Mallory the Gag

Mallory: tall, broad shoulders, blonde hair braided in corn rows, strong brow, ice blue eyes, prominent cheek bones, big Scandinavian frame.

Mallory: young woman, athlete, twenty-two, large long broad smooth strong hands of a female athlete. Mallory's hands are gigantic. And strong.

Now the young man freezes as Mallory advances toward him across the gym floor. She's about had it with lip from him. Her eyes glare at him from beneath her broad white sweatband.

Mallory: her huge smooth right hand clamped tight over the fellow's mouth and nose. "Mmmmmmmmmmhh!!!" She has her left arm wrapped around him, pinning his arms down. "Mmmmmmmh, mmmmmh mmmmmm HHHMMMMMMH!!" His body jerks and squirms, his head twists back and forth, frantic muffled barks and groans issue from beneath Mallory's large tight clamped hand. "MMMMMMMMH!" But Mallory is a lot stronger than he is. He can't speak. He can't open his mouth. He can't get away.

He tries to breathe, it's hard to breathe through Mallory's big strong hand clamped hard over his mouth and nose. He can smell the odor of her sweat, this big tall female athlete who's been practicing here in the gym. He thrashes in her restraining embrace, frantic, "Mmmmmmmmhh, MMMMMMMHHH!!!" Mallory's hand tightens its grip over his face. Now he can't breathe at all. His eyes can barely see out over the top of her enormous steel-strong athletic hand. "Mmmmmmmmh....."

Mallory: her huge smooth hand hardclamped over his mouth and nose. He jerks and struggles and moans, more weakly now. Her blue eyes flash in triumph. A grin on her lips. "Mmmmmmh...... mmmmmmmmmhh.... mmmmmm..." Now he hangs limp and still in Mallory's tight embrace, like a rag doll, with her huge hand clamped over his mouth and nose.

Mallory: a broad smile spreads like dawn across her fair Scandinavian visage. She removes her hand from the fellow's mouth and nose, and lays him down gently on the gym floor. With a toss of her corn row braids, Mallory is back to practice, sweating, running hard. He'll come to by and by. And maybe next time he'll watch his lip around Mallory.

Mallory the Gag.

That's what they call her: Mallory the Gag. But not so often to her face! People here in the community center gym turn away, oblivious, anxious and careful to ignore how Mallory just smothered a young man with her bare hand. Mallory does this a lot, and people have learned to pay no attention.

Off to one side a boy, naive, starts asking why Mallory blacked the fellow out. The boy's mother shuts him up with her hand over his mouth, hisses and whispers into his ear, explaining, warning him, before she'll let him go.

Mallory slam dunks the ball. Then dribble out to mid court, sudden turn, and a jump shot. With a toss of her blonde corn rows she turns and walks off the court toward the women's locker room.

Afterwards, Mallory sauntering toward the door in her old high school letter jacket. Maroon with tan leather sleeves. Yeah, maroon and white for old Fairfax High, medals jingling on the big white letter "F" on the jacket's front. F for Fairfax. Or as Mallory likes to say, "That's 'F' for Eff You!"

"Hey, Randy," she says to the community center supervisor. "How's it goin' today?"

"Hey, Mal. Goin' okay, other than that one guy you--mmmmmmmmphh!!" Quick as a flash, it's Mallory's huge smooth female athlete hand locked tight over Randy's mouth and nose. "Mmmmmmmhh, hhhmmmmmmm!" Randy's pale grey eyes, peering in panic over Mallory's mammoth beautiful face-covering hand. "Mmmmmmmmhhh..."

"Why Randy, do I detect a complaint against me? 'Gainst little ol' mwah?" Randy twists his head, wild eyes rolling, but Mallory's gigantic powerful womanly hand stays locked over his face. "What's wrong, Randy? Can't you speak? Cat gotcher tongue?"

Mallory bares her pearly whites in a broad grin as Randy mmmmmphs and makes dumb pleading gestures at her with his hands. "'Kay, Randy, there was no prob'm here today, you saw nuth-ing!" Mallory removes her large smooth hand from Randy's face, gives him a peck on the cheek. "I like you, Randy, don't make me smother you."

Mallory: young woman, letter jacket, tall, athletic. Sauntering down Grant Street beneath a tangle of power lines, past the Mercantile. Some fellows loitering around outside, beneath weatherbeaten signs. Fairmont Ice Cream. Drink Double Cola.

"Yo, Mallory!" Tall fellow, mustache, does that high five thing with her. It's Manny. "Mal's the girl!" Laughter.

Mallory punches Manny in the shoulder. A shake of her blonde corn rows, her mouth open wide in a wicked grin.

"Hey Manny!" It's Terry, short black hair, jowly cheeks. "Do that again in slow motion with Mal." Terry slaps his own two hands together, high five. When Mallory and Manny go through the repeat motion, Terry reaches out, grabs each of them by the wrist, holds their hands together palm to palm, freeze frame, as if he's a movie director on the set. "Whoa, whoa... will you take a look at that, Manny? How much bigger Mal's hand is? How much bigger than your hand? Jeez, Mallory's got huge ass hands!"

Hoots of laughter from the bunch. Someone yells "Hand comparison!" Someone else says, "You know what they say about dating a girl with big hands, it makes your dick look awful small!"

Laughing and laughing and laughing...

Mallory: big broad maroon-jacketed shoulders, blue eyes gone ice cold, mouth downtwisted in a scowl, strong brow gone dark like thunder.

Mallory: seizing Terry in her arms, Terry, almost a head shorter than tall strong Mallory. Her left arm around his neck from behind. Her colossal smooth athletic strong right hand clamped like steel over Terry's mouth and nose, over more than half his face, over his heavy jowls.

"Mmmmmmmhhh! Mmmmmmh, mmmmm hmmmmm mmmmmmmhh!! MMMMMMMHH!!!" Terry writhes and jerks in Mallory's sudden tightlock, he tries to reach up past her arm, tug and pull on her huge powerful hand locked ever so tight over his face. "Mmmmmmmmmhh!! Mmmmmmmmhhhh!" Terry struggles against Mallory's tight smotherhold, but she's much too strong for him, and he can't get away. Pulling, prying on her hand, but it won't budge.

And he can't breathe. Beneath Mallory's huge squeezeclamped female athlete hand, Terry can't breathe.

Laughter grows louder and louder, fellows mocking poor smothering Terry, his frantic beady eyes peering out just above Mallory's gigantic face-engulfing hand. "Mmmmmmmmh.... mmmmmmhhh..... mmmmmmm...."

"Terry, you gone an' dissed Mal right to her face, you crazy kamikaze fool!"

"Hey, it's Mallory the Gag! 'Mmmmmh, mmmm hmmm mmmmhh!'"

"Bye, Terry, nice knowin' ya!"

"Lookit that, she's muggin' 'im an' he can't git away!"

Wild ecstatic laughter from the gang as Terry gyrates, more weakly now, in Mallory's unyielding headlock handsmother embrace. Reaching up and pawing at her hand which just won't come off his face no matter what. Mallory, a lot taller than Terry and a lot lot stronger, smiles her bright sunrise grin of victory as Terry fades. She's got him smothered.

Terry goes limp, his dark eyes shut with Mallory's huge smooth beautiful athletic hand clamped like a tight living mask over his mouth and nose and much of his face. "Buh bye, Terry," croons Mallory as she lays his unconscious form down gently on the cement sidewalk. "Sweet dreams!"

"Atta girl, Mal! Teach 'im a lesson!"

"The winnah an' still champeen!" Manny takes Mallory by the wrist and lifts her arm high overhead. "Mallory the Gag!"

Laughter and scattered applause. Terry lies sprawled, motionless on the sidewalk.

Mallory: "See you guys! And... behave!"

Mallory walks, a jaunty stride, down the block and around the corner, past the Masonic Lodge, past the barbershop, and then comes the tavern. Doc's Tavern. Mallory stiffarms the door and walks on in.

Mallory takes a seat at the bar. She folds her huge smooth lovely soft female athlete hands in front of her. The medals jingle on the big F on her letter jacket. Her blue eyes flash greetings as she smiles at Craig the bartender. "Hey there, Craig. How ya doin'?"

"Good. And you?"

"Oh, I'm doin' fine. Smothered two guys already today." An impish grin.

Craig maintains a cautious poker face: Mallory's reputation precedes her. "So, Mallory, what'll it be?"

"Mmmmmmmm... Tap beer, Miller Lite."

Mallory sits there nursing her beer, tapping her foot on the barstool in time to some old song by Queen on the jukebox. Mid afternoon, not many people in the tavern.

After a while Mallory's old friend Chantelle wanders in. Chantelle, she and Mal go back to the good old days at Fairfax High. "Hey there, Mal, you're lookin' good!"

"Why Chantelle!"

Chantelle sits down on the barstool next to Mallory, orders a drink, and the two of them are off into a world of gab. On and on and on...

Toward the end of Mallory's third Miller Lite, Chantelle excuses herself and makes for the ladies' room. Mallory, sitting there by herself at the bar, is yanked out of her reverie by a male voice over on the other side of her. She turns and sees a man, thirty something, sideburns, wire rim glasses, second bar stool over. He says, "Hey, beautiful, buy you a drink?"

Mallory gives him a wordless smile which is meant to be discouraging, and she turns back toward Chantelle's empty barstool. Seconds later the man's voice comes even louder: "I said, buy you a drink? Looks like you're about out."

Mallory: turning, a regal toss of her blonde corn rows. Blue eyes wide open, glaring. Beautiful Scandinavian face, jaw set. "Sorry, no thanks."

The man, a broad sharklike hustler's grin: "Hey now, what'll you have, it's on me!"

"I. said. no. thanks."

The man rises half off his stool, hands spread in front of him, chuckling. "Hey now, honey..."

Mallory: rising up to her full height, over six feet. Barstool goes flying behind her, caroms off the floor. Three quick steps toward the man, blonde corn rows swinging, teeth clenched, and Mallory clamps her huge soft smooth long broad womanly athlete hand hard over the man's mouth and nose. Her right hand gripped tight over his face, her left hand across the back of his head, squeezing his head tight between her beautiful mammoth hands like a tight steel vise. His glasses go flying off his face. His eyes go wide in startlement.

"Mmmmmmmhh, mmmmmmm hhmmmm mmmmmmmhhh!" He tries to protest beneath Mallory's tight smothering hand over his face, but he can only make muffled groaning noises.

Mallory: saucy look of amusement. Broad grin. Wide set blue eyes sparkling merriment. She presses her hands together on the man's head, harder and harder, to make sure he can't breathe. How tight it must feel, her huge soft warm hand mashed steampress-tight over his mouth and nose! His eyes look terrified, trapped. Mallory's gigantic silky smooth hand is covering the man's entire face, almost up to his eyes. He can't breathe!

"Mmmmmmh, mmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmhhh!!!" The man reaches up and paws, in vain, at Mallory's smooth womanly hand, so much larger than his own hands, at Mallory's huge smooth strong hand locked over his face like a steel lid. But it's no use. Mallory is too strong for him. He can't break free of her tight handsmother.

Mallory: mouth open wide in triumphal laughter. Big Scandinavian frame braced against any struggles this man might make. He's weakening now, running out of air. Mallory's blue eyes light up. She can see he knows now that she's going to smother him and black him out. He sees, he knows it. Still making weak feeble struggles against her invincible tightsmothering hand. But he can't get away, she's far stronger than he is, she's much too strong for him.

Over behind the bar, Craig the bartender is looking on with cautious concern. But he won't intervene, he knows better than that. Craig knows Mallory. He knows her handsmothering ways. Take Mal on, throw her out of the tavern? Uh uh, not a chance, Craig is smarter than that. Craig doesn't want Mallory to smother him next!

"Whooo! Mal! You go, girl!" It's Chantelle, back from the ladies' room. She laughs and claps her hands, to see Mallory's colossal beautiful female athlete hand covering most of the man's face, reducing him to grunting struggling smothering defeat. "Mal, you haven't changed one bit since we'uz in school together! You're still one bad bitch!"

Chantelle claps and whoops as Mallory finishes smothering the man. Smothering him with her bare hands. He passes out, his hands up over her huge creamy vanilla hand locked over his face, unable to get away from her, unable to remove her hand from his mouth and nose, unable to breathe. He passes out, and Mallory drags him over and dumps him in a booth. Lying there, slumped, passed out. Mallory bends over, picks up his glasses off the floor, and deposits them on the table in front of his unconscious body.

Mallory picks up her barstool and sets it up straight. "Here, Craig, a little something for your trouble." She lays an extra tip on the bar. A wicked grin, ice blue eyes flashing in mischief: "And remember, I was never here!"

Mallory: downing the last of her beer. Waving goodbye to Chantelle. Stiffarming her way out the door. Blonde corn rows swinging. Broad maroon-jacketed shoulders swaying like don't you mess with me! Maroon letter jacket, tan leather sleeves, F for Fairfax High, or F for "Eff You!"

Mallory: sauntering proud and tall down the street, easy, fluid, athletic. Lanky, strong. Big bright smile. Been a good afternoon, three fellows smothered with her bare hands! Nobody better mess with Mallory! Or she'll smother 'em with her huge smooth beautiful strong female athlete hands! That's Mallory for you...

Mallory the Gag.