THE ADVENTURES OF A BIKE MESSENGER
by David H M

Jenna was hot and sweaty. She was a bike messenger and she had just ridden seven miles under blazing Honolulu sunshine. She parked her bike in shade under a palm tree in the lot of a sleazy looking tattoo parlor and tried to catch her breath and cool down.
Jenna was twenty, 5’9 1/2” with a toned, 143-pound body that modeled bikinis and suntan lotion when she wasn’t taking classes at Hawaii University or delivering messages. Dark reddish-brown hair framed a striking face.
The gym where an MMA fighter called Kydo was working out was behind the tattoo parlor. Kydo was being sued by some guy he beat up in a barroom fight and Jenna had the job of delivering the legal papers.
Jenna removed her shoulder bag and crash helmet and placed them on the seat of her flat-bar road bike. It had gears, a front rack, thumb shifters, and big tires. She liked that bike better than the fixie bikes most messengers rode.
She took a big swallow from her water bottle and let some of the water flow over her chest through her thin, white cotton tee. The water cooled her throbbing breasts. Jenna didn’t wear a bra. The rest of her gear consisted of shorts and cycling shoes. In her shoulder bag she had a flashlight, bike locks, a phone, a spare battery, a small jar of Vaseline, and the envelope addressed to Kydo.
She wore pineapple-colored cotton shorts, no undies. Oh hell. She pulled the waist band of the shorts loose enough to pour some water over her flat stomach and held the waist band out long enough to let the water roll between her slim legs and down her thighs. She felt better.
Jenna pushed her bike into the sunlight hoping the bright sun might dry her wet tee shirt. Her well-shaped breasts were outlined, and the soft fleshy nubs of her nipples protruded. So what?
The crude, makeshift gym had a flat roof and was open on all sides. There was no ring, just a green mat on the dirt floor for sparring. There was a big punching bag and dumbbell weights. She had seen makeshift gyms like that in South Korea where she trained in kick boxing. Jenna’s parents were career U.S. Airforce and growing up she had traveled all over the world. In every place she had lived since she was ten years old Jenna trained in a fighting art. Jenna didn’t have a belt rank but her nose was a wee bit crooked from being broken and a thin, half inch scar was barely visible just below her left eye socket. The slightly crooked nose and the scar marked Jenna as a fighter.
Jenna leaned her bike against one of the wooden poles supporting the roof of the gym. She saw two men inside, one man her size, the other man bigger, dark complexioned, a mix of Island and Caucasian Jenna guessed, and mean looking. He might have been six feet. Stubble covered his square flat face. Tats, snakes and lizards, covered his thick arms and mid-section.

2
The smaller man, he wore scuffed sneakers, dark martial arts, and a black muscle tee, approached Jenna. He had a round oily face, seedy eyes, and unkept, rat gray hair. Crazy looking tats decorated his arms. The knuckles on both of his hands were gnarled. Jenna had seen knuckles like those on Karate fighters who toughened their hands by pounding them into gravel or banging them against trees.
“I have a letter for Kydo.”
The man leered. His teeth were rotten. “Do you now?” He inhaled deeply and exhaled as his eyes strayed over Jenna’s curves and sparkled with approval before drifting to the bigger man, bare chested and wearing grimy cut off dark blue sweats. His feet were bare and dirty.
“This vanilla smelling messenger girl has a letter for you.”
“Tell her to shove the letter up her vanilla smelling cunt.”
Jenna’s shoulders stiffened.
The smaller man glared at Jenna. “His sparring partner didn’t show. He’s in a foul mood.”
“So am I in a foul mood, now. I don’t like language like that.”
“He knows what that letter is about and he ain’t signing for it. You should leave.”
Jenna gritted her teeth and lifted her chin. “I leave when the letter gets signed.”
The big man slammed a big fist into the nearby eighty-pound canvas body bag wrapped in duct tape and dangling on a creaking chain. Jenna winced.
“That’s you in thirty seconds, cunt, if you don’t get that hot ass of yours the fuck out of here. Cunt.”
Jenna bit into her lower lip and took a longer moment to size up the big man. 300 pounds possibly but by her standards soft looking in the gut and his movements were slow, awkward, and stiff as if he had trouble shifting weight on his knees. Jenna gave him credit for having a hard punch with the right hand and guessed since he fought MMA that he had grappling skills.
Jenna looked at the smaller man. “What do you pay a sparring partner?”
“$100 if he lasts five minutes. Nothing if he gets knocked out or taps. Two hundred if he puts Kydo down.”
“What do you mean, down? Knocked out? Choked unconscious?”
The smaller man nodded.
“Let’s see the money.”
The smaller man dug a wad of bills out of his pocket.

3
“I need martial arts gloves and a clean mouth guard, one that has never been used.”
The smaller man snickered. “Kydo gets off beating up people, especially women. Just ask his two ex-wives.”
Jenna made a swallowing sound. “I never would have guessed.”
Jenna pulled her tee up over her head and free of her body exposing her firm natural breasts. Better to fight bare chested so this goon didn’t have a tee shirt to grab hold of. She pushed her dark brown hair back behind her head, twisted the strands of hair into a rope, and held the rope of hair in place with a white hair tie that had functioned as a bracelet on her left wrist. Lastly, she shoved the rubber mouth guard into her mouth against her teeth and pulled the fingerless martial arts gloves on.
After taking a deep breath Jenna stepped onto the green mat. Kydo flexed his fingers and stared slack jawed at her. As she drew closer to him, she detected a rank body odor. She nearly gagged.
Jenna had heard that some MMA fighters never wash or brush their teeth so as to use their body stink and bad breath as a weapon. Now she faced one.
Everyone has a weakness, everyone is vulnerable somewhere, Jenna had learned, and Jenna knew against this large man how she was vulnerable. If big and powerful Kydo landed a solid punch to her face her head might explode. And if he got her to the ground, he’d crush her with his weight and strength. Her one chance was to find out fast where he was vulnerable and strike there. Just because she was a girl and outweighed didn’t mean she couldn’t beat him.
“Say your prayers, cunt.”
Jenna turned to the side so as not to give him her stomach as a target and braced for a bull rush but rather, with big fists raised, he approached slowly telling her he didn’t move well. He wanted her to come to him and Jenna did, moving in a circle and then springing forward and striking his left knee with a solid right round kick that buckled his left leg. She swung wildly with a left hook that struck him high on the head above an ear and he countered with a short punch that grazed her right cheek. The punch dazed her. She staggered back. Specs of red and yellow light danced before her eyes. Her vision blurred. She’d been hit before. She blinked the dancing specs of light away.
Her vision cleared. She braced for a charge. She felt a searing pain in her right instep where it struck bone near his knee. As she backed up he lunged at her but she made a slick move to the side, positioned herself, and struck that left knee again with a well-aimed side kick before recklessly charging at him throwing a machine gun of punches, a straight right and a left hook, another straight right to his jaw, a left hook to his forehead, and then a right uppercut that snapped his head back. The knuckles on both of her hands stung. He swung at her clumsily, but she dodged the punch.

4
A second or maybe two seconds or three passed. He seemed to be stunned. His eyeballs rolled in their sockets. His breath came in ragged labored gasps. Jenna knew her punches and her kicks had done damage. He belonged to her now. She quivered with excitement. Heat, more intense than any heat she ever had felt while having an orgasm, flooded through her. But she had more to do.
She faked a left hook and instead delivered a wicked right heel palm punch that caught him flush on the nose breaking it. Blood gushed out. His big arms hung limp at his sides. As he teetered and started to go down she side kicked him hard in the gut, making him double over, before slipping behind him and applying a rear naked choke by circling his neck with her slim sinewy arms and putting pressure on his throat. She pulled him backwards onto her and when they landed on the mat his weight crushed her ribs, possibly breaking them
Pain racked her body. Blood from Kydo’s bleeding mouth and bleeding nose made a slippery red film over her bare arms, over her bare breasts, over her bare stomach and bare legs.
Jenna held tight with the rear naked choke hold and applied more pressure to restrict oxygen in the blood from reaching the brain. He struggled feebly, made a gasping sound, and for an instant his arms flailed and then he became still. The foul odor of his slimy sweat sickened her.
“Sign that paper or I might kill you.”
“I’ll sign,” he whimpered.
“And say you’re sorry for calling me a cunt.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jenna looked across at the startled smaller man. “Bring the paper over here with a pen.”
The smaller man obeyed.
“Have him sign it and if you get blood on my half of the receipt, I’ll make you lick it off.”
With the business done Jenna stood and spit the mouth guard on the mat. She pulled off the martial arts gloves and dropped them on top of the mouth guard.
Her cheek where his punch had grazed her felt numb. It burned. Small blood vessels were torn. She knew there was swelling and a bruise, pink now, but soon the bruise would be purple. No modeling for weeks for sure.
After taking a deep breath and with her body stained with Kydo’s blood, Jenna strode to her bike carrying her prize, the signed receipt. “I want $200 plus another $100 let’s say for delivering this letter.”

5
He rushed to give her the money.
Jenna put the money and the receipt in her shoulder bag. She spotted a hose by one of the poles supporting the roof of the gym. She removed her shoes and socks, undid the hair tie letting her hair fall free and stepped out of the shorts she wore.
Naked now, and keeping wary eyes on the men, the smaller man standing, the bigger man injured and sprawled on the mat, Jenna strode to the hose carrying the blood splattered shorts. She turned the water on and doused the shorts trying to drain as much of Kydo’s blood as possible.
After ringing the shorts and setting the shorts on the ground she turned the hose on again and let cold water flow over her bare flesh and wash Kydo’s blood and Kydo’s awful sweat away. Her cleaned flesh tingled.
She returned to her bike and used her tee shirt as a towel to dry herself. With that part done she lifted the jar of Vaseline from her shoulder bag. The areas between her legs were chafed and her nipples burned. She dabbed those sore areas, her nipples, her inner thighs, her shaved pussy, with gobs of gel.
All the while the smaller man kept licking his lips and gazing at her in awe. “I’ll do that for you, with my tongue.”
“If you come near me, I’ll put you in a body cast.”
She stepped into her damp shorts, put her socks and her shoes on, and put the hair tie on her left wrist. She let the wet tee shirt dangle across her shoulders. Only some of the tee covered only some of her breasts. If someone got a thrill seeing her bare boobs good for them. She donned her shoulder bag and her crash helmet, mounted her bike, said, “Nice doing business with you creeps,” and aching all over, Jenna rode away.
THE END