Rocky Balboa

The Story of How I Rocky Balboa’d a Guy in the Face at Work…

Yep… you read that right.

I broke a guy’s nose in session.

Kind of badass, right?

…In my defense, he absolutely earned it.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—respect goes a long way. And part of respect is understanding there’s a massive difference between a cute little playful nibble… and going full rabid raccoon.

I’m talking teeth marks.

Canines.

Molars.

The whole damn dental chart.

So here’s what happened…

A couple of weeks ago, a client came into the studio like any other client. The session actually started off pretty normal. He was friendly enough, polite enough, nothing that immediately screamed “this is going to end with someone needing an ice pack.”

But you know how sometimes you just get a feeling about someone?

Yeah… that.

You can usually tell when someone has a naturally aggressive personality. Now don’t get me wrong—I don’t mind a little confidence. A little dominance can be fun…

…but I’m six feet tall and over 200 pounds. My entire existence screams, “I am not your submissive.”

I don’t even think I have a submissive bone in my body.

I’ve tried being a switch. I really have.

Turns out… not my thing.

I’m naturally the aggressor. I like being the tease. I like taking the lead. So when someone walks in with dominant energy, my internal Spider-Sense starts going absolutely feral.

And on this particular day…

It was practically setting off air raid sirens.

The first red flag came when I leaned in for a teasing little kiss and he bit my lip.

Now normally… I’m the one doing the nibbling.

I remember thinking, “Huh…”

My brain immediately opened a family-sized box of red flags, waved them around like we were directing traffic, and yet…

Did I listen?

Absolutely not.

We carried on.

A little while later he asked if he could go down on me.

Sure.

I actually enjoy it… if someone knows what they’re doing.

Because let’s be honest—nothing is more disappointing than someone who thinks they’re Gordon Ramsay of oral and then serves you an overcooked disaster.

Unfortunately…

You don’t know if they’re good unless you let them try.

So I did.

He started with little teasing nibbles making his way down and my brain just kept repeating:

“He’s gonna bite.”

“He’s definitely gonna bite.”

“”Tasha… he’s going to bite.”

Looking back, I knew exactly what was coming.

Every instinct I had was screaming at me.

And I ignored every single one.

So there I am, laying back, legs spread, trying to enjoy myself while this little voice in my head is filing a workplace incident report before anything has even happened.

Then…

Without warning…

This man clamps down.

Not a playful nibble.

Not an “oops.”

I mean FULL commitment.

Canines.

Incisors.

Molars.

The entire cast of Finding Nemo.

Straight onto my other set of lips.

Now…

Most people probably would’ve politely said,

“Excuse me… could you maybe not?”

Not me.

My body’s fight-or-flight response apparently skipped both options and chose…

Rocky Balboa.

Before my brain even processed what had happened, my fist had already introduced itself to the middle of this man’s face.

BOOM.

Perfect right hook.

Right on the nose.

Completely involuntary.

Pure reflex.

Immediately his nose starts pouring blood.

And I don’t mean a little trickle.

I mean Niagara Falls.

His face is swelling before my eyes and I instantly realize…

“Oh my God…

…I think I actually broke this man’s nose.”

Do I feel bad?

For about…

Sixteen and a half seconds.

Then I could feel my own lady bits swelling like they’d just lost a fight with a rabid beaver.

And suddenly…

Any sympathy I had packed its bags and left.

Fortunately, this all happened in Room One—our red room.

Which also happens to have red towels.

Talk about accidental interior decorating.

So I grabbed one, ran it under cold water, handed it to him, and this poor man just sat there holding it against his face in complete silence.

No yelling.

No swearing.

No arguing.

Nothing.

Honestly, I still don’t know if he was in shock… or just genuinely terrified of me.

He somehow managed to Houdini himself back into his pants, shirt and shoes without ever taking that towel away from his face.

Then…

Without saying a single word…

He quietly walked out of the studio.

Never looked back.

Never complained.

Never even questioned what had just happened.

He simply accepted his fate and disappeared into the night.

So let this be a lesson, gentlemen…

If Tasha ever throws a right hook…

Maybe don’t go all Hannibal Lecter on the lady bits.

Your nose will thank you.