I'm not a super hero, genius (evil or otherwise), rich, or glib, but I, Greg Wright, have one quality that few people have. I was born without a "fear" gene. This has caused me a considerable amount of pain in my life, but it has also allowed me to dish out much more pain than I've received and to enjoy life more than many of my peers.
Since I was a senior in High School I've been 5 feet 11 inches (1.8 meters) tall and weighed 185 pounds (84 kg) give or take a few milkshakes, with about 8-9% body fat. A few examples will show you how fearless/foolhardy/nuts/reckless that I am.
--I returned kicks in American football in both High School and college, about the most reckless thing in sports, except for maybe cliff diving (which I have also done). I wasn't good enough to play many downs on offense or defense but my kick return skills were valuable enough to get a scholarship to a football factory -- my grades and board scores weren't good enough to get into a prestigious academic institution -- and with the help of tutors did graduate in the lower 50% of my class in four years.
--Lying about my age I went skydiving by myself at 15 and had no apprehension whatsoever while two adults on the plane freaked out.
--I've free climbed about a dozen rock walls, no safety rope or harness, of course.
--I've hiked The Maze in Canyonlands National Park in Utah twice, once solo.
--At an arcade in a bad part of town I got really good at pinball and some other arcade games and made bets with low lives there -- bets that I couldn't cover if I lost and would likely have gotten the shit beaten out of me.
--In my youth I let off a stink bomb in a police station -- twice.
--I used fake IDs to gain entry into several nightclubs when I was only 17 -- two of them had real cops at the door checking IDs.
--On two separate occasions I have come across serious vehicle accidents once on a train track and once on a freeway. In the first I kept pulling on the driver of a pickup truck who was unconscious while a train was approaching and got him out literally five seconds before the train hit and threw vehicle parts all over the place (some of which hit me). In the second I pulled out two passengers when it was obvious that the car that they were in was about to explode. That time I got them out a full twenty seconds before it did erupt. Those were NOT acts of bravery -- I just didn't have any apprehension.
--I appeared on an episode of The Discovery Channel show "Naked and Afraid." I was naked, but not afraid. I survived all three weeks. I usually don't tell people that (and would never put it on a resume) because then they pretty much write me off as a nut case.
--I grew up in a transitional neighborhood. Some people considered me a "pretty boy" and thought that they could pick on me. They couldn't. Although I've never spent more than a couple of hours in my life taking formal self-defense classes, I'm quick and -- again -- fearless and never gave up so I won many more fights than I lost, and I had lots of them, some of which added "character" to my pretty face. I was particularly pugnacious if I was in a bad mood because something shitty had recently happened to me.
So, I think that I definitely can represent that I'm fearless.
At the age of 25 I had a decent job for my intelligence level, made enough money to live almost comfortably, and had some good friends. Despite my pretty face for some reason I never had any great relationships with women. Some of my friends said that while I could often be a real asshole with men I was too "nice" to women, whatever that meant.
That's all of the background you need to understand and/or believe what happened one sunny day in May on a Florida beach.
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I had just been dumped by a woman that I really liked. She gave no explanation, essentially just told me to get lost. I did see her a couple of days later riding in an expensive convertible sports car with a snooty looking guy, obviously several levels above me in the bucks department.
I like to run when I'm in a pissy mood so that I don't get into an altercation if someone crosses me, and a long local sandy ocean beach near my modest house in Florida is perfect for that. With my serious running shoes, tank top, and lightweight shorts on I started on a leisurely run in early afternoon on a Saturday in May.
I was working through my problems in my mind when a vision of a modern day goddess exited the water several meters in front of me. I am embarrassed to say that I didn't get a good look at her face because I was fixated on her voluptuous bikini-clad body. She had a slim waist, muscular thighs, a pleasantly round ass, and most notable a pair of tits that arrived several second before the rest of her did. She was looking ahead so I was able to ogle her body without her noticing. I have this thing about always looking a woman -- especially one with mountainous boobs -- in the eye, so I was embarrassed by my fixation on her body.
I all too quickly went past her, took a really deep breath, and soldiered on, exercising enormous willpower not to stop and stare.
It took me a good mile before I was able to will my cock back into a flaccid condition, and another mile after that I turned around and headed back.
I would be lying if I said that I wasn't looking for the goddess when I got near where I had seen her, but I was being cautious since I didn't have sun glasses on and didn't want to be caught staring. I probably would have seen her again even if I wasn't looking for her, however, since I heard her squeal as some oaf was twisting her arm and she was pleading for him to stop. The asshole was probably five inches and eighty pounds bigger than I was, but was just in bathing trunks and a tank top, no shoes.
Devoid as I am of a fear gene I detoured toward the goddess and the oaf and not too nicely rhetorically asked "Is there a problem here?"
The oaf looked at me like I was a roach and said "None of your business, asshole."
"It looks like you're the asshole, and a pussy besides, twisting a woman's arm," I said, approaching within six feet of him.
"This is my wife, little man, so get lost or get hurt," he bellowed, in a manner indicated to me that he had had too many brews for early afternoon.
"I don't give a shit if she's your wife, mother, or sister -- let her go," I snarled.
He did let go -- and charged me, wildly swinging. Not having shoes on, and having reflexes half as swift as mine gave me a significant competitive advantage, He caught just the top of my head with a glancing blow before I kicked him in his left knee, quickly followed by a blow to his right shin, then stomped on his bare left foot with my sneaker, and as he bent over head butted him in his nose, knocking him over with blood spurting everywhere.
I hadn't really noticed him before, but apparently the oaf had a lout friend, as big as he was. The lout friend charged me, yelling. Fortunately he had a shirt on which allowed me to practice one of the few actual formal fighting techniques I had mastered. As he charged I grabbed his shirt as I rolled on my back, stuck my right foot in his crotch, and flipped him over me. I honestly did want to land him on his back, but he was heavier than I thought and he landed on his neck instead.
The goddess looked shell-shocked -- but when she viewed her moaning husband and his unconscious friend she actually smiled.
Repeating over-and-over to myself "only look in her eyes, not at her chest" I approached her and said "I'm sorry if I stuck my nose where it doesn't belong but it's not in my nature to walk past what I perceive to be a damsel in distress."
The goddess smiled broadly, and removed her sunglasses. She had a pleasant -- not beautiful but very pleasant -- face, and really intoxicating emerald green eyes. "He was hurting me and got what he deserved -- thank you," she said in a whisper, apparently so that the moaning oaf didn't hear her. "I'm Danika Huddleston," she said, offering her hand.
"Greg Wright," I replied, shaking it -- and looking only into her eyes. "It looks like we need to call a medic for your husband and his friend," I said, pointing to them each in turn.
Just then a small guy in his fifties, and his skinny teenage son, approached us from near the dune. "I've called the police," the man said, holding up his phone, "and my son recorded the entire confrontation. I hate bullies and am really pleased to see someone stand up to them,"
With a smile Danika said "I'm going to look after my husband -- I don't want him to bleed to death -- at least not right now," and then walked over to him with a towel which she pressed to his face to stop the bleeding.
The son was very anxious to show me the video. It was only then that I realized that without the video I might have been in deep kimchee unless Danika told the truth -- I didn't know if her husband could work on her to lie -- but the video caught everything, even the arm twisting.
I chatted with the small guy and his son for a few minutes while a couple of other beachgoers tended to the oaf's friend, but were smart enough not to try to move his head or neck. A lifeguard and medic arrived on one ATV, and then a couple of local cops on another ATV arrived more quickly than I would have expected.
The oaf was patched up, the lout was put on a stretcher, and after the teenager showed the video to the cops and forwarded it to their phones (and mine), with my statement that I wanted to press charges, the cops arrested the oaf after allowing him to pick up a beach bag with his wallet in it, and made a call to the hospital to have other cops put the lout under arrest. They gave Danika information on where they were taking her husband.
After things calmed down and the ATVs were long gone, Danika started picking up her things. I really wanted to stare at her body -- and emerald green eyes -- for at least another couple of hours, but being a gentleman I started to move back to the firm part of the beach to finish my run. Then I heard her yell "Greg; can I ask you for one more thing?"
"Uh...yeah...sure, Danika," I replied hoping that what she wanted me to do was to suck on the nipples of her prodigious tits until one of us passed out.
