Love for the Luchador (A Modern Romance)

The masked
técnico
struggles
beneath the weight of his opponent, sweating and grunting. His eyes are fierce,
but the
rudo
mounting him shows no mercy.

It
can't end like this
.

"ONE!"

The
pinned man's eyes go steely through the mask as his breathing steadies and
muscles stretch tanned skin taut.

"TWO!"

With the
grace of a dancer and the strength of a beast, he moves. Art in motion, balance
and power flowing through his movements.

The
resounding crack sounds like the report of a gunshot as his opponent's shoulder
slams into the mat.

He is on
the
rudo
in a heartbeat, grappling with him as the crowd roars. Arms
find the soft flesh of a neck and lock in place. Veins bulge and tears swell as
the
rudo
frantically slams his hand down again and again.

DING!
DING! DING!

The bell
pierces the sound of the audience, sharp against the shouted praises and
curses.

Leaping
to his feet, the victor throws his arms into the air. He turns to face the
crowd before bending down to help his opponent. He is always a gentleman
immediately after the bell, no matter how vicious the fight had been.

The
tuxedoed announcer enters the ring and raises the victor's hand while shouting
into the microphone, "
Señors and Señoritas!
I am proud to present, by
way of submission,
VALIENTE LUCHADOR!"
The masked figure throws his
powerful arms in the air as the camera zooms to his face. All signs of emotion
are hidden behind his elaborately patterned green mask, the metallic blue
swirls glinting in the light.

María
paused the video, holding that image on the computer screen, and she knew. The
mask changed, the name changed, but those calm brown eyes always betrayed him.
No matter the battle, those eyes always showed a sense of peace.

Who is
this man?
She wondered for the hundredth time. She bookmarked the page in
her browser under the
misterio luchador
folder. Subfolder Green.
Subfolder Matches. Subfolder 2003. She leaned back in her chair and rubbed her
eyes, surveying the organized chaos that covered her desk. She ran search after
search while drinking her coffee amid the photos, articles, newspaper
clippings, printed web articles, and even a few old VHS tapes.

Headlines
and notes riddled the pages. "Luchador Saves Drowning Man," "Masked Figure Seen
Saving Child from Fire," "Epic Victory at Lucha Libre Match," "Mystery Man
Helps Police," "Masked Robbers Foiled by Masked Hero,"a community piece
she had written "Unknown Luchador Rescues Cat from Tree," and a dozen others.

None of
it answered the question she had been asking since that one night, still fresh in
her mind as if it had happened yesterday.

––––––––

It was a
pleasant December night in Cuernavaca. The traditional
Nochebuena
feast
at her parents' house was in full swing even at midnight.
Ponche Navideño
flowed freely, spicing the air with the aroma of fruit, raw sugar cane,
cinnamon, nutmeg, and brandy as they celebrated the eve of the birth of
Jesus
Christo
. Family rules meant no heels and no suits. Tonight was for comfort
and family, New Year's Eve was for dressing to impress and going out on the
town.

Midnight
came and went, another year where the festivities went into the late hours of
the night. Another year skipping
Misa de Gallo
, midnight mass, despite
their best intentions. Her 24th Christmas Eve.

At the
end of the night, she had rejected her mother's offer to sleep in her old room.
She had also rejected her brother's offer to call a cab. She would see all of
them soon enough, when the family gathered on January 6th to celebrate the end
of the holiday season. The night was beautiful, she was feeling good, and she
wanted nothing more than to end the night with a walk through the city, even if
it was just the few kilometers to her apartment.

She had
walked this route a hundred times before. She cut through the
decoration-covered
zócalo
, appreciating the poinsettias that turned the
central plaza into a brilliant display of holiday cheer.

She had
grown up here, had gone to college and graduated with a degree in Journalism at
the local University. She had even gotten a job with the local paper writing community
pieces, and had insisted – despite her parents wishes – on moving into her own
small apartment. She loved it here, and while her career could be moving faster
and her dating options left much to be desired, life was good.

She
passed through the mixture of poor and rich, dressed in fine suits and in
secondhand jeans. She walked through slums and new construction, all connected
by the passageways, roads, and markets that tied the city together. Midnight
Mass was over and parties were winding down, and a few couples and families
could be seen making their way home through streets of houses with empty soda
bottles sitting on the front steps. There were few people out compared to the
crowds during the day, but the energy of the city on nights like this still
reminded her how much she loved this place, how much she loved the holidays.

She even
passed a young man dressed in a gaudy Santa Claus hat and a huge, fake white
beard. She couldn't help but chuckle when he said, "
Feliz Navidad!
Ho!
Ho! Ho!" The laugh caught in her throat when she felt the gun in her back and
the hand at her neck. "Walk into that alley,
puta!
Do not make a fucking
sound!"

Her mind
screamed at her.
DO SOMETHING! RUN! FIGHT! SCREAM!

She had
never been robbed before, she had never felt the jab of a cold barrel in her
back before. María tried to will herself into action, any kind of action, but
she couldn't. A sense of helplessness washed over her, her heart pounding in
her chest and her skin growing clammy. A tear traced a path down her cheek as
she slowly and silently walked into the unlit alley.

"Purse,"
the
bandito
demanded. She handed it over without resistance. He dug
through it, leafing through a fold of bills. "You live close to here, bitch?"

She
nodded, blood and adrenaline pumping hard through her body, making her motions
jerky. "Well, we're going to go to your house for the rest of it, and your
jewelry. Then we will see what else I want to do with you."

Suddenly
a clear voice rang out, powerful and true. "Let the
señorita
go,
amigo
."

The
mugger turned to face the figure standing in the alley entrance. He stood
nearly two meters in height, a wall of muscle in a casual linen suit. He would
have been an imposing figure even without the intricate green and red mask
covering his face, but with it he looked like a giant, hellish imp.

The
criminal didn't have the luchador's size, but he leveled his gun at the masked
man without hesitation. "What are you? Some type of fucking ugly freak? Get the
fuck out of here!"

The
luchador began walking forward, almost casually closing the distance.
"Unfortunately for you, my friend, I cannot do that."

With the
grace of the wind, he leapt forward. María shrieked and covered her head when
the gun went off, momentarily deafening her. When she opened her eyes, she saw
that her savior had the mugger's arm locked tightly against him. With a twist,
the pistol clattered to the ground and the mugger's arm flailed impotently.
There was a sickening pop and the
bandito
screamed in pain as his
shoulder was wrenched out of socket.

The
luchador held the blubbering man upright, ignoring the tears and curses while
he investigated the criminal's pockets. He pulled out a wallet and dropped the criminal
to the ground where he crumpled into a heap.

He turned
to María. "
Señorita
, are you okay?"

She
nodded, still shocked, and stammered, "I... I think so."

"Then I
beg you, give me one moment," he said as he dug through the thief's wallet,
pulling out an identification card.

The
luchador turned back to the thug. "Miguel Rodrigo Hernandez De La Vega," he
started, "I know where you live. You will apologize and you will go confess
your sins. You will turn your life around. If you tell anyone but God about
this, or return to a life of crime, I will not be as merciful as He." The luchador
bent down, looking the sobbing man in the eyes. "Now apologize to this woman
and never been seen like this again."

The young
man lay on the ground, sniveling like a child, cradling his shoulder as the
luchador picked up the dropped pistol. What looked so large and intimidating
only moments earlier, now looked like no more than a child's day, dwarfed by
the luchador's giant hand. He put the gun in his jacket pocket and leaned close
to the
bandito
. "I SAID APOLOGIZE!"

Between
sobs, the young thief whimpered, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I didn't... I had to..."

"Do not
make excuses, Miguel Rodrigo Hernandez De La Vega! Remember this night. Your
body will heal, but only living a life of righteousness will heal your soul...
and save you from me. There is no other way."

Finally,
he turned back to the frightened young woman.

"
Señorita
,
I apologize for the state of this city. It is not right. Are you injured?"

She was
still trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened. "No... thanks to
you, no... I... I don't know what would have happened..."

"If it is
acceptable to you," he said, reaching out a hand, "I will escort you home."

It felt
like a dream as they walked hand in hand through the city. It did not take much
longer to reach her door, but in her daze it felt like an eternity. His voice
soothed her nerves, and while they walked he made one-sided small talk about
the holidays, the news, and how much he loves Mexico despite its problems.

She still
felt as if in a dream when they arrived at her humble apartment. "Thank you.
Can I do anything to repay you...Luchador?"

"That
will not be necessary, but it has been an exciting night. I would be most
grateful for a glass of water to quench my thirst."

"It would
be my pleasure. Please, come in for a moment," she said as she opened the door
and led him inside her small apartment. "You will have to excuse me, I was not
expecting company. Please, sit on the couch."

When she
had returned from the kitchen with the glass of water, she saw her cat curled
up on the man's lap. "Ah, I see you have met Pepito."

"Yes, he
is quite sweet." He smiled as he took the glass, raising it to the mouth slit
of his mask and drinking deeply.

"
Señor
,
you can take your mask off."

"I am
sorry, but I cannot," he said, pausing to finish off his drink. "And now, I
must go."

He gently
shooed Pepito away and went to the door, ready to walk out of her life as
mysteriously as he walked into it.

"Wait,"
she blurted. Her mind raced with possibilities. She didn't want him to leave,
and while she was by no means a virginal flower, she would never normally do
something like this. Not so soon, not with a stranger, but tonight..."You...you can
stay here, with me."

He
stepped close to her and took her hands in his, his large figure throwing a
shadow over her. She didn't feel the least bit threatened. In fact, she had
never felt as safe as she did in that moment, so close to this gentle, powerful
man. She looked deep into compassionate brown eyes. She would never forget
those eyes, and she saw a wistfulness in them when he said, "Alas, I am sorry
to turn down such a beautiful woman, but I cannot stay. It would not be right."
He raised one hand and gently stroked her face, then placed a light kiss upon
her forehead before turning to leave. "Stay safe,
señorita
."

"María."

He paused
and turned.

"My name
is María. María Peña."

His lips
formed a smile, barely visible through the mask, and he nodded. "Stay safe,
María Peña."

Then he
walked out her door and into the night.

She
couldn't sleep that night. Her head was still spinning and her emotions still
swirling, with one question she couldn't get out of her mind.
"Who is he?"

Who is
that brave man, willing to charge a drawn gun to save a stranger? A man whose
muscled arms defeated the threat with ease. A man with manners and grace from
another time, who led her home like a knight escorting a princess.

Suddenly,
another question occurred to her.
What if he hadn't said no?

––––––––

She
thought of this often, especially on nights like tonight when she couldn't
sleep. She would think of that fateful Christmas Eve while she undressed and
lay in her bed, thoughts of him drifting through her mind.

"You
can stay here, with me."

"I am
sorry señorita, but I cannot."

"And I
cannot let you go."

She
closed her eyes and touched her lips, kissing him in her mind's eye. Her
slender fingers lingered just a moment before running down the curve of her
face and down her bosom, grazing a hardening nipple. She caressed herself,
lightly rubbing at her nipples while cupping her breasts as she gave herself
over to fantasy.

She
thought of the strong, muscled, brave man holding her in his arms. His chest
pressed against hers, both of them breathing as one as their lips met in a
passionate kiss. She gently twisted her nipple, sending an exclamation of sharp
pleasure through her chest.

She knew
with his confidence and chivalry he would respect her, know her limits, and
know what to do when she let him in. Her body stretched and she let out a low
moan in reaction to her teasing as she ran her hands ever lower, towards the
warm dull ache between her legs that yearned to be touched. Guilt ran through
her as she first grazed her vulva. It was not too late to stop, to have another
sinless, sleepless night. But she was only human, and quashed her guilt as she
ran her fingers over her mound and between her lips, slowly working herself as
her mind filled with carnal desire.