That’s My Girl : Ashton Blurb
I wrote something in order to keep this video easily accessible on my blog. It’s a self-defense demonstration of what to do if you’re being attacked by someone with the intent to rape. I know this kind of stuff can trigger certain emotions or make people uncomfortable, but I encourage all of you to watch the video anyway and practice it to get a feel for the movements on the awful chance that you ever find yourself in a similar situation. I want you guys to be as prepared and safe as possible.
"I hate this.“
“I know, but I need to practice.“
Ashton lets out an uneasy sigh, knowing you’re right. Of course he full heartedly supported your idea when you told him you wanted to sign up for a self-defense class, he just didn’t take into consideration that you’d have homework requiring him to play the role of the bad guy. He doesn’t like pretending to attack you, or the thought of doing something to you that you wouldn’t want, and especially can’t stand the notion of someone else being in his place with a genuine mission to hurt you.
Reluctantly, he repositions himself between your clothed legs, but you have to force him to move a little closer in order for the scenario to be more realistic.
"Okay, now you’re gonna come forward,” you instruct.
He hesitantly leans over you, placing his hands on either side of your head.
“More than that,” you say, “You’re supposed to not let me get away."
"But I want you to get away."
"Ashton, come on."
He takes another moment to mope before doing what you told him to.
"That’s good. You can sit up."
He’s quicker to do that.
"Now come at me again,” you say with a wiggle of your hips, preparing yourself. “Faster this time."
As simple as his part is, he takes forever to do it. Slowly he lowers himself over you, and your hands fly up to catch his shoulders, repeating what you learned in class by wrapping your fingers around the prominent muscles.
"That wasn’t fast,” you rebuke, pushing him away. “You think I’ll get attacked in slow motion?"
"I told you I don’t like this."
"Do you want me to practice with someone else?"
"No,” he answers without thought.
“Then take this seriously,” you plea, shooting him puppy eyes.
He sees how much his participation means to you, and tries to adjust his attitude. He’s not actually harming you, he reminds himself, just helping you in a way he’s not exactly comfortable with.
“Ready?” he asks lightly.
At a much faster pace he performs the motion you need him to, and you catch his shoulders again, straightening your arms. On the ground you turn your body and bring one of your legs up, pressing the bottom of your foot against his hip, then center yourself and bring up the other. Your hands fall from his shoulders to his elbows, and you feel pretty good about how you managed to get there.
“Now pull back,” you advise.
He tries to do so but you catch his wrists, holding him in an unbalanced spot, then kick your leg up, just barely missing his head. He flinches, both surprised and impressed by your success at turning the situation around.
“Boom,” you say cockily, relaxing your ankle on his shoulder.
He can’t help but smile, a sense of pride surging through his chest. You got him. Ashton shrugs off your ankle and places it back on the floor, curling it around his thigh.
“Do it again,” he says, “and actually kick me this time."
"You think you can get away by just pretending?” he uses your logic from earlier.
“I’m not gonna kick you in the face,” you argue.
“Then somewhere else,” he settles. “Just get me off of you.”
And with that being said, he lunges at you again. You act quick to stop him from coming all the way down, going rapidly through the same motions as before. When you’re able to pull your leg into use, you skip kicking his chin and aim for his chest instead, right in the center of his torso. When that weakens him you drive your other foot into his stomach, and Ashton goes tumbling to the floor.
You sit up, afraid you’ve hurt him. His hand rubs over the part of his chest that fell victim to your heel, aching for his breath to catch up after having the wind knocked out of him.
“Ash?” you worry.
He groans his response, but it gets mixed in with a strained chuckle.
“That’s my girl.”