The Road to Wrestlemania isn't just something that wrestlers get to experience. Its something for the fans as well, we spend an entire year watching our favorite wrestlers shed their blood, sweat and tears while chanting along with the live crowds. This isn't a story about how I met Trish Stratus and got the Stratusfaction I so duly deserve or a story about how my girlfriend Karen met The Rock and gave him a taste of her strudel. It's a story about all the things that happened leading up to the main event of the biggest show of them all.
First I guess I should introduce myself since its been a while since you've seen me. My name is Kristopher Renaud and I'm a Corporal in the United States Marine Corps. I stand a slender six feet tall and one hundred eighty pounds of pure milk chocolate. My hair is cut in a short traditional military style but being an African-American it doesn't really stand out most of the time. My fiancé/girlfriend/slave is named Karen. She's a red-haired vixen with bright green eyes and mocha hued skin. She isn't the perfect traditional shape, a little soft around the edges if you will but god does she have a pair of tits on her, pierced too. Together we had one awesome time on the Road to Wrestlemania.
It all started three months earlier, like everything else at Wrestlemania, with the Royal Rumble and a lot of alcohol being passed between people who alternated being too young to drink and barely old enough to purchase it. It was half way through the massive battle royale when I noticed Karen leaning up against one of my friends.
Its not that big a deal, by the time of the Rumble we only had two girls in a group of eight people and both of them had been around long enough to be very comfortable with everybody. This was instantly different though. For starters I'd been around Jet; his nickname as his real name was Cris just like mine and it caused a lot of complications, for going on eight years at this point. More than once he'd joked about how cute my girlfriend was and how easy it would be to get in her pants. It was also that while her head was resting on his soft stomach his hands were (very subtly, for a drunk) rubbing along the sides of her breast. Then there was the look in her eyes. It's something that you come to recognize in your woman. That glazed over lust that could be mistaken for intoxication by someone who didn't know her. I knew her though and that was her look.
Just so you have a better idea of who Jet is I'll give you a quick description, he's a little over six feet tall and well over two hundred pounds. I call him fat but that's because I'm in the military where everybody is either swoll or anorexic so most people would call him average. I still say he should drop like thirty pounds, regardless he has short brown hair which means it comes around his ears and the most amazing blue eyes. Like most people buy contacts to look like this man and an annoying, to some people, aura of confidence. Its one of the things we share is an overwhelming belief in Chris superiority, doesn't matter how you spell it you're still a Chris, and it carries over into most aspects of our lives. In short a lot of the same personality traits that drew her to me also kept her interested in Jet. Jet whose hand was currently stroking the felt kitten stitched onto the front of my Kitten's shirt. With a slight shrug I turned back to the match just in time to watch Stone Cold stun some third string wrestler way out in the middle of the ring.
That's the way it's always been between me and my slave. We are in love, we are lovers but we're not in lust. There is so much more that we have to offer each other than sex, or great sex, that it doesn't bother us when one wanders about. It's not really a swinging relationship where we actively hunt out new partners and we certainly don't, haven't gone hunting together. It's just that if something comes along to her interest she should go get it and so should I. I'll be the first to admit that sometimes there a pang of jealousy. Right then was one of those times because I wasn't really sure what set us two apart. Regardless sex is sex and love is love and people who confuse the two are doomed to have miserable relationships.
"Hey Renaud can you pass me a beer?" Mark called from the corner of the room. There was already a small armada of crushed cans and empty bottles lying around his supine form. He was one of three men in the room who'd already had a shot at Karen. He'd gotten his in her car about three miles up the mountain from where we were sitting. He had his blonde hair done up into spikes long enough to almost look like an anime character.
"Sure." I responded opening the cooler beside me and tossing him a can and pulling out a bottle for myself. "Anybody else?" I asked quickly scanning the room.
Eric's hand instantly shot up in response to my offer. He was the other man who'd had a taste of my Kitten and there he was smiling his goofy puppy dog smile. It would be a little more accurate to say that he raped my slave but considering how badly she'd begged for it, and her insistence that it was all her fault, we'd remained friends. I tossed him the can in my hand and continued to search the room pausing on Enrique. "Happily working on the rum." He responded raising a McDonald's cup that was close to half full of Parrot Bay rum then tilting it to his lips. You know now that I that I start thinking about it a lot of the guys here right now have had a taste of my Kitten's strudel. Enrique got his one night at the club in the back of his truck, its one of her favorite stories.
