“A knife is just a tool, Sarah.”Ben must have sensed her unease.“A tool with many uses.It can be deadly, but not necessarily.Get used to its weight in your hand.”
She tested the weight, and with the barest touch, traced the edge with her finger.“So sharp.”She shivered.“It’s a killing tool.”
“Now, check out the other one,” he directed.“That’s my Ka-bar.”
Placing the big knife back down, she chose the smaller weapon, although it was by no means small.
“Keep going.”He nodded again toward the table.
Bewildered, she looked over the t-shirt and water bottles and couldn’t imagine he meant those.She touched the black marker.“This?”
“Yup.We’ll play a little game.You use that marker like a knife and hit me as many times as you can while I try to stop you.That’s why my shirt’s off.”
“Oh.”She inspected the marker.“I thought you just wanted me to ogle your muscles.”
He looked at her narrowly, and his gaze was still scorching.“Do youwantto ogle my muscles?”
“No.Not interested, sorry.”She made the denial plain, to convince him.And herself.
“A shame,” he said, sounding regretful.“Okay, got your marker?”
She held up the pen.“I suppose it’s safer than a knife.”
“We’ll begin with some basic body skills.”He went into a slight crouch, elbows bent, hands ready to grab.“Do what I’m doing.Okay, go.”
Sarah crouched, gripping the marker in her right hand, and raised it high over her head.Planning to slash down at him, she was surprised when his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, immobilizing her before she could strike.
He held her arm above their heads firmly, their bodies close.“You’ve chosen a Reverse grip.”He looked down at her.His eyes were intense, and she discovered they were flecked with an interesting green.His bare chest was inches from hers.“At times, it can be useful.For now, I’m recommending you use a Forward Hammer Grip.”Taking the marker from her, he placed it back into her hand with the ‘butt’ toward her stomach, and the ‘blade’ pointing up.“Okay, I’m going to make a lunge for you.You defend.”
Immediately, Sarah saw that this grip was better, and when he shot out his hand, she struck back toward his belly.He easily evaded her, jumping to the side.She tried again and he swatted her arm away.Once again, she thrust out.
“Keep your body behind the knife,” he said, “and don’t reach out so far—it makes you vulnerable.Use short, fast strikes.You’re aiming for my stomach, throat, face, and knife hand.”
Again and again, she tried branding him with the marker, but he easily outmaneuvered her.He pretended to strike at her with his own nonexistent knife, poking her shoulder, her stomach, her neck.
“Always face your attacker,” he instructed.“Use your left arm to fend off the stabs.Imagine there’s a magnet pointing your knife to his.”
She took a sideways swipe, barely missing him.
“See how your non-dominant wrist is facing toward me?That’s wrong.Turn your arm inward so you show only the back of your hand.You don’t want to give your attacker an opportunity to slice open those critical arteries.”
“Okay.”She turned her wrist around.
“Now, tuck in your chin.This protects your throat.Keep parrying and dodging your opponent’s striking arm.”They danced around, him poking at her, Sarah trying to find an opening.Over and over Ben hit her hand away, pivoted constantly.
Distracted by his ridged stomach and muscled arms, Sarah found the fight more difficult.Whether she wanted him around or not, needed him to protect her or not, he had an incredible magnetism she couldn’t deny.It called to the traitorous, womanly parts of her, the parts which hadn’t been touched in a long, long time.
As they battled, Sarah felt a certain rhythm in their dance.Thrust.Parry.Dodge.Pivot.They moved together in a strange synchronicity.And still, she couldn’t manage to touch him with her marker.Each time he advanced, she barely evaded him.Over and over, he pretended to use his phantom knife, his finger, to stab her.Each time he hit her arm, she felt a small pain, and it made her hesitate to become more aggressive.She needed an aide, something to help get inside his circle of defense.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the wadded t-shirt on the workbench and took sideways steps to grab it.Quickly, she wrapped it around her left hand and arm, holding it bound in her fingers.
Now emboldened by the new protection, she used her covered left arm to advance, to take his blows, now blunted by the t-shirt, and at last managed to swipe her marker across his stomach.
He halted the exercise by raising a hand.“Well done!”His eyes glittered with admiration.“And you found something in your environment to help protect you, the t-shirt.Smart thinking.Let’s take a break.”
Breathing hard, she straightened.“Okay.”
Leaning against the workbench, he relaxed.“Knife fighting isn’t really about fighting.”He handed her a water bottle.“It’s about defending yourself and surviving.”
