of some sort, and then a couple more gold ones. I wonder what those are for?
Slowly getting up from the seat, she allowed the black throw to fall to the floor. She journeyed over to the glass table that held his closed laptop, a notepad, a canister full of ink pens and a letter opener. Carefully picking up the crystal trophy shaped like a globe with both hands, she took a closer look. The etching read: Pro-Bono and Service Award.
She read it again… and again. Every time she thought she had this son of a bitch down pat, figured out, something new came into the picture and threw her off her game. Tossed her for a wild loop. He’s charitable. Wow. She picked up one of the two gold trophies next. It was heavy, well made, a bit silly in design. Two men were entangled in a fight of sorts. It read: First Place Winner Heavyweight Judo.
She picked up the second gold award, this one shaped like a star and read it, too: Second Place Winner in Illinois Summit Judo Conference.
Her attention was drawn to a black binder and white bin that was chock full of shiny ribbons, so many the top of the bin was placed underneath it to catch the overflow. Oh… these look like medals. Leaning over the box, she peered inside and thumbed through them, reading some of the words engraved on the gold, silver, and bronze discs: Judo Third Black Belt, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu Black Belt… so many. He told me he did martial arts as a kid, but I had no idea he’d been this heavily involved. Wow. I hope he doesn’t mind me looking at these. I mean, they were sitting out…
She opened the binder and found herself looking at the headshot of young, dark-haired boy who favored Nixon. Was it him? Perhaps. The kid was sporting a big, toothy grin as if the world were his oyster. The next photo was definitely him, maybe just a year or two older. It was an old, worn Polaroid picture. He was dressed in a white robe, similar to the ones worn by children learning karate. She turned to another page to see more of the same, and as she continued to flip through, the boy got older and older, and she was now certain it was Nixon. In one, he held a huge trophy as he stood in a large arena, a guy with a mic next to him. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one years old. Then there were photos of a woman and other children around him. Maybe that was his mother?
By the time she was half way through the book, he was an adult, with far more trophies, ribbons, and medals. Incredible.
“Martial arts.”
She jumped when she heard his deep, booming voice, then turned around and faced him while he towel-dried his hair. His skin was wet; maybe the water didn’t want to let go of him. After all, she suffered from the same affliction. His now resting dick swung as he stepped closer. “I have studied one form or another since I was nine years old.”
“I hope you aren’t upset that I took a look. They were sitting out, so…”
He waved his hand and shook his head, dismissing her concern.
When he reached her, he stood before her like some drill sergeant. Eyes darkened, lips pursed and possessiveness and power in his eyes, his expression. He flung the small towel over his shoulder, kissed her on the forehead, then reached around and pinched her ass.
“Ouch!”
He gave no explanation, but she knew damn well why. It was a warning about looking through his belongings – a way of telling her that he didn’t mind, but she had to be punished all the same. She rubbed her sore ass cheek while he went to look out the window. Standing there in the buff, his body became a dark outline, an amazing silhouette against the city lights.
“I took karate as a kid, then Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and judo. Me, my two sisters and brother were encouraged at an early age to get involved in a sport, music, something. My mother didn’t play that. She didn’t want any of us not doing anything, lying around the house watching television, playing video games all day or on the phone for hours at a time after school. She didn’t want us not finding a way to express ourselves, discover our passions. So, I asked to get into martial arts.”
“Oh,