Word of the Day: Subjugate


Subjugate (v.)- to bring under complete control; master

His punch didn’t hurt as much as I thought a punch should’ve felt. Maybe because my head is just really that hard or maybe he just took a gamble he wasn’t quite ready for. Either way, I know now I can take a hit. I recover fast enough to dodge his next punch and the next; my confidence building, my grin twisting. Similar to most things, the best way to get over a fear is to do it. Getting licked was no different. But all over a girl? It was nothing but a kiss.

As if my thoughts were exhibits for him to regard at his leisure, his brows corrugate in a fiery frustration as he comes at me with splayed arms to tackle me. I flex my stomach and we collide like rhinos, me having to widen my stance defensively since he had a running start. His arms hook around my waist and I feel him try to throw me to the ground. What a rookie mistake. I throw my arms around his neck into a choke hold and subjugate him to his knees by squeezing–no, crushing his windpipe with the bony side of my forearm. I grab hold of my wrist to secure my grip and feel his hollow throat folding under the pressure I am exerting. It’s only a matter of time before it’s all over.

He finally lets go and I look up at her with a nasty grin. Blonde hair, red lips, brown eyes. Taken. He is mine as are you. She gasps. My blood boils at the sight. Now, I want more than a kiss from her, more out of spite than desire. Not sure what that makes me, but I don’t give a shit right now. He should’ve never tried me. It was a cheap shot.

She had been screaming our names, but now she is only screaming mine. The way it should be. She wants me to let go. I demand silence with a stern look and return my attention to the pissant underneath my arm.

“You done?!” He was still throwing harmless blows to my ribs. I chuckle. Guess not. Looking back, I don’t know why I asked. He can’t even breath, much less talk. I decide to not let him go, to let him fight, and eventually drift until consciousness is no more because I can tell he doesn’t really want to give up. Some people have to learn the hard way. I feel his helplessness and look at hers. Power. It’s the only word that comes to mind. He’s weak and doesn’t deserve you. Don’t you see that?  I would subjugate her soon enough in more…sensuous ways.

I feel him go limp under my grip. I drop him to the sands, the sound of the ocean roaring at us in rage…or excitement. I can’t tell. I check his pulse to make sure he isn’t dead. He isn’t. I grin.

But his chances with her are.

Word of the Day: Virile


Virile (adj.): 

  1. of, pertaining to, characteristic of, or befitting a man; masculine; manly
  2. having or characterized by strength and energy


One second remained on the clock and we are down one. I look up at the dry erase board from the end of the bench, barely hearing what coach’s game plan was while other plays are forming in my mind. One second is enough time to do what needs to be done. It’s not impossible but I’m going to need a back up plan, just in case, if we are to win. I can already tell coach’s play is going to be too predictable.

The buzzer sounds and the time to take care of business is finally here. My favorite time.

The clutch.

We put our hands together and harrumph on my countdown. Just one of my many responsibilities as captain of the team. It’s around this time, the moment talk loses its value and action replaces it, that everything starts to slow down for me. When everything makes sense for me. Talk is cheap. All I’ve ever asked from another is to show me what you’ve done. Respect lies there.

I make eye contact with coach. He has placed all of his faith in me again. That’s what that look he is giving me says. He had drawn up a play for me to shoot a three-pointer at the top of the key although my shot has been off all game. None of the other guys say anything as we make our way back onto the court after the timeout. They don’t have to. Their doubt is loud enough. Damn flakers. I don’t care for what they think I can do. I am the team’s leading scorer for a reason and performing under the pressure is what they pay me to do. But I have to admit, this night is different.

My girlfriend committed suicide this morning; a knife to the throat. Her handwriting on the note was hardly legible due to the fact large smudges had stained the paper in spots where her tears had fallen. I’m sorry was all she had wrote. News reached me first through her parents, their sobs bleeding through the phone and into my heart. Crushed thing. And now, I am playing in the most important game of the season with that on my mind. The championship game. What good are emotions if they get in the way of what you’re trying to do? My frustration is more focused on why she would do such a thing to me instead of why I can’t seem to throw the basketball in the ocean. Wasn’t what we had enough for her? Was it something I did? Something I said?

I swear at my roving thoughts. Now is not the time to teeter between my love for her and my love for this game. Such an unfair fight anyway. No wonder I’m struggling between my commitments as a boyfriend and my duties as our best player. No one should have to go through this. Not to mention, the guy guarding me is playing extremely physical. I stare him down as we get into position on the court. He is taller than me and virile, his muscles flexing with the least bit of effort. We exchange silent words of war. I have to focus if I’m to beat him this time. There is one second for me to prove my worth yet again. One second out of thousands. The referee gives my teammate the ball to inbound it and I push her from my mind with all the strength I could muster, until it hurt, and the moment becomes the moment.

Winning time.