Post by “The Better Man” Warren Kidd on Aug 22, 2024 17:19:30 GMT
There was a soft knock on Mimi Simpson’s hotel room door at precisely half past six on a pleasant late summer evening, just like Warren Kidd had promised her there would be less than twenty-four hours before. He had arranged everything for their dinner date this Thursday evening, after she had told him to surprise her.
And she was most definitely surprised when she opened the door to a tall handsome African-American gentleman in a black tie, suit jacket and pants over a white shirt, rather than the World Champion she expected. He tipped his chauffeur's cap to her politely on sight.
“Miss Mimi Simpson?” He held out a single yellow rose. “Compliments of Mr Warren Kidd.”
Only after she heard Warren’s name did she accept the unusually gorgeous flower from the chauffeur. “Yes, and you are?”
“My name is Jeffrey. I will be your driver for the evening,” he smiled as he offered her his arm. “Mr Kidd awaits the pleasure of your company in the limousine out front, if you’d like to accompany me, please, Ma’am.”
A limousine and a personal driver for a dinner date already surpassed anything Mimi had been expecting from their first time out together. Mimi wasn’t fully prepared for the adjustment of dating a main event superstar like Warren Kidd. In many respects, she had already felt like she was batting above her average when he agreed to this, but now she felt even more self conscious in her simple black long-sleeve figure-hugging top and matching leggings.
Was she underdressed for wherever they were going?
Should she change into something more classy?
“Uh. Give me two seconds, please.” Mimi smiled, shut the door, laid the rose down on the bedside table and rushed to the closet. Her friend Candy was right, if she really wanted to stand out to a man like Warren, she needed to step it up and dress more like her. Candy had left a dress for Mimi that she guaranteed would knock Warren Kidd right on his ass. Mimi smiled as she grabbed the recommended form-fitting black dress with gold accents, and quickly changed. She then rushed back to the door and opened it, reintroducing herself to Jeffrey.
“Hi, sorry,” Mimi said, breathlessly. “Thank you for waiting.”
Mimi took Jeffrey’s arm, and walked with him down the hallway to the elevator. She hadn’t even left the hotel and she was already turning heads. A couple of men in the elevator whistled at her. She ignored them with a polite smile, she only had eyes for one man. She stepped out of the elevator into the lobby and confidently strode out of the glass doors with the biggest smile on her face. It was amazing what a fancy cocktail dress did for her self-confidence, suddenly.
Jeffrey opened the rear door of the hired black limousine and involuntarily her grin widened as she saw Warren Kidd in a fine baby blue Italian suit, white shirt, a scarlet tie and matching silk handkerchief in the breast pocket.
“Hey,” Warren let out a low whistle. “You look stunning, by the way.”
Mimi beamed, “Thank you very much. You look fine as hell yourself.” She slid into the back as the door was closed behind her. Her heart beat faster already, “I’ll admit you’ve outdone yourself. When I said ‘surprise me’, I never expected this.”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really.”
“It’s not nothing. No guy’s ever done anything like this for me before.”
“That’s a crime,” Warren said. He settled back as the limousine started to pull away. “After everything you’ve done for me these last few weeks, this is the least I could do to repay you. Hope you liked the yellow rose by the way. Thought red would be too cliché and presumptuous.”
“I wouldn’t have minded red. It’s romantic. Yellow is a symbol of friendship and all. Though, just to clarify, this is a date, date, right?”
“Of course. I don’t dress to the nines, hire a limo and book fancy dinner reservations just to hang out with a friend, Mimi,” Warren assured her. “I’m simply treating you like a woman should be treated. Especially when she’s as beautiful as you, both inside and out. I believe if you’re going to do something, do it properly or not at all.”
“I couldn’t agree more. You’re a good man and a real catch.” Mimi leaned against him, “I think being your girlfriend will be pretty great.”
“Thank you. It’s about time somebody truly appreciated me,” Warren grinned. He enjoyed the subtle indication that Mimi not only expected a second date but saw a future with him if she was already thinking of herself as his girlfriend. He took her cue and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Dating me is not only going to affect your career but also how people see you personally. You sure you can handle that, yeah? The girls at the PC, your friends, might not treat you the same as they do now. We can’t exactly go low profile either and nor do I want to, I don’t want you to feel like a shameful secret or anything.”
“I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I just want to be happy.” Mimi smiled softly, “And I think you can make me happy. Like, you will maybe have to meet my parents at some point.”
“No ‘maybe’ about it, honey. If we get serious, I’ll happily meet your folks.”
“I’d love that.” Mimi’s smile brightened. “They’ll love you.”
“You think so?” Warren blinked. He hadn’t even been loved by his own parents, not really. Maybe his mother, on a really good day, rare as those were for him growing up. On the whole though, he struggled to process the whole idea of being loved by any real family at all. “That’d be a first.”
“Give yourself some credit, Warren.”
“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “Never been particularly good at that.”
The dinner at one of Tokyo’s most exclusive fusion restaurants, Gucci Osteria, had been beyond perfect. Going in, Warren had been particularly skeptical that Italian and Japanese cuisine would fit together well. Mimi countered with the delightfully witty and astute observation that the same could be said for the two of them, especially in this part of the world. So they agreed to withhold judgment and happily broadened their tastes for the evening.
They held hands across the marble table top and dined in the slightly surreal atmosphere, reminiscent of high-Renaissance Florentine fantasy, especially with some of the Italian poetry that embellished the wood panels around them.
Ever the skilled orator, Warren found it remarkably easy to keep the conversation flowing with Mimi in a way he just seemed to struggle with Dean. She laughed at his jokes, reciprocated his advances and genuinely seemed to enjoy his company.
It was the best first date he’d been on in years, certainly with a woman.
Their chemistry was interrupted only once, briefly, when Warren received an email from his divorce lawyer back in Boston, confirming that everything was not only in order but finalised. The uncontested resolution of one of the most tragic mistakes of his personal life was over and done. The dark chapter of a mostly unhappy marriage was at an end.
Legally, he had no association with Dean Harper anymore.
He was finally free.
Thoroughly seduced by the exquisite and expensive meal, Mimi’s eyes brightened further as she turned her head and kissed him for the first time, in the back of the limo, afterwards. The kiss was emotionally intense, as if the undercurrent of all this had been building over the last couple of weeks. As their lips met, the electricity between them was instant and undeniable. The line between soft tenderness and fiery passion blurred rapidly as Mimi’s hands gently cupped Warren’s face and she pulled him closer. Instinctively, he deepened the kiss and caressed her cheek gently. They fell into the kiss so naturally, it almost frightened Warren, but not enough to stop.
The more he tasted her lips and tongue, it became clear that he had been denying and suppressing this part of himself for way too long. He liked women too, maybe even more than men, and that was still valid. He was no less bisexual if his natural preference leaned more towards women, which based on the sheer ecstasy of this single kiss, his first with a woman in over five years, it definitely seemed to.
Their seemingly mutual intoxication in the moment urged Warren to press on, unafraid. He was free once more to explore this side of himself in a way he hadn’t since Max, and even she never kissed him like this, because Warren knew that whilst Max had been happy to share her body occasionally, she’d never shared her heart completely, that belonged to Dean forever. There was no such conflict with Mimi, she was his and his alone, if he was brave enough. He felt Mimi’s hand drift from his cheek to his chest and he shivered at the thought of belonging to someone who wouldn’t share or openly flirt with everyone and just expect him to be okay with it.
He deserved better, Mimi believed it wholeheartedly, maybe he should too. He was good enough to be loved exclusively, Mimi proved that here and now.
Mimi broke the kiss briefly, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
“No, but I hope it lived up to your expectations,” Warren breathed softly.
“Surpassed them I’d say,” Mimi’s cheeks flushed with sudden warmth. “I don’t think anything will ever taste as good as that kiss.”
She looked down, slightly embarrassed by how smitten she sounded. Guys didn’t usually have this effect on her, but Warren was different. He’d always been different in her eyes. Special.
Mimi kissed him again, determined to make the most of her one shot with him. Committed to showing him that she could be just as good, if not better for him as the only other woman who stood between them now, Shea O’Hara. Warren might not have noticed how Shea was around him, but Mimi knew. Mimi understood exactly what being in love with Warren from a distance looked like, and what it felt like. Sometimes, when Mimi had looked at Shea and seen only herself reflected back at her.
“Thanks for the best night of my life so far,” Mimi said. “Please, allow me to return the favour.”
Mimi suddenly got a lot bolder as she straddled his lap, driven by a sudden surge of irresistible sexual energy. As soon as their lips met again, the floodgates of Mimi’s heart burst open, and all her pent-up emotions threatened to drown them both. Their lips smack urgently against each other, breathless and wanting. Warren moaned into the kiss and involuntarily stiffened at the feel of her chest pressed against his. They clung to each other, life rafts caught in a turbulent tide of rising carnal desire.
Mimi reached behind herself and unzipped her own dress eagerly. As it fell off her shoulders, she dove in and kissed him deeply again, eagerly swallowing his tongue. It’s nowhere near enough for either of them. Every fibre of Mimi’s soul demanded to be touched, felt, caressed and loved. Warren’s hands quickly found Mimi’s breasts and he felt their warmth radiate through the soft black lace of her bra. She crushed herself against him, tried to melt herself into him. Desperate to become one.
She loosened his tie before she whipped it off completely. With all the wasted skill and efficiency of a once promising young doctor, her hands worked quickly to unbutton his shirt, determined to maximise skin contact as much as possible. She grinded her hips against him as Warren busied himself with softly kissing and biting her neck. He took great pleasure in eliciting deep sensual moans from her core. Mimi caressed his abdomen softly before she unbuttoned and unzipped him.
Instinctively, Warren reached for his wallet in his pocket, ignored the rare and precious family photo of Dean, Damien and himself that was still tucked inside - unimportant and inconsequential - and reached for the condom packet in the pocket behind it.
He presented the condom to Mimi without so much as a flash of guilt or hesitation. She took it between her teeth and tore it open. He grabbed a handful of her magnificently sculpted rear and she squealed in delight.
Warren Kidd was her dream date, her dream man and her dream come true.
And she was most definitely surprised when she opened the door to a tall handsome African-American gentleman in a black tie, suit jacket and pants over a white shirt, rather than the World Champion she expected. He tipped his chauffeur's cap to her politely on sight.
“Miss Mimi Simpson?” He held out a single yellow rose. “Compliments of Mr Warren Kidd.”
Only after she heard Warren’s name did she accept the unusually gorgeous flower from the chauffeur. “Yes, and you are?”
“My name is Jeffrey. I will be your driver for the evening,” he smiled as he offered her his arm. “Mr Kidd awaits the pleasure of your company in the limousine out front, if you’d like to accompany me, please, Ma’am.”
A limousine and a personal driver for a dinner date already surpassed anything Mimi had been expecting from their first time out together. Mimi wasn’t fully prepared for the adjustment of dating a main event superstar like Warren Kidd. In many respects, she had already felt like she was batting above her average when he agreed to this, but now she felt even more self conscious in her simple black long-sleeve figure-hugging top and matching leggings.
Was she underdressed for wherever they were going?
Should she change into something more classy?
“Uh. Give me two seconds, please.” Mimi smiled, shut the door, laid the rose down on the bedside table and rushed to the closet. Her friend Candy was right, if she really wanted to stand out to a man like Warren, she needed to step it up and dress more like her. Candy had left a dress for Mimi that she guaranteed would knock Warren Kidd right on his ass. Mimi smiled as she grabbed the recommended form-fitting black dress with gold accents, and quickly changed. She then rushed back to the door and opened it, reintroducing herself to Jeffrey.
“Hi, sorry,” Mimi said, breathlessly. “Thank you for waiting.”
Mimi took Jeffrey’s arm, and walked with him down the hallway to the elevator. She hadn’t even left the hotel and she was already turning heads. A couple of men in the elevator whistled at her. She ignored them with a polite smile, she only had eyes for one man. She stepped out of the elevator into the lobby and confidently strode out of the glass doors with the biggest smile on her face. It was amazing what a fancy cocktail dress did for her self-confidence, suddenly.
Jeffrey opened the rear door of the hired black limousine and involuntarily her grin widened as she saw Warren Kidd in a fine baby blue Italian suit, white shirt, a scarlet tie and matching silk handkerchief in the breast pocket.
“Hey,” Warren let out a low whistle. “You look stunning, by the way.”
Mimi beamed, “Thank you very much. You look fine as hell yourself.” She slid into the back as the door was closed behind her. Her heart beat faster already, “I’ll admit you’ve outdone yourself. When I said ‘surprise me’, I never expected this.”
“Oh, it’s nothing, really.”
“It’s not nothing. No guy’s ever done anything like this for me before.”
“That’s a crime,” Warren said. He settled back as the limousine started to pull away. “After everything you’ve done for me these last few weeks, this is the least I could do to repay you. Hope you liked the yellow rose by the way. Thought red would be too cliché and presumptuous.”
“I wouldn’t have minded red. It’s romantic. Yellow is a symbol of friendship and all. Though, just to clarify, this is a date, date, right?”
“Of course. I don’t dress to the nines, hire a limo and book fancy dinner reservations just to hang out with a friend, Mimi,” Warren assured her. “I’m simply treating you like a woman should be treated. Especially when she’s as beautiful as you, both inside and out. I believe if you’re going to do something, do it properly or not at all.”
“I couldn’t agree more. You’re a good man and a real catch.” Mimi leaned against him, “I think being your girlfriend will be pretty great.”
“Thank you. It’s about time somebody truly appreciated me,” Warren grinned. He enjoyed the subtle indication that Mimi not only expected a second date but saw a future with him if she was already thinking of herself as his girlfriend. He took her cue and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Dating me is not only going to affect your career but also how people see you personally. You sure you can handle that, yeah? The girls at the PC, your friends, might not treat you the same as they do now. We can’t exactly go low profile either and nor do I want to, I don’t want you to feel like a shameful secret or anything.”
“I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I just want to be happy.” Mimi smiled softly, “And I think you can make me happy. Like, you will maybe have to meet my parents at some point.”
“No ‘maybe’ about it, honey. If we get serious, I’ll happily meet your folks.”
“I’d love that.” Mimi’s smile brightened. “They’ll love you.”
“You think so?” Warren blinked. He hadn’t even been loved by his own parents, not really. Maybe his mother, on a really good day, rare as those were for him growing up. On the whole though, he struggled to process the whole idea of being loved by any real family at all. “That’d be a first.”
“Give yourself some credit, Warren.”
“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “Never been particularly good at that.”
***
The dinner at one of Tokyo’s most exclusive fusion restaurants, Gucci Osteria, had been beyond perfect. Going in, Warren had been particularly skeptical that Italian and Japanese cuisine would fit together well. Mimi countered with the delightfully witty and astute observation that the same could be said for the two of them, especially in this part of the world. So they agreed to withhold judgment and happily broadened their tastes for the evening.
They held hands across the marble table top and dined in the slightly surreal atmosphere, reminiscent of high-Renaissance Florentine fantasy, especially with some of the Italian poetry that embellished the wood panels around them.
Ever the skilled orator, Warren found it remarkably easy to keep the conversation flowing with Mimi in a way he just seemed to struggle with Dean. She laughed at his jokes, reciprocated his advances and genuinely seemed to enjoy his company.
It was the best first date he’d been on in years, certainly with a woman.
Their chemistry was interrupted only once, briefly, when Warren received an email from his divorce lawyer back in Boston, confirming that everything was not only in order but finalised. The uncontested resolution of one of the most tragic mistakes of his personal life was over and done. The dark chapter of a mostly unhappy marriage was at an end.
Legally, he had no association with Dean Harper anymore.
He was finally free.
~~~
Following the advice of Mimi Simpson, Warren Kidd relaxed in an open-air natural hot spring bath. Bright orange swimming trunks kept him modest as he soaked in the water, hoping to heal and rejuvenate weary muscles and tired bones. Two weeks wasn’t nearly enough time to fully recover from a Cyrus Daniels beating, but he had no choice. He had to soldier on as best he could into the single most important defence of his World Championship reign.
This was his first real opportunity in months to show everyone exactly the kind of champion he intended to be. He would either set the pace with a statement victory or he’d be little better than a transitional title holder. The pressure to perform, and avoid relegation to a footnote in the Pax Stormcrow fairytale comeback story was immense.
Warren rubbed his temples and clenched his jaw tight. If ever there was a time he needed to personify his British grit and English stiff upper lip, it was now. He took a considered breath, deep and slow before he got down to the business of promoting one of the biggest matches of his professional wrestling career.
Legacy.
The word means different things to different people, especially in this business. The dictionary defines it as the long-lasting impact of a significant action, event or person, and as such the very notion has dogged much of my professional career. As the eternal custodian of Spike Kane’s legacy, I have routinely been choked by the noose of great expectations that he left dangling around my neck, especially after he died.
I am the heir to a throne of blood and bone, whether I want to be or not.
No matter what I do, no matter what I choose to embrace or who I choose to shun, I will always be burdened by being his last surviving son in the wrestling business. I will always be judged unfairly because I just don’t have the good sense to go fuck off and die prematurely like so many of the men in my family already have, usually after trying and failing to reach the impossible heights and popularity of professional wrestling’s favourite almost immortal cockroach, my biological father - Michael Patrick Kane.
I’ve spent almost a decade in the Imperial Wrestling Federation specifically, trying to find comfort and solace and to make peace with the glaring disparity between who the world expects me to be and who I actually am. I’ve tried everything I can think of to earn all the love, praise, adoration and respect I never got at home from this business instead.
I’ve tried being the cursed devil spawn, and I’ve tried being the blessed cherub.
Nothing worked, nothing changed. No matter which extreme I tried to find my purpose in, I just wasn’t good enough for anybody that really mattered or cared enough about me around here. I was still condemned as a fake and a fraud.
I was still never considered good enough, not worthy enough of anybody’s time or respect, and I think that’s because everyone saw the one thing I never wanted to come to terms with or accept about myself back then, and that was the simple fact that I sleepwalked my way through many years in my career. It didn’t matter if I donned the devil horns or the angel wings, neither mask was anything close to my true face.
In discovering the truth of my bloodline, I lost the heart and soul that brought me here.
I entered IWF developmental as a fresh faced nobody. I knew exactly who I was and who I wanted to be when I was just some abused kid from the streets of London most people didn’t know from Adam. I was young, hungry. I had ambitions and a drive to succeed.
I was more whole as my own person as Warren Kidd than I’ve ever been in all the years I’ve squandered trying to be the perfect husband to a colossal wreck like Dean Harper or the perfect son to an absolute cunt of an absentee father like Spike Kane.
And that is why I’m trying to go back to how I used to be before my life turned to complete shit. I will never again hide who I really am behind the more prolific names of Harper and Kane. Those names and the men who carry them have caused me nothing but misery and pain, so as far as I’m concerned the legends behind each of those household names are as good as dead to me now.
I am now who I should have been all this time, neither a Kane nor a Harper.
The days of killing myself over who and what I should be are over.
I am no longer concerned with who I was born to be. I only know who I choose to be.
I choose to be the man I came into the business as once again.
I am Warren Michael Kidd and if you still have a problem with me, please take a number, pucker your lips real tight and stand in line to drop to your knees and kiss my magnificent white arse. As I understand it there’s quite a queue forming right behind Pax Stormcrow for that particular privilege.
I am through being victimised and being forced to fight my way out of corners I never asked to be put into in the first place. Speaking of which, if you’re watching this Pandora, let me go on record right now and add yet another entry to my recent public apology tour, apologising for all the ways I fucked up that aren’t even my fucking fault.
Believe me, Pan, nobody is more sorry than me for all the years I wasted trying to convince myself that I deserved no better than the love of a self-consumed piece of shit like Dean Harper. I hope you kick him square in the only head he ever thinks with. I know that even if I showed you hidden camera footage of me being very plain and telling him to focus on taking out Rowan, you’ll still find a way to rationalise holding me accountable. So if I’m anywhere on your hitlist, please get it out of the way as soon as possible, because I don’t enjoy being hounded for something I didn’t actually do.
Of course, ideally you’d forgive me and we could all move on with our lives, but I know you have a wild streak in you that now demands blood and retribution, several months after the fact. I used to wonder what exactly Spike Kane saw in you, now I know.
~~~
Following the advice of Mimi Simpson, Warren Kidd relaxed in an open-air natural hot spring bath. Bright orange swimming trunks kept him modest as he soaked in the water, hoping to heal and rejuvenate weary muscles and tired bones. Two weeks wasn’t nearly enough time to fully recover from a Cyrus Daniels beating, but he had no choice. He had to soldier on as best he could into the single most important defence of his World Championship reign.
This was his first real opportunity in months to show everyone exactly the kind of champion he intended to be. He would either set the pace with a statement victory or he’d be little better than a transitional title holder. The pressure to perform, and avoid relegation to a footnote in the Pax Stormcrow fairytale comeback story was immense.
Warren rubbed his temples and clenched his jaw tight. If ever there was a time he needed to personify his British grit and English stiff upper lip, it was now. He took a considered breath, deep and slow before he got down to the business of promoting one of the biggest matches of his professional wrestling career.
Legacy.
The word means different things to different people, especially in this business. The dictionary defines it as the long-lasting impact of a significant action, event or person, and as such the very notion has dogged much of my professional career. As the eternal custodian of Spike Kane’s legacy, I have routinely been choked by the noose of great expectations that he left dangling around my neck, especially after he died.
I am the heir to a throne of blood and bone, whether I want to be or not.
No matter what I do, no matter what I choose to embrace or who I choose to shun, I will always be burdened by being his last surviving son in the wrestling business. I will always be judged unfairly because I just don’t have the good sense to go fuck off and die prematurely like so many of the men in my family already have, usually after trying and failing to reach the impossible heights and popularity of professional wrestling’s favourite almost immortal cockroach, my biological father - Michael Patrick Kane.
I’ve spent almost a decade in the Imperial Wrestling Federation specifically, trying to find comfort and solace and to make peace with the glaring disparity between who the world expects me to be and who I actually am. I’ve tried everything I can think of to earn all the love, praise, adoration and respect I never got at home from this business instead.
I’ve tried being the cursed devil spawn, and I’ve tried being the blessed cherub.
Nothing worked, nothing changed. No matter which extreme I tried to find my purpose in, I just wasn’t good enough for anybody that really mattered or cared enough about me around here. I was still condemned as a fake and a fraud.
I was still never considered good enough, not worthy enough of anybody’s time or respect, and I think that’s because everyone saw the one thing I never wanted to come to terms with or accept about myself back then, and that was the simple fact that I sleepwalked my way through many years in my career. It didn’t matter if I donned the devil horns or the angel wings, neither mask was anything close to my true face.
In discovering the truth of my bloodline, I lost the heart and soul that brought me here.
I entered IWF developmental as a fresh faced nobody. I knew exactly who I was and who I wanted to be when I was just some abused kid from the streets of London most people didn’t know from Adam. I was young, hungry. I had ambitions and a drive to succeed.
I was more whole as my own person as Warren Kidd than I’ve ever been in all the years I’ve squandered trying to be the perfect husband to a colossal wreck like Dean Harper or the perfect son to an absolute cunt of an absentee father like Spike Kane.
And that is why I’m trying to go back to how I used to be before my life turned to complete shit. I will never again hide who I really am behind the more prolific names of Harper and Kane. Those names and the men who carry them have caused me nothing but misery and pain, so as far as I’m concerned the legends behind each of those household names are as good as dead to me now.
I am now who I should have been all this time, neither a Kane nor a Harper.
The days of killing myself over who and what I should be are over.
I am no longer concerned with who I was born to be. I only know who I choose to be.
I choose to be the man I came into the business as once again.
I am Warren Michael Kidd and if you still have a problem with me, please take a number, pucker your lips real tight and stand in line to drop to your knees and kiss my magnificent white arse. As I understand it there’s quite a queue forming right behind Pax Stormcrow for that particular privilege.
I am through being victimised and being forced to fight my way out of corners I never asked to be put into in the first place. Speaking of which, if you’re watching this Pandora, let me go on record right now and add yet another entry to my recent public apology tour, apologising for all the ways I fucked up that aren’t even my fucking fault.
Believe me, Pan, nobody is more sorry than me for all the years I wasted trying to convince myself that I deserved no better than the love of a self-consumed piece of shit like Dean Harper. I hope you kick him square in the only head he ever thinks with. I know that even if I showed you hidden camera footage of me being very plain and telling him to focus on taking out Rowan, you’ll still find a way to rationalise holding me accountable. So if I’m anywhere on your hitlist, please get it out of the way as soon as possible, because I don’t enjoy being hounded for something I didn’t actually do.
Of course, ideally you’d forgive me and we could all move on with our lives, but I know you have a wild streak in you that now demands blood and retribution, several months after the fact. I used to wonder what exactly Spike Kane saw in you, now I know.
~~~
Thoroughly seduced by the exquisite and expensive meal, Mimi’s eyes brightened further as she turned her head and kissed him for the first time, in the back of the limo, afterwards. The kiss was emotionally intense, as if the undercurrent of all this had been building over the last couple of weeks. As their lips met, the electricity between them was instant and undeniable. The line between soft tenderness and fiery passion blurred rapidly as Mimi’s hands gently cupped Warren’s face and she pulled him closer. Instinctively, he deepened the kiss and caressed her cheek gently. They fell into the kiss so naturally, it almost frightened Warren, but not enough to stop.
The more he tasted her lips and tongue, it became clear that he had been denying and suppressing this part of himself for way too long. He liked women too, maybe even more than men, and that was still valid. He was no less bisexual if his natural preference leaned more towards women, which based on the sheer ecstasy of this single kiss, his first with a woman in over five years, it definitely seemed to.
Their seemingly mutual intoxication in the moment urged Warren to press on, unafraid. He was free once more to explore this side of himself in a way he hadn’t since Max, and even she never kissed him like this, because Warren knew that whilst Max had been happy to share her body occasionally, she’d never shared her heart completely, that belonged to Dean forever. There was no such conflict with Mimi, she was his and his alone, if he was brave enough. He felt Mimi’s hand drift from his cheek to his chest and he shivered at the thought of belonging to someone who wouldn’t share or openly flirt with everyone and just expect him to be okay with it.
He deserved better, Mimi believed it wholeheartedly, maybe he should too. He was good enough to be loved exclusively, Mimi proved that here and now.
Mimi broke the kiss briefly, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
“No, but I hope it lived up to your expectations,” Warren breathed softly.
“Surpassed them I’d say,” Mimi’s cheeks flushed with sudden warmth. “I don’t think anything will ever taste as good as that kiss.”
She looked down, slightly embarrassed by how smitten she sounded. Guys didn’t usually have this effect on her, but Warren was different. He’d always been different in her eyes. Special.
Mimi kissed him again, determined to make the most of her one shot with him. Committed to showing him that she could be just as good, if not better for him as the only other woman who stood between them now, Shea O’Hara. Warren might not have noticed how Shea was around him, but Mimi knew. Mimi understood exactly what being in love with Warren from a distance looked like, and what it felt like. Sometimes, when Mimi had looked at Shea and seen only herself reflected back at her.
“Thanks for the best night of my life so far,” Mimi said. “Please, allow me to return the favour.”
Mimi suddenly got a lot bolder as she straddled his lap, driven by a sudden surge of irresistible sexual energy. As soon as their lips met again, the floodgates of Mimi’s heart burst open, and all her pent-up emotions threatened to drown them both. Their lips smack urgently against each other, breathless and wanting. Warren moaned into the kiss and involuntarily stiffened at the feel of her chest pressed against his. They clung to each other, life rafts caught in a turbulent tide of rising carnal desire.
Mimi reached behind herself and unzipped her own dress eagerly. As it fell off her shoulders, she dove in and kissed him deeply again, eagerly swallowing his tongue. It’s nowhere near enough for either of them. Every fibre of Mimi’s soul demanded to be touched, felt, caressed and loved. Warren’s hands quickly found Mimi’s breasts and he felt their warmth radiate through the soft black lace of her bra. She crushed herself against him, tried to melt herself into him. Desperate to become one.
She loosened his tie before she whipped it off completely. With all the wasted skill and efficiency of a once promising young doctor, her hands worked quickly to unbutton his shirt, determined to maximise skin contact as much as possible. She grinded her hips against him as Warren busied himself with softly kissing and biting her neck. He took great pleasure in eliciting deep sensual moans from her core. Mimi caressed his abdomen softly before she unbuttoned and unzipped him.
Instinctively, Warren reached for his wallet in his pocket, ignored the rare and precious family photo of Dean, Damien and himself that was still tucked inside - unimportant and inconsequential - and reached for the condom packet in the pocket behind it.
He presented the condom to Mimi without so much as a flash of guilt or hesitation. She took it between her teeth and tore it open. He grabbed a handful of her magnificently sculpted rear and she squealed in delight.
Warren Kidd was her dream date, her dream man and her dream come true.
~~~
Pax Stormcrow, what’s up, you salty self-righteous little bitch?
I’ve tried being respectful. I’ve tried ignoring most of the sanctimonious bullshit you’ve been throwing my way, because I made the mistake of thinking you’d want to sell this as a battle for the ages between two of the most gifted technicians in this company going leglock for leglock for the richest prize in our sport - my World Championship - but instead all I’ve heard from you is downright slander. It’s a real shame too, that such a gifted wrestling machine would rather join in on all the guilt by association mudslinging than allow himself to enjoy competing at the highest level against the best wrestler in the world today.
Tell me Pax, how exactly will ragging on who I associate with, win you my title?
Go on, I’ll wait. Whilst we wait, let’s take a moment to examine that lovely little glass house of yours that you’re throwing stones from, shall we? You want to take issue with my social circle whilst desperately hoping nobody remembers that Jack Ferriman once pledged himself to the super value version of The Pack and then stood by watching as they dealt out their bullshit punishments. Or how about your little boo, Charlie, whose best defense for continuing to work under a bunch of abusive and corrupt suits for seven years in this country has been pleading ignorance of the facts.
How convenient.
Doesn’t sound like you surround yourself with paragons of virtue either, does it mate?
So why don’t you hold yourself to the same rigorous moral standards you’re more than happy to condemn me by? Why are you willing to turn a blind eye to all of Jack and Charlie’s questionable life choices and past associations, and even afford them the grace of your charity much more readily than you’re willing to extend to me?
I’m no saint, never will be, but I am trying to be a little better than I was.
Still, I’m self-aware enough to realise that substantial change is a process. It takes time, and many small but significant steps. I’ve broken it off with Dean, I’ve offered my apologies and I’ve done my best to set the record straight with all the people that still matter to me. I don’t know what else you expect me to do right now, Pax.
Maybe nothing I do will change your mind about the kind of person you think I am.
If that’s the case, then at least be honest about it. Admit that you’re not willing to afford me the kind of latitude for change that you’ve already graciously afforded Jack, for the simple reason that you don’t see me as someone you could ever be friends with and we can all move on, knowing how selective your moral indignation really is.
And if I’m really beyond all hope Pax, then what are you hoping to prove at Legacy?
If I’m really such a morally reprehensible arsehole, then I’ll still be one whether or not I walk out of the PPV still the World Champion. Then all your asswhooping and beating me down like a dog that you’re hoping to do will be for nothing, because I still won’t have learned whatever damned lesson you’re hoping I’ll learn from you once our match is all said and done.
Every beating I’ve ever taken was designed to teach me a lesson and force me to live my life a certain way, but none ever did. All they ever taught me was how to hate, mostly myself. So even if you do manage to embarrass me at Legacy, which you’re more than capable of doing with your superior amateur mat game, you’ll never beat me any more severely than I routinely beat myself up for being a piece of shit who was just born wrong and can never do anything right.
So go ahead Pax, hit me with your best shot. Scoop me up in your most beautiful suplex, tie me up in knots with your most painful submission hold. I can not only take anything you throw at me, I will survive only to come back that much stronger next time. I’ve spent most of my life at rock bottom, so you potentially knocking me off my perch at Legacy doesn’t terrify me as much as it would other weaker willed Champions we could mention.
If you beat me, I’ll have no shame in admitting who was the better man that night.
Will you be man enough to do the same?
Especially if I’m the reason you don’t get your fairytale power couple ending at Legacy with your little snuggle bunny?
I don’t think so. And if you think it is beyond me to stifle your little hot streak when you least expect it, I remind you that that’s what they thought when I made Dean Harper my little bitch at Immortals too. But I need more than to be hailed the better man on a single night. Anybody can achieve that, I need to be hailed as the better man across an entire career. By the time I hang up my boots, I want my legacy to have been defined not by who my father was or who my husband was in the past. I want my legacy to be defined by who I am, right here in the present.
I am more than just a Kidd now.
I am my own man now.
Now deal with it.
Pax Stormcrow, what’s up, you salty self-righteous little bitch?
I’ve tried being respectful. I’ve tried ignoring most of the sanctimonious bullshit you’ve been throwing my way, because I made the mistake of thinking you’d want to sell this as a battle for the ages between two of the most gifted technicians in this company going leglock for leglock for the richest prize in our sport - my World Championship - but instead all I’ve heard from you is downright slander. It’s a real shame too, that such a gifted wrestling machine would rather join in on all the guilt by association mudslinging than allow himself to enjoy competing at the highest level against the best wrestler in the world today.
Tell me Pax, how exactly will ragging on who I associate with, win you my title?
Go on, I’ll wait. Whilst we wait, let’s take a moment to examine that lovely little glass house of yours that you’re throwing stones from, shall we? You want to take issue with my social circle whilst desperately hoping nobody remembers that Jack Ferriman once pledged himself to the super value version of The Pack and then stood by watching as they dealt out their bullshit punishments. Or how about your little boo, Charlie, whose best defense for continuing to work under a bunch of abusive and corrupt suits for seven years in this country has been pleading ignorance of the facts.
How convenient.
Doesn’t sound like you surround yourself with paragons of virtue either, does it mate?
So why don’t you hold yourself to the same rigorous moral standards you’re more than happy to condemn me by? Why are you willing to turn a blind eye to all of Jack and Charlie’s questionable life choices and past associations, and even afford them the grace of your charity much more readily than you’re willing to extend to me?
I’m no saint, never will be, but I am trying to be a little better than I was.
Still, I’m self-aware enough to realise that substantial change is a process. It takes time, and many small but significant steps. I’ve broken it off with Dean, I’ve offered my apologies and I’ve done my best to set the record straight with all the people that still matter to me. I don’t know what else you expect me to do right now, Pax.
Maybe nothing I do will change your mind about the kind of person you think I am.
If that’s the case, then at least be honest about it. Admit that you’re not willing to afford me the kind of latitude for change that you’ve already graciously afforded Jack, for the simple reason that you don’t see me as someone you could ever be friends with and we can all move on, knowing how selective your moral indignation really is.
And if I’m really beyond all hope Pax, then what are you hoping to prove at Legacy?
If I’m really such a morally reprehensible arsehole, then I’ll still be one whether or not I walk out of the PPV still the World Champion. Then all your asswhooping and beating me down like a dog that you’re hoping to do will be for nothing, because I still won’t have learned whatever damned lesson you’re hoping I’ll learn from you once our match is all said and done.
Every beating I’ve ever taken was designed to teach me a lesson and force me to live my life a certain way, but none ever did. All they ever taught me was how to hate, mostly myself. So even if you do manage to embarrass me at Legacy, which you’re more than capable of doing with your superior amateur mat game, you’ll never beat me any more severely than I routinely beat myself up for being a piece of shit who was just born wrong and can never do anything right.
So go ahead Pax, hit me with your best shot. Scoop me up in your most beautiful suplex, tie me up in knots with your most painful submission hold. I can not only take anything you throw at me, I will survive only to come back that much stronger next time. I’ve spent most of my life at rock bottom, so you potentially knocking me off my perch at Legacy doesn’t terrify me as much as it would other weaker willed Champions we could mention.
If you beat me, I’ll have no shame in admitting who was the better man that night.
Will you be man enough to do the same?
Especially if I’m the reason you don’t get your fairytale power couple ending at Legacy with your little snuggle bunny?
I don’t think so. And if you think it is beyond me to stifle your little hot streak when you least expect it, I remind you that that’s what they thought when I made Dean Harper my little bitch at Immortals too. But I need more than to be hailed the better man on a single night. Anybody can achieve that, I need to be hailed as the better man across an entire career. By the time I hang up my boots, I want my legacy to have been defined not by who my father was or who my husband was in the past. I want my legacy to be defined by who I am, right here in the present.
I am more than just a Kidd now.
I am my own man now.
Now deal with it.
Well howdy there pardner.