RETRO CA. 1977

Posted by Simguy on 7/26.2005, 6:58 pm.

Before: Of the many fights that immediately sprang up as a result of the 1977 summer tournament, the most hotly anticipated was the rematch between Cynara and the eventually tournament winner, Pam. “Cynara was possessed,” Dave Moll recalled in his memoirs, “She’s been battered and humiliated by Pamela and was determined to even the score. I knew better than to get in her way, and truth was, Pam was anxious to give Cynara another beating straight away, Putting that rematch together was easiest fight I ever organized,” Cynara in all black bikini, Pam in zebra striped tie-side bikini.

During R1: Pam had gone right at Cynara in the tournament and picked up where she left off, buffeting and clubbing the covered-up blonde about her head and shoulders until Cynara’s buttocks bumped wall. Pam went to the body with gusto—lips parted with effort as she hurtled her hardest right hands to Cynara’s firm midriff—the blonde groaning and tilting forward and suffering, Pam squared away and threw—free swinging lefts and rights to the belly, breasts and ears—poor Cynara seemed helpless, and to the shock of every single person in the room, she wilted to one knee in the second minute! Pam stepped back GLOWING with conquest, her chest heaving, her lips parched—Cynara reeled, astonished by Pamela’s hard punching, and there would be more to come. Standing, and bracing herself against the walls, face in gloves, Cynara dug in and Pamela gave her more. Big, bashing blows hips, ribs, and flanks, muscular chugging tummy and jug work, robust walloping blows about the ears and skull—no one had ever seen Cynara so totally at the mercy of another woman. At the bell, Pamela was gasping foe breath, but still belting mindlessly away. Cynara trembled, staggering to the far corner of the room and choking back tears as her seconds tended her. It had been the most miserable 3 minutes of her entire career.

R2: No mercy, no restraint—Pamela stormed into Cynara, pushing her by her biceps into the wall and slamming her down, then going back to the business of bludgeoning the regal blonde senseless, Cynara covered up piteously, doubled forward, slowly rotating her torso as Pamela heaved leather onto her foe’s exposed back, cudgeled her chest and beat her arms. After a furious minute, Pamela’s pace finally subsided, her arms humming, lungs weaving—groggy Cynara was able to reach around her foe;s heaving ribs to clinch, walking Pam back to midring. Thee, a slower, more deliberate boxing match broke out, with both beauties flat footed, right hands held under chins while jabs pawed and probed breasts and mouths. At the bell, Cynara had survived, and the lights were coming back on in her hard blue eyes. Pamela breathed hard and shook out her arms: she had spent up almost all she had and desperately need a round to recover.

R3: Cynara went over to offence, stalking Pamela with a tucked chin, touching brunette the jab and leaning into smooth right crosses to back Pammie up. It was Pam’s turn to feel hard wall at her back, Pam’s turn to block and roll under pressure. Where Pamela had unleashed hell, Cynara was measured, more thoughtful, and it must be said, crueler as she took the fight to her foe. Pamela grunted and bunched as Cynara hooked and rehooked those zebra trunks. When Pam fell forward into clinches, Cynara pushed back hard, banging the back of her head heartlessly off the wall, Cynara dug hooks to liver, curved left uppercuts between Pam’s mitts and chopped meanspirited rights to Pamela’s breasts. The brunette was exhausted, eyes moist, hands pushing at blonde shoulders and arms while Cynara put punches together, placed her shots and put a tasty beating on her foe.

R4: Pam came out sluggish, steering her hook and pushing her right hand: Cynara was sharper, crisper, fresher despite the pounding she’d taken, Cynara’s body turned back Pamela’s fists with stout spank: Pamela’s body gave and shuddered, her legs trembling as Cynara dipped and dug underneath, Pam fought bravely off the wall, but her tired punching left grievous openings, openings Cynara would fill with short, slamming blows to the chin and ribs. Midway through the round, Pam’s legs gave way and she groaned to carpet, sobbing on all fours as Cynara. Stepped back and mopped her brow with a forearm, For the remaining minute, Pamela would be nearly defenceless against a hungry, relentless blonde onslaught, NOW Cynara committed, throwing in her reserves—she lashed and lathered side to side, she jerked uppercuts, swung home body blows—anything to get Pamela off her feet. Pam shut her eyes against the storm and pushed with her hands—no longer competitive, reduced to a blubbering shadow of the proud brunette who had begun the fight. Her collapse was breathtaking in its gradual, heartbreaking descent—Cynara’s fists simply beating the girl in stages to her knees and leaving her panting in defeat on all fours. Pamela could not rise, and Cynara had delivered the promised revenge. KO4 Cynara.

After: Although the humiliation of her early dismissal from the tournament still stung Cynara, this robust performance against a very formidable brunette went a long way to restoring the blonde’s aura of invincibility. “You could have heard a pin drop when Pam gave it up on her knees,” Moll said at the time. “Cynara had taken Pam’s best, then came back at her like a vengeful goddess. There was simply no stopping her that night.”

Reposted by Archer 5/1/10.