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Testosterone :.

July 15, 2007

*Whump.* *THUD!*

A faceful of sweat-stained canvas, and that distinct pain screaming out from my left arm. My cousin has me pinned on the mat again, and I don’t really care that his sweat is dripping off his face onto my neck or that he’s breathing so hard, my ear feels the breeze. My only thought is that I have to get up, before the bell..

*DING!*

“I win, again.” He gives me that smirk that I’ve become so immune to over the years. Tonight it’s not about winning or losing.. it’s just about the fight.

In the ring, I’m not a girl, I’m not his cousin.. I’m his opponent.. and it feels good that those things don’t matter.. The ring is just a bunch of old musty mats on the floor of the basement. The referee is my uncle. The prize, nothing but gloating rights.

You have to ask why the hell am I allowing myself to get beat up, bruised up and getting absolutely massacred by my hulk of a cousin..

I can understand men and their need to fight now..  To fight, to grapple with another human being, lets the most primal part of your brain take over. You’re not really thinking, nor are you feeling.. You’re one with the animal inside. Animals don’t need to feel complex emotions, it’s all a survival instinct. All I want to do is grab my cousin and rub his face in those musty mats, by hook or by crook..

My knee is all bruised.. and my knuckles are bloody..  It’s nothing pretty.. but I’ve haven’t felt this good in a while. A grab and grapple by my cousin gets me by the arm, but I grab his shirt and it loosens his grip just long enough for me to get him in a headlock. Unfortunately he’s much stronger than me, and he lifts me off the ground and turns to a roll, and I’m on my back, with the lunkhead’s bulk practicaly bearing down on my ribcage.

Tomorrow, I’m barely going to be able to walk, and places that I didn’t know could hurt will hurt. But for now, I don’t care, I just want to stop feeling.. Even it means that I have to smell those sweaty mats..

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