A passage from Toni Storm, reading "The Storm Is Coming," her new memoir.
As I finish sweeping the ring on that hot August night, I cherish taking my first step into this wacky little business.
Suddenly, a shadowy figure appears at the open barn doors.
A physique that is both opposing and alluring.
"Toni Storm, what the hell are you doing here?" said the breathy southern drawl.
"Why, I'm training to become a wrestler,' I replied, my throat quivering in anticipation.
"Why, I am too,' came the sly reply. I recognized that voice from the bar the other night.
Before I could say another word, our lips, and bodies embraced in what I could only describe as erotic chain wrestling. My ample bosom, heaving. The nape of my neck, sweating with invitation. Writhing. Grinding. Moaning. Groaning. We hit the mat, in what I could only describe as a boudreaux battle royal. I separated those muscular thighs, glistening in what I would later find out was Vick's vapor rub.
Where did I end? Where did I begin? Or maybe, we had merged as one.
Suddenly, I was flipped onto my back. The tides had turned and I realized why they called it a 'hard comeback.' Was it minutes, or was it hours? My watch had stopped working, but my yearns were spinning. Then, a blast of white light and a supernova of exultation. My whole life flashed before my eyes. Not only my past in the coal mines, but my present and future, too. Including AEW. All In. All Out. Full Gear. Forbidden Door. Every match. Every moment. Including, a sizable raise.
Then, it was over.
I opened my eyes to see that no one was there. I sat up. "Did I dream it all?" Then, I saw the shadowy figure slink off into the woods.
I called out, "I love you Wendi Richter," but I knew that I would never see her again.
The book is currently looking for a publisher.
