A week later, Di turned up at my house. I was surprised by this. While I frequently visited their place, Di had only come over to my house once to pick something up. I could guess why she wanted to come and talk after everything that happened at the brickworks. She was fine and seemed cheerful, but had a look in her eye that signalled to me that there was something that was still tormenting her mind. We sat down on the couch in my living room – my bedroom was normally out of bounds except for her sister – and started to chat about how things were going. She was still a little shaken up from the ordeal. She was wearing a plain long-sleeve top and jeans, which provided no eye candy, so I focused on the conversation.
“What’s bothering you?” I asked, sensing that she was taking the long way to get to her point.
“I want to know how to defend myself,” she said.
“You did a pretty good job,” I replied. Di had a lot of physical strength and hit very hard, as I had heard from many schoolyard stories from Lisa. She was able to wrestle with one of the guys that were attacking us and as far as I was concerned did the right thing by not resorting to violence as a first option. Di persisted. “I don’t want to be in that situation again. I want to know what to do if someone tried to do that to me.”
“Fair enough,” I replied. “Self-defence classes?”
She shook her head. “I can’t afford them, and I don’t have the patience. I want to learn something useful and quickly, not wait for coloured belts and breaking boards.” I made a point that not all martial arts were for show, but she continued. “Look, I want you to help me.”
I was taken aback by this request. “Me? I don’t know any martial arts.” That was kind of true – I was trained in several self-defence courses many years ago and knew the basics of grappling and blocking, but never had a more disciplined form of training. Di explained. “You know what you were doing back there, and you saved me. And, you knew what happened to me and I don’t want anyone else to know. You’re the only person who can help me.”
“Even if I was,” I said, “how can I help you?”
I was used to Lisa’s suggestions, which were good in principle but rarely well thought out. Di, on the other hand, usually had rational ideas that needed refining. She had come prepared. “I want you to put me through the same scenario as we went through. Even if you can’t teach me anything, I want to get used to what to do. I was really scared then and panicked. I want to practice.”
This is a crazy idea, I thought. You couldn’t learn how to defend yourself just by thinking about. But then again, I could show her a few basic techniques, and it felt like she needed a confidence boost more than anything. Fortunately, I had a padded practice mat in the back room. My father used it when he trained in martial arts before he moved out, and I had the mat (and the room) left unused. It was sufficient for Di and me to practice in without being interrupted. Di’s ankle was still recovering, so I decided not to do anything hands-on for our first session. Instead, I explained to her the basics of self-defence, hopefully shedding light on the mentality behind defending one’s self and avoiding conflict instead of provoking it and channelling calm instead of anger. She listened intently, though I knew she would need hands-on experience to know what I meant. I then showed her a few choke and strangle holds and let her apply them on me.
“The big difference,” I said, “is that a strangle cuts off blood to the brain while a choke cuts off air. Someone can hold their breath for over a minute, but it takes less than 8 seconds for the brain to feel light. Remember though, you’re not trying to kill anyone. You’re only defending yourself, and you probably won’t use strangle or choke anyway. Someone might try it on you though, so it’s worth knowing.”
Di came over once a week and I taught her more basic techniques – stances, blocking and some holds. She was a keen learner and started to feel comfortable with her own abilities. Though she never worked out, her naturally heavier weight meant she could apply herself in a stronger way. I was still concerned about her mentality. She was still young and hadn’t developed the patience to see the practicality in knowing the principles instead of coming to blows. I soon had an idea.
The next time she came over, she was wearing an old purple t-shirt and old track pants. Perfect. We warmed up and got ourselves ready for another practice session. This time, I told her I was going to be as aggressive as a real assailant to see what she would do. She was confident and stood ready. I immediately lunged towards her, stopping just short. Predictably, she moved forward to grab me. “You should never need to make the first move,” I said to her, “you open yourself up.” She didn’t listen. She continued to try to grapple with me, reaching for my shirt for leverage. The fundamental principle with dealing with this sort of approach was to treat it as if the attacker is aiming at a particular point in space, give them that space and use making use of everything else. I offered her that space, sidestepping as she was fixated on the grab and easily bypassing her. As she stumbled past, I took a firm hold of the elastic band around her pants and pulled. She immediately fell with her pants around her knees. She was wearing skimpy black panties and I looked down on her exposed buttocks. She tried to get up, but I stepped on her pants. She wriggled her feet free and got back on her feet. Realising she was standing in front of me in her panties, she cried out and covered up. She tentatively reached for her pants but I kicked them away.
“What are you doing?” she yelled.
“Do you think someone’s going to let you put your pants back on?” I scolded. “I said I was treating this as if this was a real assailant.”
“But you can see my panties!” she yelped. She was turning redder. Her panties weren’t revealing, but it was a delicious view. I was getting quite aroused by seeing my girlfriend’s sister trying to be modest. “I want to see more than that,” I said. She couldn’t tell if I was acting – and neither could I. When I grabbed her shirt, the old threads gave way from my sudden pull, ripping the shirt right off her, exposing her jiggling D-cup breasts in a sexy black lace bra. She cried out and begged me to stop; her eyes gazing at me in honest terror. She knew I meant business. “Please, stop,” she continued to plead.
“Take your bra off and I’ll stop,” I said. She glared at me. I discarded the shredded shirt and repeated my instruction. “If you don’t, I’ll take it off myself.” Shaking, she complied, unhooking her bra and letting it drop. Before she could cover herself, I thrust my hands over her tits and rubbed over her hand nipples. She tried to pull back but found herself pinned against the wall at my mercy. Her soft flesh felt warm in my hands as I kneaded them, occasionally pinching her nipples. She closed her eyes and moaned. She placed her arms around my neck – but not in any strangle or choke. “What’s the matter?” I asked as I taunted her. “Why aren’t you fighting back?”
“I…” she gasped suddenly as another spasm of arousal hit her. “Please…stop…”
“You’d better enjoy it then,” I snarled. I dropped one hand and pulled down her panties. My fingers touched her moist vagina. She thrust her hands into my face and chest. She braced herself for my invasive fingers. Moments later, she opened her eyes, surprised that there was no sensation. My hands were off her body and I was standing a few paces back. “If I was a real thug, worse would have happened by now,” I said, staring at her naked body. “There’s little that separates man from animal when instinct takes over. To be honest, I was more feral than I thought I would be. That’s the effect women have on men – and when men want it, they turn into predators.”
Di bowed her head down, contemplating her failure. Her body was slumped in defeat and her hands loosely covering her exposed parts. “What could I have done?” she said in a low voice. She was close to tears, but I kept my stern disposition. “Don’t give in to what the man wants. He will hurt you if you let him. But if you resist, you may be hurt more. You have to know when the opportunity to strike presents itself – and it always will.”
She looked doubtful. “But…I’ve got nothing. I’ve got weapons and no clothes. How can I fight?”
“The way you always have,” I replied. “You know how to defend yourself. You don’t need a weapon. Even if they have a weapon you can neutralise it and disarm him. Your own body is weapon in more ways than one. You are naked. Let me ask you: does that bother you? Does the idea that a man is looking at you right now, seeing things that you’ve never shown to anyone else, affect how you think? Would this stop you from taking necessary action to protect yourself? What if someone threatened you while you were in the shower? Would you cower in the corner and beg him not to hurt you? You might not be the only one in danger. No matter what situation you find yourself in, you must overcome your personal feelings and take necessary action. Understand this, and nothing can threaten you.”
It was a hard lesson to learn, I knew. Perhaps I had gone too far. She was, after all, only my girlfriend’s sister, and I had no right to touch her in any way, nor did I derive any pleasure from doing so. However, I had seen first-hand what could’ve happened if we had taken a softer approach. We were lucky the first time. Lisa might have her own opinion on self-defence and be reliant on a spray can that she couldn’t find in her maze of a handbag. Reality has a way of testing those methods.
Di didn’t come back the next week. I thought I might have scared her off and in the back of my mind I began to worry if she had told Lisa about what had happened. Di did return the week after, however. The look in her eyes told me that she had considered my advice very carefully and had taken it on. “Let’s continue,” she said, slightly shaky but with an underlying determination.
We returned to the back room. This time, however, I took a different tact. Instead of putting her through more combat training, I wanted to build up her discipline. “Become used to dealing with uncomfortable situations,” I told her. “Many things can surprise you, but surprise can bring you immediate defeat. Be aware of your surroundings and your situation before taking any action. The hasty move is often the one that goes amiss. Punching someone the moment they touch you is not always the wisest action.” Of course, she didn’t know what I meant. To demonstrate, I lifted her skirt. She yelped and pulled it back down. The innocent white cotton look, I thought. I circled in front of her and brushed my hand against her thigh. Her body shivered involuntarily. “What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing me cautiously. I smiled. “Actually, I’m not doing much. Just grazing past you.” My shoulder brushed against her breast. The softness indicated she wasn’t wearing a bra. As soon as I got behind her, I turned and grabbed her chest, giving her large boobs a mighty squeeze. She reacted by slamming her elbow into my chin.
“Oh shit!” she gasped, seeing the damage done. “I didn’t mean to!” I staggered around a bit before regaining my composure. “That’s kind of what I meant by acting appropriately,” I muttered, rubbing my bruising chin. “If you did that while you were surrounded by others, you would not get out in one piece. Patience, and the opportunities will come.” She was starting to understand. “So if I can train myself to not be embarrassed by someone grabbing me, I can better protect myself?” It was paradoxical, but she was making sense of it. We continued the exercise by touching her exposed skin, accustoming her to the unfamiliar sensation of someone touching her, something she normally despised. I started with her arms and legs, gradually moving over her buttocks. Here she showed some discomfort, but gradually got used to my touch. By the time I moved to her stomach and chest, she was confident. I noticed her nipples hardening, though it had nothing to do with the cold. I gently massaged her breasts. She didn’t react, at least not right away.
Wanting to push the boundaries further, I reached under her skirt and pulled her panties down. She stepped out of them, not showing any concern that I was looking at and touching her exposed ass. I ran my hands up her hips and undid her skirt, letting it fall to the mat. Then, slowly, I took off her top. Naked, she stood with her arms by her sides, not hiding anything. “Very good,” I whispered. “Can you feel how different it is?”
“It’s embarrassing,” she admitted. “But yes, you’re right. I could’ve stopped you at any point. I just needed to calm down and assess the situation.” I nodded and gave her clothes back to her. “That’s all I can teach you.”
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