Chapter 1

I was a pretty fat kid right up until puberty hit and I started to develop some muscle. Between my 13th and 14th birthday, I grew 6 inches. I always had a bit of a temper ... being called 'fatty' for the first 13 years of your life will do that. When I was a freshman, I got into a fight with a sophomore on the wrestling team. He beat on me like I was a rented mule but I didn't feel it. I was so mad that I just kept coming at him. I got in a few good licks, myself. I remember the satisfaction I felt when my fist connected with his mouth and I saw blood spurt from his cut lip. Finally, he got me into a sleeper hold and held me there until I slipped into unconsciousness.

When I woke up, I was in the nurse's office and the wrestling coach was sitting there thumbing through a Reader's Digest. My head felt like someone had split it open with an ax. I groaned and tried to rise off the padded table they had me on. That's when I realized that they had taken some gauze bandages and tied my hands to the rails of the table. The wrestling coach cocked his eye with an amused grin when I struggled against my restraints.

"You're quite the scrapper"

"Let me up", I said

The coach shook his head, "Can't do it. You've been tagged as violent"

"What the fu ... VIOLENT!?!?!?! He fuckin' started it!"

"That's what I hear too", the coach said. "I never did like that prick ... always starting fights ... good middleweight though ... lots of promise ... he needed four stitches to close his lip. Just in case you were wondering"

"You can't keep me tied up. It's against the law"

"Not if you've been tagged as violent", said the coach. "We can 'restrain you for your own protection' ... which is what we've done, restrained you for your own protection"

He went back to reading the magazine. "Some of these jokes in here are pretty funny, wanna hear one?"

"So how long am I going to be tied to this thing?"

"Until I think you've calmed down"

"Fuck that!", I said and balled up my fists straining at the bandages that tied me to the table.

"Now, see ... that just isn't the way to show me you've calmed down..."

Both of the bandages broke at the same time, my fists flew to my face and I knocked myself out.

When I woke up again, I was again tied to the table (they doubled the gauze this time) and the wrestling coach was standing over me grinning from ear to ear. He held up a mirror, "Wanna see what you did to yourself?"

I looked in the mirror. I had two of the blackest eyes I'd ever seen and my nose had been smashed so that it was sitting under my left eye. Not only that, it was bent so that, now my nostrils were slightly turned to my left ear. It wasn't a pretty sight.

"Doesn't help your looks any", the coach observed.

I underwent surgery to get it all straightened out. When I came out of anesthesia, I became a bit more than merely belligerent with the nurses and doctors in the recovery room. When I was fully recovered, the doctor asked me if I drank.

"No", I replied.

"Good!", said the doctor. "Don't take it up or you'll end up in prison. You're the meanest drunk I've ever seen"

Because of the after surgery tussle, my nose didn't end up as straight as it might have been otherwise. I felt cheated until I overheard one of the girls in school remarking that it made me look 'ruggedly handsome and a little dangerous'. I guess what they say is true ... chicks dig scars. I got my ass kicked, then I kicked my own ass, and I ended up looking like someone to be feared.

The wrestling coach decided that I needed to work off my aggression and put me on the team. By the time I was a junior, there wasn't any sign I had any kind of a weight problem at all growing up. I was right at 6 feet tall and 170 pounds, most of it was muscle. Still, it's hard to shake the image you have of yourself when you were growing up. In my mind, I was still an ugly fat kid.

Chapter 2 »