We had often talked about our histories and experiences in the martial arts. In fact, that was how we had met. I would often see you at local tournaments and admire you from a distance. Now, nearly fifteen years later, we were together and I could admire you from any distance I so chose.
During one of our conversations, the joke had come up of who could have beaten whom should we have ever competed against each other. As the joke had been raised, so had our curiosities. Even after months of talking, we were still curious.
Unlike a similar discussion would have been with any other man, I was never once threatened by your boastful jests that you could have easily beaten me. Instead, I was intrigued. I thought long and hard upon the possibility that you may actually be able to beat me and not once did it bother me at all.
Finally, one day, the opportunity arose in which to test the question. We had attended my old class, watching the fluid grace of the experienced students and the struggles of the new. Somehow I had been roped into closing up shop but I did not complain.
After everyone else had departed, leaving us alone to clean up what little was left to clean, you smiled and shoved me playfully. You assumed your stance and challenged me, beckoning forward with your hand in a manner reminiscent of Bruce Lee. I smiled and shrugged, assuming my own stance.
And we moved, attacking each other, testing the other's defenses. You were taller than me and, not being used to competing against women, your center of gravity and balance was not what I was expecting. My slight confusion left you an opening and you took it.
