In the smoke-stained shadows of late-’90s pro wrestling—when barbed wire and busted tables reigned supreme and chaos wasn’t just encouraged but required—there stood Chastity, lighter fluid in hand, wrapped in vinyl and mystery, a wild card in a world that worshipped mayhem.
She wasn’t the biggest. She wasn’t the loudest. But for a brief, flaming moment, Denise Riffle—better known to wrestling fans as Chastity—was the spark in the powder keg of ECW’s anarchic theater and WCW’s bloated circus.
This wasn’t your typical rise-fall-redemption wrestling arc. There was no childhood dream fulfilled under bright lights. Chastity didn’t grow up suplexing dolls or cutting promos in the mirror. She just wanted to entertain. She wanted a stage. Wrestling gave her one. And for a few years, she set it on fire.
From Columbia to Chaos
Born in Columbia, Maryland in 1971, Denise Riffle was drawn to performance before she ever stepped near a ring. Singing, acting, entertaining—those were the goals. But as fate would have it, a boyfriend dragged her to an indie wrestling show in the mid-90s, and something clicked. The pageantry, the characters, the blend of athleticism and absurdity—it wasn’t far from the Hollywood lights she craved. Only louder. Bloodier. And more real in all the fake ways that mattered.
With a tip of the cap to corporal punishment—literally, as her early trainer went by that name—Riffle entered the scene in 1996 under the name “Brittany Bosoms,” a character about as subtle as a powerbomb through a picnic table. The moniker was cartoonish, yes, but this was the mid-90s. ECW crowds wanted carnage, not subtlety.
Then came the evolution.
The ECW Chapter: BWO and Beyond
It wasn’t long before Brittany Bosoms transformed into Chastity, a woman who managed to be both sultry and sinister. She joined up with the Blue World Order, ECW’s parody of the nWo, and eventually found herself wrapped in the serpentine world of Raven—a man who spoke in riddles and wrestled in nihilism.
Raven didn’t just bring darkness to the ring. He dragged it behind him, and Chastity became part of that gloom—a valet who wasn’t afraid to interfere, to manipulate, to become part of the chaos. She wasn’t just eye candy at ringside. She was part of the psychology. A cigarette-smoking, fire-spraying presence who blurred the line between sidekick and saboteur.
But ECW was never a forever kind of place. It was the proving ground, the dirty sandbox where talent got forged—and then poached. WCW came calling with brighter lights and deeper pockets, and Chastity, like many others before her, answered.
The WCW Comedown
It was 1998 when Chastity entered WCW, and if ECW was a fever dream, WCW was a bloated opera—full of money, egos, and misfires. Raven brought her in, this time cast as his sister. The incestuous weirdness of pro wrestling storytelling was at full volume here.
That angle fizzled faster than a midcard push, but Chastity landed on her feet—sort of. She was paired with The Sandman, rebranded as “Hak” for trademark reasons. Where Raven was cerebral misery, Hak was just misery, wrapped in a barbed-wire kendo stick and drowning in beer.
Chastity turned on Raven to align with Hak, and the two became a beautifully dysfunctional pair: he the sloppy brawler, she the chaos whisperer. Her role escalated from valet to accessory in violence. Her fireball spot at Uncensored 1999, where she blasted Bigelow with lighter fluid and a smirk, was pure ECW transplanted into the Turner empire.
But then real life reared its inconvenient head.
In a moment of corporate squeamishness, WCW brass caught wind of a past hardcore adult film she had briefly appeared in. The result? A quiet, cold removal from TV. No storyline injury. No betrayal angle. Just… gone.
Wrestling is merciless with its memory. One week you’re fire. The next, you’re ash.
The Indie Return and Fade to Black
Post-WCW, Chastity kept the fire burning in the indies. She returned to Maryland Championship Wrestling and made appearances in Xtreme Pro Wrestling—essentially ECW with even fewer rules and more questionable production value.
But her time was winding down. The allure of backstage politics and blood-soaked paydays began to fade. By 2002, Chastity stepped away from wrestling altogether. No retirement speech. No Hall of Fame package. Just an exit.
She left wrestling much like she entered it: on her own terms, following the pulse of performance rather than the roar of the crowd.
Legacy of a Valet Who Played With Fire
Chastity’s name doesn’t top all-time lists. She didn’t win championships or headline pay-per-views. But her impact lies in what she was—a product of a singular era in wrestling where the lines between performer and pyro technician were razor thin.
She was never afraid to get involved. She took bumps, she played roles, she got dirty. She wasn’t just there to walk down the ramp in heels and clap. She lit things on fire—sometimes literally.
In many ways, she was a symbol of that turn-of-the-century wrestling edge. She danced between the Attitude Era’s gleeful vulgarity and ECW’s violent theater. And she did it with a presence that made you look twice.
For a generation of fans who remember the cigarette flicks, the fireballs, the smirk behind the chaos, Chastity wasn’t just a manager—she was the mood.
A flickering flame in an industry that burns through people fast.
And for a while, she burned bright.