler for thirty years before he retired. I suppose it is a passion in my blood. But my father was weak, and I am far from that. He took the paved road of heroism and appealing to the fans….I could give a sh** what the fans think, for I know despite their boos, they desire me. Every man and woman does. Immune will just be the first to witness firsthand that beauty and brawn are far more deadlier than anything he could dish out. He may be an animal but I am a tyrant with a heart as black as my dress. If he wants an easy win…I’d suggest he have a flaming bus run me down in the parking lot on my way to the arena. With me, there is no easy win, there is no weak woman beneath this gorgeous exterior. I’ll do whatever it takes to get my name in the main event slot…..”
Sean Troy: “You are very driven.”
“And to answer your question…about using random sex for training? I’m not above sleeping with anyone to make my way up the hierarchal ladder.”
My feet touched the floor softly as I grazed his face with my finger before leaving him, as I did most men I felt were a waste of my time, and made my way to the velvet rope. However, instead of stepping over it as if it were nothing, I simply unlatched it, further proving that I was not one to be kept down by any means. The security guard simply nodded as I made my way through the thick crowd again. My plus one was nowhere to be seen, so I assumed she had left me behind. “No worries”, I thought. “Less baggage equals better odds at finding someone as sadistic and sexual as me.”
ooc: Not much I know...just getting back into this in WFWF...i'm used to my other fed
–noun
1. inordinate fascination with oneself; excessive self-love; vanity.
2. Psychoanalysis. erotic gratification derived from admiration of one's own physical or mental attributes, being a normal condition at the infantile level of personality development
---- Narcissistic Nymphomaniac Seeks Same ---
Dear Adoring Fans of Mine,
Thank you all for the kind support of my return to the wrestling ring after a long recuperation period. It has been a very dramatic last few months since the closure of the last federation I was in. For those of you who were NHW marks, I can assure you that I had no idea that the owner, one Marcus Gary, was sleeping with the staff members. I assumed I was the only one screwing the old f***. I would, however, like to say that despite the closure and my immediate “firing” for “lewd conduct in the work place,” I am back and ready to prove myself to a bunch of nobodies once again. Tune your televisions to WFWF from now on, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll see your Empress, your First Lady of Wrestling. Until Then, remember, if you can’t be good, be good at it!
Your Heroine of Masochism,
Shane Sanders
September 4, 2006
Las Vegas- All afternoon KWAR 98.9 FM had been advertising the biggest party of the century, The Silver Anniversary of Porn Sensation, Misty Herne, who was celebrating the release of her 25th production at the Sands Hotel and Casino. It was the envy of every superstar for acquiring a large named Casino to host an even larger smut business event was a feat of accomplishment indeed. The “average people” were in an uproar as the Casino had been especially closed down to all outsiders and non-invitation holding guests. Outside, there would be lines of paparazzi, lines of porn addicted fans, and lines of tourists and locals anxious to sneak a peek at the hot bodies of the sex industry and plastic surgery world would stroll by dressed for the occasion….and by occasion I mean mass orgy that would take place...
Like most large scale parties as this one, a few uninvited guests would manage to squeeze their way inside with the fit of the crowd rush and somehow “blend” in with the stars of lust and fantasy. However, those “lucky” few, chose to keep to themselves for fear of being tossed out into an embarrassing heap onto the crowded sidewalk, therefore, never really enjoyed themselves. Fortunately for me, I knew how to persuade my way into every situation. Call me a wh*re, call me cheap….trust me I won’t object at all, for I hold true to the phrase, “If you can’t be good, be good at it.” And if you ask anyone who knows of me, or knows me personally, (I stress the knows with a wink and nudge) they will vouch for me. Shane Sanders is a woman of skill, a woman among women, she is the innovator of promiscuity…..Besides….I used to sleep with a girl in the “biz”, I had an invite anyways….
My plus one for the night was none other than……(drum roll please)…..some girl I met at a bar on Lexington. She just happened to be the type of girl who was attractive, but not nearly as attractive as I was, therefore she didn’t take away from my allure. Her names was Lisa, I think. At least, that is what she responded to. Tory was a plain jane who only recently (thanks to a large bank account from Daddy dearest) was able to afford the T & A that distinguishes pretty girls from sultry sex kittens. Her curves weren’t as defined as mine, yet she didn’t look too shabby in the purple bodysuit that clung to her expensive chest and un-proportioned hips. On my arm she hang, like a mindless gold digger to a wealthy coot, as we pushed our way past the crowd of porn stars and starlets, strippers, escorts, musicians, etc etc. The “beautiful people” so to speak. Along the west wall, trays of finger foods, and rows of free champagne flowed a plenty as I stopped our “social tour” short of the dance floor that appeared as a sea of people all dressed in white and silver for the special occasion. Their bodies swayed in rhythm to the beat of the bass that pounded the speakers with the latest rap beat. To an outsider of this world of sin and sex, it looked almost immoral. To me, it was just another flashback of my days of “rolling” at one of the abandoned warehouses in North Las Vegas at a random teenager’s rave.
Lisa: “Should we mingle, or dance?”
“I should mingle; you should fetch me a drink.”
She looked annoyed as I released her arm and walked away giving her no time to rebut my idea. Near the back of the dance floor, through an open archway, led to the lounge of the casino that was roped off with a single velvet rope, un guarded by any oversized punk with a constant attitude problem. Perhaps this was someone’s “bad”, but I was going to take my chances. Carefully, not to trip in fall in the stilettos that I bore on my feet, I stepped over the rope and made my way through the darkened room. A smaller crowd of sex stars sat along the walls in the red leather booths, others crowded the bar area, chatting about their latest Golden Boner nomination and what not. A free stool sat in the far left corner, it caught my eye quickly. I moved without haste for fear of having to stand any longer in these heels.
Bartender: “What’ll it be?”
“Absolute on the rocks.”
He nodded while turning his back to me to fetch the glass and ice and Vodka. I pulled a cigarette from the clutch hand bag that I had been carrying all night. Lighting it, I sat back, pressing my back to the wall, peering through the dark at the people around. A man who had been sitting beside me, turned his head to catch a better glimpse of the woman who had snuck her way into the VIP section. He was handsome, a man of his mid-thirties, dark brown hair, insane green eyes. He was all too charming.\
Man: “Black dress at a silver anniversary party? That must mean either one of two things, you are a nonconformist, or you are trying to attract more than just confusion.”
“I’m an attention wh*re.”
He chuckled as he sipped his Scotch.
Man: “How much?”
I licked my lips, just slightly for sexual innuendo as I leaned closer to him, his cologne rising around my nostrils. Just enough, not over bearing like most men wear it, but just enough to attract a closer attention.
“How much you got?”
Man: “I hit the Roulette wheel earlier…so about twenty grand.”
“I think we can work something out.”
He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear as he returned his look back to the bartender who placed my Absolute on the rocks at my hands.
Man: “I’m impressed. Most of these girls down Apple Martinis and Smirnoff. You drink like a man.”
I f*** like one too. Sounds scary? Not in the least. I take pride in my female libido.
“I like to drown my sorrows.”
Man: “Here’s to that.”
He raised his glass to Cheers with me as we both took large swallows before returning out looks back to the people around us. The silence was unnerving as he spun his stool to face me.
Man: “Sean Troy.”
He offered his hand to me in hopes I would shake it welcomingly.
“A handshake? How noble, Mr. Troy.”
I offered the back of my hand to his for a kiss in tradition of the French.
“Shane.”
He abided by my gesture of kindness by returning a soft kiss to my hand before dropping it easily at my side.
Sean Troy: “No last name? You are doing the Madonna thing, right?”
“Something like that.”
Sean Troy: “So, what brings you to this gala?”
I wasn’t one for answering personal questions right away…
“You first.”
Sean Troy: “Photojournalist for Esquire magazine sent to cover Misty’s anniversary speech.”
“I used to sleep with Tory Lane.”
Sean Troy: “Ahhh….”
His eyes arched curiously.
Sean Troy: “There goes my plan to whisk you back to my classy Motel 6 penthouse.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Troy, I enjoy the best of both worlds.”
Sean Troy: “I feel somewhat better already. Now, how does an attractive woman like yourself, former lover of Tory Lane, end up alone at this party?”
“I ditched my plus one in hopes of obtaining a plus two.”
Sean Troy: “I’m afraid I am only but one man.”
He hung his head in fake shame.
“I’m sure you are very resourceful for a photojournalist. You could always take the pictures.”
Sean Troy: “That, my dear, sounds like a plan.”
He rose his glass to toast the idea
Sean Troy: “To bisexuals with a love for voyeurism.”
“To photojournalists with raging erections.”
Mr. Troy was nice, but hardly the man I wanted to take home with me as I scanned the room looking for someone more….devious….more sinful. I was a narcissistic nymphomaniac craving the same. A long pause of silence lingered between us, as I felt tempted to leave at once in hopes to retrieve my plus one for a pity screw.
Sean Troy: “I must bore a porn star like yourself.”
“Just because I enjoy sex, doesn’t make me a porn star.”
He flushed with embarrassment.
Sean Troy: “Sorry, I was under the impression that you had met Tory Lane through the business.”
“I met Tory through a mutual friend and total inebriation. Although my current profession is quite similar to the porn industry. I’m a “professional” wrestler.”
His eyes narrowed in a confused look.
“I know, seems unorthodox doesn’t it? How such an attractive woman falls in line with such barbarism. Perhaps it is a bit queer, but I believe that the most interesting of women do the most eccentric things. Models die out after they break thirty. Actresses lose their flames after box office flops. Porn stars only hold such appeal in the cult classic world. But a female wrestler, that is a feat to accomplish. What man doesn’t want to take home a woman who could single handedly contort her body into a pleasurable position of great detail and curiousness?”
He was speechless.
“Without appearing any more boastful than what I am, I can safely assure you, Mr. Troy, my competitive side is as strong if not stronger than my lusty side. I see each opponent as another notch on my bedpost, so to speak. The more notches I acquire, the quicker my name spreads, and of course the experience that follows hand in hand. For instance, my opponent, my debut opponent that is, Immune, “The Animal” Immune to be more specific. Apparently this man is “something” although I wouldn’t know where to begin in finding what exactly he is. To the WFWF fans, I’m sure he’s a legend…or a hero…or a good wrestler just to be more vague….I dare not research any of my opponents anymore than I need to….but to me, he is just one more man that will have to feel what it is like being beneath a woman far out of his league. “The Animal”, indeed!
The only “animal” I see going into this match is that of a raging bitch with an itchy trigger finger, impatiently waiting her chance to get her feet wet again. I’ve been out for a while, but I am far from rusty. Call me a superstitious woman, but I believe the reason most stars and starlettes lose their first matches is due to the fact that they don’t apply themselves enough physically. It isn’t that I spend hours in the gym a day, or that I randomly pick fights with pedestrians, it is that I find my own “methods” of in ring preparation and run with them.”
Sean Troy: “I assume that’s your linking porn to wrestling? Using random sex for training?”
“I am very selective with who I sleep with, thank you! But, no, don’t go about labeling me as just a woman who sleeps around and doesn’t apply herself to her career. I love to f*** but I love to wrestle as well. My father was a professional wrestler for thirty years before he retired. I suppose it is a passion in my blood. But my father was weak, and I am far from that. He took the paved road of heroism and appealing to the fans….I could give a sh** what the fans think, for I know despite their boos, they desire me. Every man and woman does. Immune will just be the first to witness firsthand that beauty and brawn are far more deadlier than anything he could dish out. He may be an animal but I am a tyrant with a heart as black as my dress. If he wants an easy win…I’d suggest he have a flaming bus run me down in the parking lot on my way to the arena. With me, there is no easy win, there is no weak woman beneath this gorgeous exterior. I’ll do whatever it takes to get my name in the main event slot…..”
Sean Troy: “You are very driven.”
“And to answer your question…about using random sex for training? I’m not above sleeping with anyone to make my way up the hierarchal ladder.”
My feet touched the floor softly as I grazed his face with my finger before leaving him, as I did most men I felt were a waste of my time, and made my way to the velvet rope. However, instead of stepping over it as if it were nothing, I simply unlatched it, further proving that I was not one to be kept down by any means. The security guard simply nodded as I made my way through the thick crowd again. My plus one was nowhere to be seen, so I assumed she had left me behind. “No worries”, I thought. “Less baggage equals better odds at finding someone as sadistic and sexual as me.”
ooc: Not much I know...just getting back into this in WFWF...i'm used to my other fed
I mean, you carry yourself very well, powerful yet seductive, you always had the ability to get your character in the face of the reader. I may bring A person in to give you a run for your money. heh
