Your entrance music hits and you swagger out, heightened by the self-assurance that new ring gear brings. You circle the ring strutting and posing; the unfamiliar faces of a British audience hooting and clamouring to catch sight of you. Men in the front row are on their feet already and then behind them you notice her standing, arms raised like yours.
The din and tumult of the crowd drift away gently like leaves in the autumn as the immutable depths of her eyes hold you still. The excitement and noise go on, unseen and unheard by you as a hollow ache of yearning gnaws at your loins. Overwhelmed by the dizzying vertigo of her regard you fall into an endless night sky thick with stars, the terrible beauty of the universal abyss pulling you in. You flush at the realisation that you have been staring, dumbfounded, for what felt like hours. Your eyes lower in embarrassment and you notice she's wearing merchandise; your branded merchandise.
"Nice hoodie."
You blurt without thinking and curse yourself, wishing you could gulp the clumsy words back down, unspoken. But she is smiling at you and the soft, pink glow of a new day warms your belly, fat with promise. You remember with a start that you're here to work and you turn away to the ring. Your brain fogs with the fresh made memory of her skin, her hair, her lips, her teeth. You throw your shirt into the ring but it misses and hits the ropes. You are sure you can feel the heat of her eyes burning into your skin but you can't bear to turn to see her again. You know that you will be caught once more by the dark currents of your lust and the anticipation both thrills and terrifies you.
You grab a mic and fumble and stumble some meaningless taunts to your opponent, Ultimo Tiger, but your tongue feels dull and numb in your mouth. You try to focus your senses and thoughts onto the task at hand. Tiger looks at you in confusion. You flush again, embarrassed by how strongly this woman you have never seen before has affected you. You allow yourself to look at her again; she is sitting now, her perfect face painted sweetly with joy at the fun of the show. You feel the same tug of empty longing deep within your guts. She's my hard cam, you think. This match is for her.