Jon Moxley stood backstage waiting for his new tag team partner to show up. It had been a last minute idea to have a mixed tag team match against The American Nightmare and Brandi Rhodes. This already sounded worlds above and beyond anything Dean Ambrose did with WWE. Sure, they did mixed tag team wrestling. But, the guys could never touch the females. If a female tagged in a female had to wrestle another female and the males couldn't touch the females.

With AEW, this was not the case. Females and males could mix it up all day long. Females kicked just as much ass as the males and were just as fierce. If a male competitor started talking shit to a female she talked shit right back. He had no idea who this "New chick" was who wanted to be his partner. Usually he knew his partner inside and out, but for whatever reason this one wanted to remain anonymous up until he saw her in gorilla.

He had his music in his ears and was warming up. He couldn't hear the huge "welcome" she received when she finally walked backstage. A tall brunette female with blood red streaks in her hair and two blood red braids down her back. Her ring gear is blood red with black peacock feathers strategically placed. Her pants had leather laces up the sides and they hugged her athletic curvy features. Her halter top also had leather laces up the cleavage to show just enough to be sexy and not trashy.

Meanwhile,

I have a reputation for being the nastiest bitch on the Indies. Now, don't get it twisted. It's not because I sleep around and it's not because I don't wash myself. I'm a little OCD when it comes to my hygiene and particular about my bed partners. But, I digress. It's because I do extreme violence. For those who aren't familiar with that. It's basically wrestling with objects like barbed wire, tacks, light tubes, chains and other things you'd never find in a WWE match because they're considered illegal in the ring and cause actual damage if misused. If you've ever seen Switchblade Conspiracy or Jon Moxley wrestle on his own after the duo turned on each other, you know what I'm talking about. I've often fantasied about looking up and having Jon Moxley watching my match with the biggest quirky smirk on his face of approval. Yes, I know he's part of WWE now and he is known as Dean Ambrose, but he recently left and went back to being Jon Moxley again. His story is the reason why you have no idea who I am. I refuse to go to WWE and have them water me down the way they did him.

Who am I? I hear you all out there asking. Well, my name is Nicole Richardson. They call me Nasty Nikki in the ring. I'm a female hard core wrestler. I do death matches and shit like that. I live for the thrill of the game out there. Everyone told me I could never become a hardcore wrestler. There is no way in hell a female could survive half the shit those guys do out there. They don't take it easy because your a female. They talk down to females. Blah blah blah. Fuck it, bring it on. I'm going to show you that I will survive every single time and rise above and beyond everyone's expectations. "Because I'm a female" never held me back and it never will hold me down. I don't want them to take it easy on me or give me special treatment. I'm a wrestler and I am entering a dominating world of mostly men. It's all right. I am good with that. I don't need sheltering. I'm an adult.

So, I'm backstage after one of my more grueling matches and I'm basically pulling tacks out of my arms and my partner is pulling them out of my back.

Amanda: "God damn, Nikki these things are in your back tonight."

Nicole: "I don't even feel I to be honest. I'm more worried about the blood ruining my little peacock outfit."

Amanda starts laughing. Amanda and I have been best friends for about 20 years. She's seen me through the ups and downs of life and stands by my side no matter what. Even if it means digging thumb tacks out of my back and wincing at the sight of holes in my skin.

Amanda: "Dude, are you sure you don't want to see the medic? What if the metal points are in your back and I can't get to them? I'm a nurse, but I'm not perfect."

Nicole: "I trust you and I trust your judgment. Those tacks aren't that big that the metal part would break off in my back. If they did, it wouldn't be any different then removing a splinter or glass. It's a little tiny tack not a huge ass road spike. I'm not trying to get impaled."

Amanda: "Well, good to know. You are a lunatic."

Nicole: "Yes. I'm crazy not suicidal. There is a difference."

Amanda: "Would you like to explain the difference because some of these matches look suicidal to an outside observer."

Nicole: "You know what? I will tell you the difference. The difference is these matches are for entertainment. We go out there and we choreograph what we are going to do to each other and don't actually try to physically hurt each other. If there is actual blood shed it's small. We aren't laying in the middle of the ring with gaping holes in our bodies bleeding out. That's the difference. I can't give you anything more then that because it spoils the fun. Someone who is out to hurt themselves on purpose just jumps on the blade."

Amanda: "Hold still."

She yanks one of the longer tacks out of a more sensitive spot on my back and I about hit the ceiling now that the adrenaline has worn off. I feel every single sting on my body.

Nicole: "Fuck, what the hell are you doing back there?"

Amanda: "Sorry. That one was in the middle of your lower back. You're lucking it didn't get by your kidney."

Nicole: "It's not that deep. You've never had a tack stuck in your thumb on accident or stabbed yourself with a pin?"

Amanda: "Yes and this is more sensitive then stabbing yourself accidently with a pin."

Nicole: "Maybe, but I had them in my feet too."

Amanda: "Are you going to be able to walk out of here?"

I look at my feet wrapped in bandages and laugh to myself. I look like a mummy. I'm tempted to take a pic and put it on my instagram.

Amanda: "Is there something funny?"

Nicole: "I have mummy feet."

Amanda: "You are a sick twisted bitch. You know that? Only you would be lauging at that."

Nicole: "So they chant in the ring. Right now I'm miss mummy feet."

I start making cartoon like moaning and making my feet walk across the floor. Amanda finally starts laughing and stops worring about the degree of my war wounds. She's my sister from another mister. I expect her to worry and look at me like I'm nuts.

Nicole: "You're twisted too. You're laughing knowing that under there my feet are like a watering can."

Amanda: "All right. You're free of any foreign debris and pain causing objects in your skin."

Nicole: "Thank you. I can put my street clothes on. Well, obviously not my socks and shoes."

I look at my mummy shoes.

Amanda: "Yup. Those are your shoes. The bottoms even have soles on them so you don't tear them open walking."

Nicole: "Good news. I don't have to leave in a wheel chair. That's always a positive."

Amanda: "Yes. No wheel chair. But, you do have to put on your clothes and grab your gear."

I look at my locker and shrug like "Eh" and start getting dressed. I had a feeling this match made it's impression tonight. Something was telling me my quiet little life was about to change for the better.