Feminine Governance

Interview Two

Interview TwoPuissance!

I always liked that word. Something anatomically limited in most women. Hormone levels, nature’s manifest for body fat, the predilection to nurture rather than physically confront... I suppose all lead to the feminine softness men lack yet covet.

Still, on occasion there are women who defy nature’s protocol perhaps through hormonal enhancement, or better... are genetically offered a predisposition for physical power.

Such is the case with Monique MacDonald. A young woman of color she is well educated, trained in the military and according to the Women’s Wrestling Federation, the latest harlequin to join the circus of professional wrestling.

Knowing something of her background, yes my internet research, I am shocked that a soldier decorated in Afghanistan would seek to participate in such buffoonery. Yet there she is being interviewed for television, her scripted, comically bellicose words suggesting annihilation for the next woman stepping into the ring.

Yes, she’s learning well the verbal trope of her new profession. But I believe there can be more dignified and satisfying employment.

As Nurse Heinrik suggested, I am a woman of resources. A simple call to the management of the Palladium, site of Ms. MacDonald’s forthcoming wrestling encounter, provides ringside access hours before the scheduled match. As her recorded interview, hyping women’s wrestling, comes to a conclusion, I note the diction is that of a street urchin, the words used, the enunciation, in noted contrast with a woman graduating from the academy, obtaining an Ivy League master’s degree and then bravely volunteering twice for stints in the Middle East.

“I’m gonna emulsify...” she effusively reiterates in the background as the interviewer turns to the camera to sign off.

At six foot two, I am sure the eyes of those aficionados of the WWF are glued to biceps which defy all feminine decorum. The woman is buffed and I note the cameraman pans back to capture the entire magnificence of her provocative physicality.

Puissance indeed. She dwarfs the male interviewer both in height and girth... though I doubt there is an ounce of unnecessary body fat. In being all muscle... her thighs and calves bulge, her abdominals ripple. The exposed expanse of her mocha flesh has been oiled to a sheen which fans will find enticing. I am sure males with a certain predilection fantasize about being held in her overpowering grip.

“Ms. MacDonald, may I have a word?”

She politely concurs, her off camera manners quickly reverting to the reserved comportment of her years at the academy and in military service.

“I am Elizabeth Bouvier. A fan... sort of. Our majority interest in the Palladium has been shamelessly used to gain proximity.”

She smiles, the extreme whiteness of her teeth contrasting beautifully with the deep brown of her skin. With an athletic yet feminine gait she steps forth to greet me most cordially. Her offered words are those of the King’s English, her diction impressive.

“But I have only been in one match... and that was just a brief exhibition.”

“Well I meant a fan of your career... in the military.”

She becomes demure, almost rather shy. And I know why.

After two decorations for bravery, she suddenly offered to resign her commission and the Army, though very much in need of her service, graciously concurred and sent her stateside to be mustered out. There is more to the story. And once again the speculative blogosphere of the internet offers to placate the mystery.

Major MacDonald encountered a member of the Taliban hassling young Afghani women attempting to attend school. The man was initially adamant yet Major MacDonald ended the hassling as the young women received a lesson in feminine empowerment. The details of the mayhem have been squelched. But there is speculation that the tyrant, under Islamic lore, may no longer be able to enjoy the 72 virgins promised in martyrdom. Something about a series of very swift and powerful kicks to the groin...

“I have heard of the Bouvier family and fortune. Thank you for your interest,” her words genuinely offered.

I smile. That is a convenient opening. No need to offer financial bona fides to back up my prospective offer.

“Let’s talk,” I suggest gently gripping a forearm the size of a grizzly bear’s. “There may be no need for you to rumble about half naked in a circus ring.”

She smiles politely, awareness apparent that both the tight white leather bikini bottom and the white leather bodice, more formidable in supporting massive breasts which blanket firm muscling, offer little covering. I have struck a nerve, fully knowing that after a life of honor and prestige, Ms. MacDonald has been forced to make some choices. Difficult yes. Some pride swallowed without doubt. But just what does a well muscled sss, exemplary education aside, do to achieve an above average living?

I have just the proposal.