Its been 5 years since I left my family. It seems so much longer to me though. But that was the only way I could survive. It all started before I was born, actually even further than that if I understand the family history. It started with a feud over a stupid pig. A pig have made its way over the fence of some family yard into a neighbors yard and ate their turnip patch.
The fight was as simple as that. It was during hard times when food was tough to get or something its a little vague. The neighbors killed the pig and smoked it. It was our pig and it was found since the brand was still on the skin of the now smoked ham. Arguments went back and forth till one or the other got out some hoe or pitchfork and hurt someone. Ie they bled.
Add 100 years or so of people fighting at odd points along with carefully cultivated and horded wealth to get the other guy and you have two rather large and wealthy families that constantly attack the other with whatever new gadget or weapon or whatever.
7 years ago I was a happy boy of 12 learning his kata's of the family fighting style. My name them was Ken. During a midnight raid on our wing of the family home I got gassed and hauled away for 21 days of pain. I just remember the pain of being turned into what I am now. They just injected me with something and after 25 days I was pushed out of a moving van in front of home. There is no proof that the Asmboles did it as they were very careful to hide their faces from me as well as cover all their tracks.
What happened though was I was changed from a boy ,and at the time young heir to the house, into this pathetic female form. I hate it every single day. I didn't want it, didn't ask for it, nor for any of the junk that I have been put through since.
The first day I was home I was treated as a total stranger. It took me quite awhile to convince them I was who I said I was. Once I was healed enough and strong enough I showed them some of my moves which finally did the trick. I didn't have anywhere near the strenght or stamina I used to and my balance was seriously off but I did my kata's complete at least. Our family has a specific style of martial arts fighting. It's a mix of Tichi,judo,karate,jitsu, and a bit of kung fu all in one. I know that doesn't make a lot of sense but its the best description I can think of. The kata is a slow movement form of all the moves we practice. Generally we do this for 2 hours a day however I was a bit of a nut.
I used to spend every spare moment learning all the moves and practicing them. Some are really difficult to do against the others and the katas change for every person since there is no specific order to practice them. Many of the guys do only half the more easier moves. The grandfather head is always the one who actually knows them all and can use them in combat. I knew them all by age 12 and could use almost half of them in combat. That was more than most of my older cousins and uncles could do. My father knows them all and used to be able to do most of them in combat until he got injured in a fight against Asmbole head family member Mr. Simon Asmbole XX1. Yes they name the family head after the first one all those years ago.
For that first month I was treated almost like normal I could wear my gi or any of my other clothes that still fit. Father was trying to find a way to get me changed back. I was not looked at because of my appearance but at least I was still mostly treated like a guy. I used to be 5'8" and 195 pounds of pure muscle well on my way to being maybe 6 feet at age 18 or close to anyways. After my forced change I was 5'2" 108 pounds soaking wet. I still mostly looked like myself. I had lost my square jaw and prominent nose but the face was otherwise mine. Same ears, eyes, and mouth. Although my lips were a little more puffy. My voice went from a crackling basso to a soprano again. I had strong hands before that were replaced with tiny skinny hands. My once size 8 feet were now a size 5.
At the end of the first month no answers could be found to make me whole again. I remember that last night of normalcy well. I was walking back to my room with a mild stomach ache when I felt something slide down my leg. I screamed as it was blood. I asked to be rushed to a hospital and wish I had. No such luck as it was then found out by all who heard me, which was most, that I was an eligible breeding female.
I know that in our family that women are treated alright for the most part. They always get nice clothes to wear and never have to handle anything heavy. But its the rules that bother me. Women to not fight. Women do not wear pants. Women do not boss men around .. until they are a grandmother anyways. It was the first one that hit me hard.
That first night a few of my previous possessions were moved from my room on the mens side, a room I had been in all my life, to a new room on the women's side. I spent most of that first night in a room surrounded by my cousins, aunts, mother and grandmother as they tried to explain to me how to take care of a little female problem that would occur every month. I screamed, I yelled, I got slapped once or twice gently but firmly to get me under control.
The next morning when I woke up in my new room I found myself in some girls nightie with something very uncomfortable stuffed up inside me. I ripped off the nightie and tried to get the thing out of me but mom and grandmother stopped me from hurting myself. I spent much of that first week either crying sleeping or having screaming matches at any and every family member that came into range. I rarely left my room and would not accept wearing female clothing. By the end of the week my now stained gi was beginning to smell. I kept asking for clothing but they always brought me female dresses or skirts. Even the underwear was the same I would ask for normal underwear and would be brought panties and camisoles.
After I finished my first period and calmed down somewhat a few days later grandmother and mom tried to get me to wear girls clothing. First it was gently as they wouldn't let me leave my room. One night I snuck out of my new room to go to my old one for something to wear. The room I had grown up in was now empty of everything I had growing up. My models I had painstakingly made from scratch were gone. I'll be the first to admit my first model wasn't that good but the last one I was making was turning out to be quite good. The models I made were fashioned from clay I had sifted and dried before specially mixing them myself. I would cure them in a fire pit with a cover I had made all by myself. The pit was still out back of my old room but the kiln was gone along with all my clays. My clothes were all missing as well.
It was in my old room that my father found me the next morning. I guess he heard a sound or something as he walked by. When he saw that I was still wearing the same gi I had worn for the last week he forcibly removed it from me. I was then dragged kicking and screaming naked across the yard to the women's section where my very pissed off grandmother and mother were. They had me take a bath in very soapy and smelling water. By the time I emerged I smelled strongly, at least to me, of flowers. My hair which wasn't that long was restyled and cut into a girls cut. I was instructed, while my grandmother kept a firm hand on my earlobe, in how to put on a girls bra. I didn't need one but they made me put it on along with panties, a skirt that came to my ankles and a blouse. The skirt was made of a tough material and didn't allow me any freedom to move my legs. It hobbled me badly causing me to fall over a few times.
I was told that my new name was Katia and as a female member of the household I would learn to cook, sew, clean house, as well as take care of children. I refused of course. By the end of the second week my earlobes were quite swollen and my mouth was never cleaner from sucking on lye soap. The more I resisted the more punishment I got. Cleaning bathrooms is not fun nor did I ever realize just how many dishes my family produced.
All that bothered me some but nothing like what I got when my father caught me one morning doing my kata's. He got so mad at me that he called for my grandfather. I was dragged in front of him where I was told to sit. I couldn't sit like I used to cross legged either. I had to sit women's style on my feet knees together. I was told in no uncertain terms that if I was caught practicing fighting again I would be punished in front of the family with they paddle. The paddle is an old wooden paddle. The punishment is to put someone in just their underwear with their hands tied into a rope. They would then be paddled once by each and every member of the family. They were not paddled hard so don't get any ideas. It was just that the shame of having it done was more than enough.
Of course the next day I got caught since I love the martial arts. That afternoon I got my first of a number of paddles. I refused to give in so day after day, once I had recovered, I would be right back out. I should mention that our family is actually quite large maybe 20-30 people in the compound at any given time. So after say 15 people paddle you it starts to get tender down there.
After the 8th time mom or grandmother would be with me from waking to the time I slept to make sure I did not attempt any more kata's. They kept trying to make a young lady out of me like my sister and girl cousins. By the third month I was actually starting to get some of it. I would never be graceful at least not the way they wanted me to be anyways but at least I started to walk feminine and graduated from the hobble skirts to knee length. I also got used to putting on a training bra every morning and brushing my hair out into something presentable. I would still freak out during my period but nothing like that first week.
As a treat grandmother tried to teach me how to do the family dance. It was slower than any of my kata's were and the moves were very fluid. It was an allowable outlet for me to do something. I trained hard in it as most of my female cousins could do it quite well. My sister was a little too young to learn it yet since she was 7 years old. Each week a different aunt would be the dorm mother and would sleep in the same wing as the girls. I was always watched like a hawk by one of my aunts and my grandmother. I should have known better that last morning but I really was trying to learn a new and somewhat more complicated part of the dance. The way grandmother was trying to teach me wasn't working so I was on the dance floor section trying to move in the way grandmother had shown me. Its was very similar to the 14th move we men use in the fighting style. A style I had learned by muscle memory at the age of 7. I started off with the move slowing it down bit by bit into what I had hoped was a close approximation of what gran had shown me. I guess in my concentration I had automatically moved into my following kata moves without realizing it until my father came up and slapped me hard across the face.
He was livid! I remember him yelling at me before he started to kick me. I know that he had totally lost it and was far beyond himself but he couldn't stop. I was the embarrassment to the family he said. I couldn't seem to learn the simpliest thing that I was a woman now. I had made the family a laughing stock when the few guests that came could see how the once proud pride of the family was now a poor excuse for a girl. No man would even consider me as an acceptable consort for his family's sons or nephews. He went on and on. The kicks were minor and the most I got was a bruise or two. My face was red but that wasn't the part that did it for me. It was the pain in his words. The same pain I had told myself a number of times. The pain I could see in each and every male member's face when I looked.
That night one of my very drunk older male cousin's decided it was his responsibility to teach me my place by trying to rape me. I was terrified when I realized what he wanted to do. It took all my strength and unpracticed but still well known fighting ability to finally fight him off. I was by far weaker than him. It was in no doubt that the only reason I was able to fight him off was because his drunkenness had slowed his reflexes.
I knew then that my childhood home was no longer a home for me. Late at night after everyone was fast asleep I stole out of my room with a pillowcase of underwear under my arm. I made my way to the laundry and stole some of my younger cousins gi's that I knew would fit me. From the kitchen I stole some foods and then tied my improvised bag before I scaled the back wall of the family compound. It was not that hard years ago I had found a few handholds that could just be reached to help one climb over the wall.
By the time the sun was up in the sky the next morning I had walked to the less occupied part of town. It wasn't that it was a bad neighboorhood. It was just that since the advent of more modern trucks hauling across the land instead of around it by train these one fine office buildings were slowly crumbling away. I was passing just such a building whose lower levels appeared burnt out from a long gone fire when I was almost hit in the head by a can. If not from my quick reflexes I would probably have suffered a good headache when I heard someone yell from overhead of me to watch out.
It was an old coffee can filled with what looked like dirt or ashes of some type. I squinted overhead against the rising sun and found a wizened old figure looking down. That was the first time I ever saw old Ed. I guess it was fate that brought that moment about for the two of us. Either way to this day I'm quite thankful for it. I could have ended up as some cheap street tramp selling my body for sex just to eat my next meal. Old Ed was getting on in his years and lowered a rope over the side of one of the collapsed floors. I climbed that rope up to meet him. He introduced himself as Ed and I introduced myself as Katia before I could stop myself. He fed me my first breakfast of vegetable soup that morning. We seemed to hit it off and I just moved in that day so to speak. Ed was getting too old to climb up and down the rope to do simple rounds of shopping or collecting cans and bottles. He taught me how to find those hidden bottles and cans and where to trade them in from such things as seeds, meats, or as was becoming more and more necessary medicines for him.
Old Ed had lived in that building most of his life and refused to move out after it had burned 14 years ago. he had this small apartment on the top floor that had its own rooftop area where he had brought up dirt years ago and made a sizable garden. He also had some chickens in a cobbled together coup. In a lower office was a small cast iron safe. In there was his life savings. I do not know how much was originally in there but I do know it has lasted years.
For a year I lived with Ed going out more and more by myself to get things for him and run the few small errands he had me do. With my collecting of bottles, both plastic and glass, along with cans I was able to even put a small amount aside of my own savings after buying my share of foods. I always wore my gi wherever I went as I didn't grab any of the female clothing when I ran away. I was quite happy till the one morning I went to greet Ed and instead found him still in his bed. He had a really bad fever and his pulse was not good. I left the building to search for a doctor but by the time I returned with one and got him up the rope Old Ed was dead. The Doctor was a long time friend of the strange old hermit and it was he who helped me bury him with a grave I had chiseled out of some cheap marble. He held me as I cried and even offered to help me find my parents to live with. When I told him no he dropped the matter.
I had been on my own in the building for 5 years. Each day I did my kata's becoming stronger. I found a used broken telescope at one point and brought it home. I figured I might repair it enough to sell but I found a much better use for it. There is only so many ways one can practice day in and day out a set of moves. I probably knew them all by muscle memory at the end of that first year by myself. With the telescope however I found I could see into other far away dojos where different forms where being displayed. At first it took me quite awhile to put into use the ones I saw in the telescope.
There was quite a lot of dojos around with different forms of martial arts fighting being taught. I learned them all as it was all I did day in and day for 5 years. I had no schooling to go to. I had no job that I needed to be at. Nothing but practices each art move. After awhile I started to see patterns of how the moves worked and the best ways to improve upon my own moves and those that I had learned. I used that old building as my personal training dojo. Exposed beams and conduits became my gym and balance beams. Old boards combined with ropes or old cabling became obstacle courses.
It was in my 3rd year where I was by now probably 15 years of age when I discovered something else. If I moved my body fighting against itself for practice free form kata's when I actually used the move my reaction times were incredibly quick. I also found that it was easier to break a board, I had no saw, if I put my target beyond the board. Not much beyond but beyond the board. Thus began my training in what I call bone breaking. I call it that because the streets were not friendly to a girl, and by now I did have quite the noticeable chest, and I needed to defend myself. My practice with the martial arts served me very well the few times I was caught. Until then most would walk away with a few bruises or bruised egos. That one time however without thinking I broke a guys leg bone above the kneecap. He went into shock almost immediately and the police were called in but I was long gone.
It was not the first nor the last time I would have to resort to use of bone busting force to get an over zealous man to back off. I bathed regularly but didn't have a very good mirror. I brushed out my hair everyday and put it into a ponytail. When it became too long I would trim it or later put it into a braid. My first few braid were probably terrible. But it was also a handy weapon in a fight as with a flick of my head a braid acted like a whip on a person face distracting them enough.
Word on the street got around, I guess, about a female street fighter that was trained or something. It started off with one or two fights against skilled opponents that grew to weekly fights against someone new. I guess the doctor friend of Eds got wind of it after reseting shoulders and arms along with casts and he got some street thugs to arrange a more controlled exhibition in a, at first, badly improvised ring.
Eventually I was fighting in a ring of mats on the floor against opponents three times my, now fullgrown, size of 5' 6 1/2 inches. I weighed a 134 pounds. Every muscle was trained and strong. My reach was nothing like my mostly male opponents but my agility and dexterity more than made up for it. My gis were taking a beating and with rags improvised to hold my breasts in place things were getting skimpy for me. The doctor came to my rescue with a woman who made me some embarrassingly female attire.
Instead of my normal gi I now wore a costume of a womans body suit like a one piece bathing suit from crotch to neck held around the back of my neck in a tie. around my waist was a yellow colored sash made of satin. the body suit was of a blue material that matched my blue eyes quite well. Her name was Margrette and was probably close to 50 years of age. She never once pressured me to wear anything she just gave me the outfit and if I wore it I wore it. If I didn't oh well.
I guess it was because of her kindness that I came to trust her. She got me a pair of blue calf boots made with a leather bottom and a split toe. On my hands and wrist I wore a glove/brace thing also in blue. While she did know, along with everyone else I preferred to go by the name Ken they assumed it was short for Kendra.
I was never once contacted by my family even though I missed them somewhat at times. It was during one of my fights against a strong opponent that I got a surprise. When I was growing up I had met a few of the Asmboles while I was going to a cliche private school for boys. It was one such Asmbole by the name of Arnold that came to the fight to try and teach the upstart girl a lesson. It was just his bad luck to show up all cocky that set off my temper. I didn't let my anger control me I was far to smart for that. I did however let the adrenaline of what was done to me all those years ago push my strength far past what I should have been able to do. My moves were sharper and clearer. My reflexes were faster. In short I beat the tar out of him and broke a number of his ribs along with both arms, his jaw, and one leg in the span of 2 minutes. When he hit the mat he was totally out cold and his arms and leg were in the wrong position.
I found out later he was considered to be a second degree dan fighter. It was bad, really bad as his family was out for my hide in the worst way. They used their money to pay off people to try and find my hideout. I became a prisoner in my own apartment as I saw through my telescope all these people looking for me day after day.
I was tending to my garden the one day when I heard movement behind me. I spun around into a ready stance to face a group of street thugs. There was perhaps 20 of them there. I was told about the reward posted by the Asmboles for my head. They had come to collect on it as it had grown to a sizable reward of a half million. they gave me the option of paying them off or fighting. It was not really an option I could take since they knew I had no real money except what I had earned on the street fight bets. To give them credit they did get in a few good hits but I eventually beat them off. I knew at the end they would come back the next day with more guys and probably a few guns. I had little choice but to pack up what I could carry, which was not much and seek a new place to hide. Eds old safe had served as a place to put my money as I just didn't feel right spending what he had left for me in his handwritten will.
In the end I took my one good gi that had the family logo on it, the reason I never used it, along with my new fighting outfits and all the money from the safe. I let the chickens go free but they stayed around the coup hoping for the next mornings feed. I packed up what few edible carrots and turnip into my rescued, cleaned and fixed, hikers backpack and set off for a new hideout.
I stayed here and there a few nights but they did not remain safe. The streets were no longer a hiding place for me from the Asmboles. It was a surprise to me that the one morning I found myself outside my old home that I had run away from all 6 years before. I was hungry and had not really had a good meal in a few nights since I was chased whenever I set foot somewhere to get something to eat. My carrots and turnips were long gone. It was only a matter of time before I ran out of energy to keep fighting. I had almost turned around to keep walking when my mother walked out the door of the compound.
We stared at each other for a few minutes. I saw that the years since I last saw her had been kind not much had changed on her. She now had one or two grey hairs on her head and the beginnings of crows feet at the corner of her eyes. I knew I was not the same young boy turned girl she had tried to feminize years before. I had grown into full womanhood so to speak and was quite shapely now. All my visible muscles, and that fighters outfit left little to the imagination were all toned. Working day after day in the sun on my garden had also left me with a tan on my exposed arms and legs. Still somehow she knew.
"Katia?" she asked or more likely guessed.
"Hi mom." what else could I say? I fully expected her to tell me to leave at once. Instead she crushed me in a hug. That hug felt so good I can't describe it. For the first time since that night I left I shed tears openly and without shame into my mothers blouse. I didn't even notice that I had dropped by backpack nor that my father had also come out. When we separated at last I faced my father who also had a few tears on his cheek. My father had never cried once in his life but that day he did.
I had been living by myself and away from this place for years but for some reason I reverted to my child like self in front of him and put my hands behind my back shuffling my feet looking down. I felt that he would scold me or something like he used to. He didn't instead he pulled me into himself for a hug which I reluctantly returned. He started babbling at me apologizing for driving me away. I shed more tears and tried to apologize for my rude behavior when I was younger. He instead said it was his fault for not trying harder to give me what I needed as his child.
Dad grabbed my bag and lifted it over his bad shoulder and refused to let me carry it as both mom and dad insisted I come home. I walked into that yard that as a young I had run from one end to another. I remembered everything I saw but what really surprised me was the statue in the middle. It was a much bigger and mostly finished statue of the last model I had made. Dad got embarrassed when mom told me that dad had been the one to take all the old models I had made out of clay and kept them in their room. It was he who fought tooth and nail with grandpa over the statue after I left.
I guess the commotion my parents made over me was overheard by the rest of the family and soon one by one my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents came out to see that I had returned. It was really touching that these same people who treated me so badly all those years ago were now falling over themselves blaming themselves for driving me away. It touched me deeply. My rumbling stomach however alerted them to my hunger and I was stuffed with all the food I could eat. Once my appetite was satisfied I was encouraged to tell my story of what I had been up to all this time.
Bit by bit my sordid tale came out. My lean toned body gave credence to my claim to be that streetfighter known as Kendra. My outfit although stained helped some. Most of the family believed me mostly but grandfather claimed it was because I was a woman that the men through the fight.I argued against that but he was a stubborn old fool I'll give him that. Dad was all for us going to the dojo to see if my claim was genuine right then and there but grandmother overode him claiming I needed a good bath, clean outfit, and a good nights rest first.
Even though I still don't like the flowery smell they insist on putting into the bathwater having a bath in warm water that is not rainwater with soap that doesn't make my skin itch felt wonderful. So did the extra care mom took into shampooing my hair 3 times and then conditioning it before trimming it. When she was done I had lost a few inches but not to much and a brush went through it a heck of a lot easier. After my bath I was lent some clothing. A new pair of panties had been retrieved from somewhere along with a rather embarrassing scanty bra to fit my c cup breasts. Some things never change as I was giving a blouse and skirt to wear for the night.
After sleeping behind dumpsters and in culverts I really didn't mind wearing them that much. Footwear was a problem though as my feet were a touch wider than any of the other women in the compound. They settled with me wearing a pair of stretchy ballerina slippers on my feet in black. One of my cousins spent far too much time on my eyebrows getting them presentable. I refused makeup of any type though. Still when I was shone to the first full length mirror to look at myself I was a bit shocked to find I had matured into a quite lovely young woman.
At supper that night I was not the only one shocked to see myself. Dad was speechless and one of my male cousins ate nothing but air staring at me for most of the meal. I tried to remember the rules of etiquette from all those years ago but I made a few mistakes. Although pointed out in whispers from the women around me no real issue was made of it. Years ago I would have gotten yelled at for even a minor breach. I went to sleep that night with a full stomach and clean. I refused the offer of a nightie as I settled into a comfortable bed for a surprisingly sound nights sleep.
As has been my pattern for the last few years I was awake at dawn. I stepped outside in my now clean fighting uniform and started my morning stretches before going into my now quite lengthy kata's. When I was limbered up I noticed one or two of my younger male cousins watching me with wide eyes. I focused inward and began the 48 minute pattern of basic family kata with all moves now fluid even fighting against myself. Then I spent another 56 minutes with all the new moves I now knew. When I finished and unfocused I was greeted with a minor applause of my cousins, both male and female, along with my proud parents, uncles,and one or two aunts.
When the sound died down my mother, who was in tears, moved forward but was stopped by grandmother. Grandmother said she didn't know what I had just done but it was very graceful to look at. This surprised me as grace was not what I was trying for at all. What I also hadn't noticed was that grandfather had also just finished his own kata's. It was he who spoke to me that we should go to the family dojo for a match.
Now my grandfather was a person I always respected and feared. One of my uncles had fought him once. My uncle had practices for years and years and could barely bring him to a draw one out of three rounds. The rest he lost. It was said my father had been able to beat him once so I was quite scared of him still. My years of fighting however had given me a focus that allowed me to shut out that fear as soon as we settled into the spar.
We agreed on terms of me being restricted to family style first. The first round I had to restrict myself and was unbalanced. Still I did managed to bring it to a draw as we scored the final hit on each other at the same time. After the 1 minute breather we commenced the second round. I knew at once he had also restricted himself on the first but during the second he became faster and struck harder as he forgot I was a girl and concentrated. By the end we were both out of breath but neither had scored anything more than a glancing blow on each other.
The final match was not limited by time to decide the winner so after a 2 minute rest and water break we went at it again. It did not take me long to find my balance finally in this round and I started to let loose with my reflexes while limited to the family moves. By the end I managed to just win over him at a score of 3 hits over 2. With my confidence back we took a 15 minute break to an awed family. Everyone had witnessed me actually beat him even though I was female. The dojo was in a hush as both my parents congratulated me on a well done sparing match while mom wiped down my sweat with a damp towel. My hair was soaked along with the rest of me. Even during my street matches I had never worked so hard but it was exciting all the same. Grandfather was attended by grandmother and my sister, Emily was now 14 years of age and looked quite mature. She kept glancing back at me while she and grandmother worked and taking out knots of muscle with a massage on grandpa.
When he asked at the 15 minute mark if I was ready for what he called free style I nodded. I took a sip of water rinsed my mouth out and spit into a bucket before taking a proper sip again. It is not wise to drink lots of water after such a workout as you can get a stitch in the side. I stood opposite grandfather and bowed once head held up same as him. He launched himself at me with a flurry of moves that I was not expecting. Apparently the old coot had a few streetfighter moves in him as well. I took one blow before I recovered and started to flail on the old man myself.
The dojo had probably not seen such a fight in decades and I'm sure none of my family had any clue that the old man could move like this. As I was also moving even more differently than him, well lets just say more than a few mouths opened and stayed there. We traded blows in the air and on the ground standing or crouched back and forth at such a rapid pace that even I had trouble keeping track. We spent the better part of 20 minutes going back and forth before we had little choice but to stop. I was now covered from head to toe in sweat as was grandfather. Our breathing was heavy and panting really hard. He asked me how many I had counted on him I said two he disagreed and said it was three while he stated he only got 1 on me. I told him it was two as I had made a slight error and his swing kick didn't quite miss me.
And that was the end of our spar. Grandfather gave me the respectful bow of an equal. That is single most highest honor I have ever seen him give. I could have pushed him but I don't think it was necessary. He said my claim as Kendra was valid and that in all his years he has never faced an opponent that was more skilled than him. I tried to disagree with him but he pointed out that in his advanced age he had slowed down. I really don't think so myself but was not to argue. I spent a good 30 minutes showing grandfather some of my moves for him to learn and he in turn showed me some that I had not encountered before. When I told him about being able to break bones he had me demonstrate on a 6 x 6 over some concrete. I was more than a little put off by the peice of wood but once again my focus allow me to put the fear off to the side. I did crack the block of wood all the way through but my hand was quite numb afterwards.
Thus began my days of teaching my family the kata's of fighting to both male and female. The days of the women not learning to fight were over. Many were used to the not fighting rule so it took awhile before more and more of the younger girls came forward. The rule for them now was that it was for defense only.
The Asmboles eventually did find out where I was and issued a formal challenge against me in a judged ring. In front of the assembled clan leaders of some 30 clans and their grandfather I faced off against Arnold Asmbole again. I had kept up my full lengthy kata's and knew all my moves by muscle memory along with the resistance training. Arnold had come a long way since our very first battle but still was no match for me and it was the matter of less than a minute before he was knocked unconscious by me a second time. This time however he would not have to spend months in a hospital while his bones healed.
When Arnold eventually came around again he apologized to me with deepest respects in front of all the elders. It was quite the show. I even blushed I think. I was even more surprised when Arnold showed up at the family compound sport a black eye, courtesy of me, and a dozen red roses. I have no idea why but I accepted his apology and the offered date to a restaurant to make up for how I had been treated by his family.
It was the first of many dates between the two of us against both our families wishes. I look back at those first few dates even now and can't believe the fun we had. It was no real surprise to me when after we had dated for 3 years that he asked me to marry him. I even agreed with asking him for a sparring match. I think dad was disappointed that I didn't. Emily and two of his sisters Beth and Dorothy were our bridesmaids. While John, Jason, and his brother Simon where the groomsmen. Yes his brother that is supposed to be the next family head was our bestman. Emily was my maid of honor.
To this day my little one I find it hard to believe that my origins as a young boy have been put to rest finally with your birth and a loving husband sleeping across my bed with the last name Asmbole. Sleep well my daughter Kendra. I hope one day you will be all that I am and more.
Oh I should mention to you that long fought over feud between our families is over grandfather and Simon, the current head of family, had a rather long meal of ham and turnip.
Goodnight my precious daughter.
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