Self Defence Fantasy

Around me small groups of giggling girls in designer sportswear are starting to gather, expressions keen and eager for the coming session. In fact, everywhere I look there are fit, energetic people doing fit, energetic things, and I wish again I could take myself back to my comfy existence as a couch potato and dive into a few escapist videos to take my mind off things. But I promised her I'd give it a go, despite knowing I'll never use the knowledge I'm supposedly about to be gaining, and I can't back out now.

The clock high on the wall still shows nearly ten minutes to the appointed time, and I mentally add the permanent removal of her curling tongs to the list of possible tortures for making me get here so early.

I glance idly round the vast room, attention attracted by the sounds emanating from one of the mat-covered areas away to my right where two white-clad figures are, it seems, trying to knock ten bells out of each other. With a combination of hands and feet, and the occasional hip or shoulder throw, they take it in turns to attack and counter in a bewildering flurry of activity.

As I watch mesmerised, the combatants pull apart briefly, breathing heavily, straightening their gei's under the black belts they wear and slapping their hands down against their thighs before bowing and starting all over again.

My eyes are drawn to one of the protagonists in particular, noting the easy way he drops into a low comfortable fighting stance, small smile playing about his lips as he waits for his opponent to move, enthusiasm and anticipation lighting his bright blue eyes. The move comes, a dazzling combination of punches and kicks to head and body which he blocks and parries almost casually before launching an equally action-packed counter-attack, forcing the other back across the mat.

A small part of me that still admits to any interest in the male species admires the flashes of lightly tanned, well-muscled flesh revealed by movements that deepen the open V of his gei jacket and cause the bottoms of the loose trousers to ride up over his calves. But as I am, after all, here to learn ways of preventing any member of said species ever getting close enough to me ever again to ever do what the last one did - EVER - I try and push the thoughts away as irrelevant.

But something about the man, about the confident way he moves, and the good humour and enjoyment I can see on his strong face as he challenges his foe to give it his best shot, keeps my eyes fixed on him.

I see him block the oncoming attack, delivering a couple of reverse punches of his own followed by a lightning-fast roundhouse kick to the head, impressing that small part of me even further with his suppleness. He dances away, light on his bare feet, tempting his opponent to move in - which he does only to be met by a perfectly balanced solid side kick to the chest, sending him bouncing backwards. The object of my attention leaps forward again, crouching effortlessly and sweeping a leg round at ankle-height to send the second man toppling helplessly to the floor, dropping to pin him there with an arm across his throat.

The vanquished finds himself staring up into the laughing face of his conqueror, who pats him consolingly on the chest, rising to hold out a hand to help him to his feet and talking animatedly as they walk away off the mat to the benches lining the hall. I can see the sweat trickling down his face from his hairline, and the sheen on his smooth chest which rises and falls rhythmically as he recovers from his exertions, and am vaguely disappointed that the floor show is over.

Sighing, I glance up at the clock again, finding that the diversion has whiled away the remaining minutes to the time that what I just know is going to be a total fiasco is meant to begin. There are more people gathered at this end of the hall now, all women of varying ages and sizes, mostly looking pleased to be there. I grit my teeth and pray that whoever it is whose pleasure it will no doubt be to torment me for the next hour arrives quickly so we can get it over with.

I hear a buzz go through the group then fade to silence and I turn to stare, I have to admit somewhat open-mouthed, at the sight of the blue-eyed, white-clad man approaching, rubbing at his spiky sweat-damp brown hair and glowing face with a towel. He drapes the item round his undeniably powerful neck as he comes to a halt in front of us, and that other part of me feels a surge of regret as it obscures the tantalisingly firm planes of his chest. A broad dimpled smile breaks out on his handsome face as he surveys our motley group, announcing in a soft, slightly sibilant American accent that his name's Chris, and that as the regular instructor is indisposed he's standing in for him this week.

I'm distantly aware that I am still staring, strangely taken by the way the soft damp cotton of his gei clings to the hidden contours of his frame, and I'm slow to react when he claps his hands and suggests we pair up, fetch mats from the pile in the corner and come learn a little self defence.

I pull myself together sufficiently to do as instructed, but when I turn back I can see that once again, as on so many other occasions in my life, I am the odd one out as the rest of the group have happily found someone else to share this experience with. Well, I think, looking on the bright side, at least that means I won't have to play.

I glance over at our instructor again, pulling a rueful face and raising my shoulders in a shrug as I make to move back out of the way against the wall again. But he calls to me, beckoning me towards him, eyes dancing teasingly again, and I can feel a flush rising in my face and my heart sinking into my stomach as I realise he wants me to pair off with him.

The rest of the class glare daggers at me as I trail across the space between us, dragging my mat with me, wishing I had kept up that diet so I could have borrowed the offered figure-hugging lycra sports gear instead of being here in my baggy tracksuit bottoms and all-camouflaging T-shirt. But there is nowhere to escape to as he takes my cold trembling hand in his warm one and pulls me to his side, asking my name, reassuring me this is going to be fun. Yeah, right, I think, desperately trying not to let his closeness affect me but feeling the shakes starting anyway - and for all the wrong reasons.

He tells the class he's going to demonstrate a few simple moves which they can then try out on their partners then he turns to me, smiling brightly, telling me to just relax and go with it. Before I know what's happening he has twisted somehow, turning me, lifting me, and I'm flying through the air to land flat on my back on the mat, breath driven from my lungs by the unexpected impact.

Gasping for air, I force my eyes open to find him gazing down at me, concern apparent in the clear blue depths of his eyes, fingers reaching to gently touch my cheek, asking me if I'm OK, and I can only think that maybe, just maybe, I might have to re-consider my pledge to kill my flatmate...

... I nod slightly, unable to take my gaze away from his eyes, then cringe as I realize that I must look like a rabbit caught in headlights. He smiles, exposing just the hint of dimple and my heart melts.

And in an instant he's helping me to my feet, slightly dazed, and he's apologizing to the class; he forgot to show us how to fall first. He shows us how to let our arms and shoulders break the impact of the fall, then shows us a simple step; hooking ones foot behind an opponents ankle and pushing them back. He uses me as the guinea pig of course, and I can feel myself blushing fiery red. With instructions to practice both these things with our partners, I find myself with his undivided attention and have no idea what to do. He encourages me to throw him, and I hook his ankle and half-heartedly push him, making no impact because the instant my hands touch that firm chest, only half-hidden beneath the gei, I cannot bring myself to push him away, a combination of want and fear at war within me.

He grabs at my wrists suddenly, though gently, but I automatically flinch back, tripping myself in my haste to get away, any thoughts of lust driven abruptly away by past memories. I remember how to land though, and he's right, it doesn't hurt.

He kneels beside me, and I look at him cautiously from the corner of my eye; he must think I'm a complete wimp, not to mention neurotic as hell. But I see nothing but compassion and a certain understanding in his eyes. He launches that devastating smile at me once more and suggests we try again.

I stand nervously before him, torn between a desire not to disappoint either him or myself, and running away, hiding in a tub of ice-cream, much as I've been doing since...

I'm painfully aware of the subtle and not-so-subtle glances being thrown our way, and am positive that most of them are jealously hostile, which does not help my confidence one iota.

This, time, he takes me by surprise. Instead of waiting for me to attack, he attacks me, reaching for my shoulders with a speed I haven't known since...

But I won't be taken so easily this time, and I step forward, hooking his ankles. With a cry that wells up from my gut, I shove him backwards with all my strength. An abrupt silence fills the hall and I blink, breathing heavily, tears springing my eyes as I realize what I've done.

I look down at my attacker lying on the floor, and for the first time, it's me that's in control.

But this isn't my attacker and he climbs to his feet, loudly announcing to the staring class that that is exactly how it should be done. I giggle in embarrassment, sniffing back the tears as a little bud of self-confidence grows within me.

I mentally forgive my flatmate as, grudgingly, I find that I'm enjoying myself, my place as his guinea pig and partner encouraging that little bud of self-confidence to grow and my mind conjuring all sorts of images as to what I would do if I had that rather lush body all to myself.

All too soon the class is over and as I am swamped by my classmates pushing past, I retreat into myself once more, the need to hide, overwhelming. I wait until they are gone, not wishing to be surrounded my their inane gaggling, and slowly pick up my kitbag, intending to go straight to my car and shower when I get home.

His soft voice by my ear startles me and I spin, hugging my kitbag to me. He steps back flashing a slightly uncertain smile at me, and I relax, producing a shy smile of my own. He compliments me on my bravery and I blush, dropping my gaze to the floor. He suggests that I might like a drink to settle my nerves after what must have been a huge step for me.

I nod, looking up at him through lowered lashes, and move to the door, taking his words as a dismissal. He calls to me again, clarifying his intention of buying me that drink and my heart leaps. I look at him properly and my natural ebullience, so long hidden beneath suffocating fear, emerges and I accept his offer, a broad grin forcing itself onto my face. He echoes my expression, dimples in full effect. I excuse myself to go shower in the changing rooms and find that not even the jealous, bitchy comments from my classmates can bring me down from the emotional high I've just achieved.

Cleaned up and dressed in jeans and baggy jumper, I head for the lobby, scared that he won't be there, scared that he will be. I scan the place from the top of the stairs and I can feel tears of disappointment well up as I fail to see him.

No, there he is, talking to the blonde with the too perfect figure that was in the class. I walk down the stairs slowly, not wishing to intrude, knowing that he has found someone far more attractive than I. He sees me and his face lights up. He excuses himself from the blonde who stares at me in fury and my heart leaps as he bounds towards me, easy and graceful.

I want nothing more than to sink into his arms and explore those full, sensuous lips with mine. But, plenty of time for that later, I think.

In the meantime, I make a mental note to buy my flatmate a gift of thanks.

FINIS