Feeling solidly high from my steady dose of daily narcotics, I stood up with just my thong, high heels and blouse on. All part of the KO tease, of course.
The following is excerpted from Crushing It: How I Crushed Diet Culture, Addiction & the Patriarchy by Kortney Olson.
- 8/09: “I have been doing sessions for about ten years. Not many, once or twice a year. Pretty much all of them have been scissor sessions with some pretty strong women and some not so strong women. KO is one of the strongest women, and if she continues to work her legs like she is talking about doing, holy crap. Watch out. Usually I don’t tap much, I just like to see what limit the women can scissor. I tapped a lot more often with KO. She put me in a sideways figure-four with me sitting up and her laying sideways on the couch with her leg around my neck and I remember tapping, then she reapplied the pressure, and the next thing I remember is waking up on the floor. She put me out, I was snoring. After that I had some melons I bought for her to crush and she did it with no problem. I also have to say KO is one of the best-looking fitness/bodybuilders I have seen, her look reminded me of “Le Femme Nikita”, she has a cute baby face with a killer attitude!!!! What a mix!! I am betting she has the ability to be one of the best out there. ” -Clark
I owe a lot to Clark. If it weren’t for Clark, I’m not sure where I’d be today. Sliding Honda car doors, I guess. I sure as shit wouldn’t have a bunch of watermelon tattoos on my arm, and there’s a fair chance I wouldn’t have blue checks on my social media accounts.
Clark was a local fan. Pretty basic dude who worked as a graphic designer in the Bay Area. I’ll never forget his email asking for a scissor session. He wanted to see if I “had what it takes” to knock him out. He‘d seen maybe twenty bodybuilders over the last decade, with only one who could successfully knock him out. He ended the email asking if I‘d be open to him bringing some watermelons for me to “try” and crush between my legs at the end of the session. Lastly, could I bring my video camera to film my “attempt”?
The words “try”, “attempt” and “if you got what it takes” are a surefire way to get me onboard, dickhead. I don’t see why not. After all, it doesn’t involve an enema of any kind.
As usual, I wrote back with my cocky ass attitude, feeling the need to justify my rate, and make some kind of outlandish statement that would wind up having me stressed the fuck out until the session was over.
In case you needed reminding, my name is KO for a reason. Be forewarned, I’m the best there is. Once you have a session with me, the rest will seem like a waste of money. When and where?”
KO always had to be the best.
KO had something to prove.
But Kortney felt like she had to justify herself, always.
We set the session up for the following week. Nothing out of the ordinary, I’d drive down to his office and I’d spend an hour living up to my email claim and name. The time came and I got dressed.
I slipped on my cute matching black Bebe thong and bralette, followed by tugging my way into the black, wet-looking pleather leggings that somehow one day appeared in my wardrobe. I pulled on one of my office ‘dress shirts’ which had the capability of sending me to the HR director back in the dealership days. Looking like a personal stewardess for Hugh Heffner on top and something out of the matrix on the bottom, I confidently bee-bopped my way towards takeoff and grabbed my video camera. With a slight pull of anxiety over whether or not I was going to come through and actually be ‘the best he’d ever seen’, I chewed up another few Norcos.
Guess I can leave my stun gun. I’ve had enough back and forth to feel comfortable with Clark. Because ya know… people are always who they say they are on the internet. Including myself. At least I don’t feel fat today.
No longer a middle classer with a Honda, I painfully strutted my too-tight high heels straight out the front door and into my newly financed Acura. Adorned with a professional decal across the back window, I backed out of the driveway with zero fucks regarding the poor choice of personal branding. Underneath the enlarged words of HARD AS FUK! sat my website, as if some curious passer-by on the highway needed to know who I was.
Armed with an adequate stash of pills, I cranked the stereo up and lost myself in the music. After an hour and a half drive, I parked in Clark’s office complex and walked into the building to anxiously find his suite. Feeling like I was in a scene out of Outbreak, I started walking the dimly lit hallway while feeling eerily alone and empty
Bit of a shitty rundown complex. I wonder if anyone else even occupies this building, and if so, could they hear me scream?
Just like most things that made me anxious when thinking about the ‘what ifs’, I was in front of Clark’s door before I knew it, giving the rhythmic and happy sounding knock I learned from my dad, ’Bom, bom, bom-bom-bom. Bom. Bom.’
Shit. I should have been a little more dominating on that knock. I sound like a girl scout trying to sell cookies as opposed to an FBI agent coming to fuck your life up. God I always fuck shit u….
Clark opened his office door and interrupted my train of thought as he stood there with an energy of intimidation and nervousness.
“Hey KO! Did you find the place ok?”
”Hi Clark! I did, thank you,” I replied while reaching out to give him a hug.
Maybe that’s what made me different. Maybe Rob programmed that hug when opening the door with strange men I’ve just met over the internet. Maybe I needed another pill. In the midst of our embrace, I looked around the five hundred-ish square foot office for any kind of sign he was a serial killer while my irrefutable inner voice butted in as usual.
Such a shame I took my real estate appraisal course while high on meth and drinking heavily. I really could have done something with that.
“So, what’s with the tarp, Clark?” I said as it caught my eye. As I stared at the four foot by six foot crinkled, bright blue painters tarp, I immediately thought about all the late night interior paint jobs I’d done on Billy’s mom’s house while being high on meth.
“That’s for the watermelon, KO! If you can actually break one.”
“Oh, right! Guess it threw me off seeing that we’re in your office!” I retorted as I looked around and noticed there were no windows.
“Yeah, it’s my name on the lease and I only have one other guy who works with me part time, so why not?” Clark said with his cool guy attitude.
As usual, Clark was an average guy. Happily married but missing a piece of excitement in his life that I’m sure his wife could fulfill had they ever talked about ‘it’.
After I set my purse down on the ground, I looked Clark up and down.
“So only one woman in over a decade, huh?” I said while noticing he didn’t have a thick neck whatsoever. By my calculations, Clark would have only been one hundred and sixty pounds soaking wet.
As I sat on the floor and started peeling my skin tight leggings off over my high heels, Clark began rearranging some folding chairs.
“Yeah, I don’t know what it is. I have this weird capability to withstand any woman’s scissors with the exception of Yasmine. I’ve managed to really piss a few bodybuilders and wrestlers off!” he said with a little smirk. With his attitude and mannerisms, Clark reminded me of a stoned, hippy surfer bro from Manhattan Beach. But between his looks and the memorabilia sitting around his office, he screamed the NASCAR and Pabst Blue Ribbon type.
Feeling solidly high from my steady dose of daily narcotics, I stood up with just my thong, high heels and blouse on. All part of the KO tease, of course.
“Wow, KO!” Clark exclaimed from across the room. “Those legs are something else!”
I stood and looked down at my twenty seven inch legs and replied, “Yes, they‘re magnificent, aren’t they?” while momentarily forgetting about how much I hated them when I was alone.
“Wait till you feel them around your neck, Clark. I’m not so sure you’ll be saying the same words.” I said seductively while tugging at the elastic sleeve around my arm. Pulling it up just enough to sit across the middle of my bicep, I flexed while Clark stood there with his mouth gaping open like some kind of cartoon character. Now completely in my KO headspace, I continued with my shit talking.
“In fact, I highly doubt you’ll be able to speak at all by the time I’m done with you.”.
. . .
Now arranged in a straight row, I pulled my blouse off over the top of my head and instructed Clark to sit on the floor in front of the chairs.
Knowing that my ‘figure four’ had a decent amount of crushing force, I thought I’d start there. It wasn’t my strongest scissor hold, but much like playing poker, I wanted to create some assumptions and illusions first. I liked to tease my boys and start out with about sixty percent of full-strength capacity before I started to really bring the pain.
On the same outdated low-pile carpet that was in my college dorm, Clark sat cross-legged with his back to the row of chairs as I laid across them on my side, facing towards the back of his head. Like a python, I slithered my bottom leg around the front of his body and gently put his neck in the fold of the back of my knee.
Similar to a ‘rear naked choke’, the figure-four was set up and executed in the same way but instead of using arms, I’d use my legs. I had a few years of Jiu Jitsu training under my belt, and was poorly experienced in the art of submissions. If applied effectively, the blood flow from the left and right carotid arteries which supply the head with oxygenated blood, are cut off and render the person unconscious.
After strategically placing my bottom leg around Clark’s neck, I took my top leg and placed the back of my knee around the foot that was coming off the leg that was around his neck. I started to lightly apply some pressure by pulling my top leg down which was acting like a lever, and as anticipated, Clark immediately grabbed onto the leg wrapped around his neck with his hands.
I knew it took roughly seven seconds to knock someone unconscious once they were in my grip. If I were to keep applying force beyond those seven seconds, the likelihood of creating an increased chance of brain damage and/or death, would start ticking over quickly.
After a few seconds, I let up on the pressure for Clark, but never let my legs leave his neck. Like a spider pulling a live fly further into her web, I dragged Clark backwards with my leg to get him closer to the row of chairs. Now that I was warmed up and we were well on our way, I was ready to play ball. I needed to get his neck deeper in my leg grip so I could squeeze tighter.
As I felt the side of my crotch make contact with the ice-cold metal of the chair, I wondered who or what had previously been touching the surface. Laying and rolling around on disgusting, potentially disease-infested surfaces never stopped me before, and it certainly wasn’t going to stop me now. The need to be the best, the need to win, and “I needed the money” always won whenever it came time for me to consider my actions or possible consequences.
I’m not sitting in the spotless Oval Office getting my dick sucked like Clinton had originally planned, but I’m pretty sure I’m making more money than Obama right now.
Not sure which one of us has a more stressful job, but whatever.
If I made it this far without my vagina falling off, I’m sure it’ll be fine that my private parts are smashed up against some shitty folding chair right now.
I always used the extra sheet stashed in the closet of the hotel when I was wrestling. Whether it was arm wrestling or wrestling, body parts rarely touched the carpet. However, I can’t say the same when it came to lying on airport floors when I was on tour and had to find a way to sneak a workout in. Looking good and getting attention was more of a priority than the possibility of what diseases could be entrenched in high foot-traffic carpets.
The fear of laying down on his own carpet without a sheet never crossed Clark’s mind because he never saw it coming. Neither one of us did, actually. But that’s how my life kept playing out. Even when I’m right in the middle of the shit, and there’s a quiet whisper telling me, ‘you’re not a tree, move bitch!’, I’d still stay stuck because I never saw it coming. I was always moving too fast, worrying about all the wrong things.
With the perfect amount of leverage and torque, I had him right where I wanted him. Intentionally blowing hot air, I leaned in and whispered in Clark’s ear, “You ready to experience sheer, unfathomable fear little boy?”. Before he could as much as nod his head, I went straight to eighty percent and started squeezing my vice grip around his neck while waiting for him to tap, signaling that he’d had enough.
I started counting in my head.
Like someone with a megaphone in the bleachers, my mom’s voice blasted through and into my thoughts,
Don’t let me get to three, Kortney Kay!
Suddenly the sound of a loud “POP” cascaded through my ears.
Clark suddenly dropped his hands from my leg as his entire body went limp.
Impulsively, I extended my right leg to let all of the pressure off of my left leg which was still wrapped around his neck. Waiting for some kind of movement or sound, I lay on my side in paralysis contemplating if I had just snapped Clark’s neck. Dropping my legs off of him completely, I quickly sat up and shifted them on either side of his back and waited for him to move or make a sound.
With no movement or sound coming from him, I felt that familiar feeling of my heart dropping down to my anus.
As I looked around the room in an absolute panic, I felt my fate cracking down like the federal judge’s gavel whom I used to slap around.
Why the fuck was there a blue tarp on the floor again?
This can’t be happening. Not right now. Not ever.
Semi standing up with both arms under Clark’s armpits, I proceeded to gently lay him on his back before taking a knee.
Should I perform CPR?
Idiot- not on a fucking broken neck you moron!
Fuck what should I do?
Will I go to prison for unintentional manslaughter?
Should I call 9-1-1?
Roll him up in the blue tarp and dump the body?
This isn’t Dexter you fucking fool!
As I sat there holding back tears, the panic had fully set in. Similar to emailing a friend intimate details about something your mutual friend had shared after you promised to not share, to only realise you’d emailed the friend you were writing about on accident, I was suffocating in terror. Then, in an instant and like the second coming of Jesus Christ, Clark let out the loudest, most earth shattering snore I’d ever heard in my life.
Then another one. By the second snore, Clark had rabid looking foam collecting at the corner of his mouth. A few more seconds passed when miraculously, he slowly opened his eyes, and let out a sound.
”Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh”, he gasped. “Where, where am I?”
Unlike my response to Adriana when she woke up from her blackout after flying off the highway at sixty miles per hour, I replied to Clark with a different tone of voice while stroking his head.
“Hi there,” I said sweetly while trying to play it cool. “How was your nap?”.
”It… it was incredible!”
“Yeah, I told you everything about me is incredible, Clark.”
As he looked up at me with glossy, dark brown eyes, I sat in a pool of brief gratitude before it was onto the next thing.
“Shall we get to crushing these watermelons?” I coyly asked.
. . .
I used to always find myself cursing whoever the hell this ‘Murphy’s law’ person was. My life events have consistently shown me that there are unexpected twists and turns at every corner. Being a control freak and always feeling like I need ‘a plan’, it seems that my higher power has decided to award me all sorts of opportunities to experience what it feels like to lose control, light my plans on fire, thus giving me a chance to practice going with the flow. Such as when you think you may have just snapped someone’s neck and potentially looking at twenty five to life for involuntary manslaughter.
Do the F*cking Work
Have you hated or currently hate parts of your body?
Where do you think the dislike (or hatred) for your body originated from?
Do you feel comfortable in your skin when you’re interacting with others but when you’re by yourself, the story changes? If so, what do you think started this?
In what ways do you identify with being a control freak?
Can you be sporadic and just whimsically decide to take a trip without having accommodations booked and gas stations planned out along the way?
What areas of your life are you constantly trying to control?
What would happen if you eased up on it?
Crushing It is a masterpiece memoir showing you how to take back your power and learn to love yourself no matter the odds. No more excuses. Kortney’s not only owning it, she’s wearing it and sharing it with pride. She has been there. She has suffered. She has triumphed. And now so can you.