My 1001 post
Some of my readers may remember the marvellous stories of the
One Thousand and One Nights; Aladdin and his wonderful Lamp is just one of them, they inspired the music Scheherazade, movies and all sorts of what today might be called spinoffs.
I can't claim that my stories are anything nearly as good as these were.
But this is my 1001 post. And I would like to thank some people.
First of all the wonderful and ever helpful editors The Scribbler and Kid Presentable from this site, and from other places Judy and Kyle. Thank you, you make my stories much better than they would otherwise have been.
Second the people who have allowed themselves to be characters in my stories- or at least allowed me to weave fiction around their online characters. And here I mean Kimberleythesp (Who appears in this story), Elena, Blondicatfights, Tiffany, Emily Layne and Laurie Breeze and in past times Kayla and several others who are no longer on this site. I thank them for answering my questions and putting up with my nagging.
Third I thank the readers - especially those who have helped me with constructive feedback.
And then there is the community here, the site owner who invited me to be a mod, the other mods and all the others who contribute to the site- chatting, polls or just being around.
Thank you all of you.
4 Seeing Red at Emily's
[/b]
“You fought Alison Bauer last night. Don’t deny it. Don’t even ask me how I know. I’m not interested in what provoked it or who started it.”
I had dreaded arriving at work the morning after the fight with Bauer at the jazz club. I’d racked my brains without success for a way to explain my cuts and bruises. I’d concluded at last that I’d just have to tough it out and ignore the comments. I expected Alison would be as keen as I was to down play what happened. After all, she’d come off worse than me.
What I didn’t expect was to be carpeted by Kelly Haldane. Yet there I was, standing in front of her desk at 8.15- just five minutes after I’d come in to the office. I’d hoped to slink in without being noticed. It didn’t work. There was an email waiting for me. “See me now. K A B Haldane.” I’d sighed and walked to her office.
“I expect more from you than I do from that bitch,” Kelly went on. “You have more talent, more brains and more ability than she does. So I’d expect you to find some better way of dealing with a drunken colleague…better than letting the situation degenerate into a brawl. However, you don't seem to have been able to do so.” She stopped and looked at me. I felt like I was back at school, in the Principal’s office. “I am…to say the least…disappointed.
“It’s not the first time you’ve fought, either,” she continued. She seemed to suppress a smile. I knew what she was thinking. She remembered what she had done to me. Ms High and Mighty Kelly Alicia Burden Haldane with her bloodline right back to the pioneers and –so she told us- links to English aristocracy and intellectuals – liked to fight just as much as I did. The difference was she won. I’d lost miserably when she fought me.
Now she was chewing me out for doing just what she’d done – hypocrite.
”And” she went on again, “I’m sure it won’t be the last, either. In future though, don’t fight co-workers.” Again the word ‘hypocrite’ jumped into my mind but, fortunately, not to my lips. “The best thing I can do is to pretend you never fought Alison…that your injuries are the result of some brawl. Yes, that’s the best way to explain them…a brawl with some bitch you just happened to meet.”
She cleared her throat. “The only reason I’m doing this and not having you dismissed is that, despite the brawl, you got the whole submission off to Vic Hely-Hutchinson last night and copied me. It's good work. I have some suggestions though.” Kelly began to detail ways in which my campaign design could be improved. They were all good, constructive comments. She finished, “I understand you have another meeting with them tomorrow. Go rework this. I want to see you and your revised campaign at 8 o’clock tomorrow. Don't let this interfere with your normal work either. That needs to be done too.”
I groaned, Kelly expected me to do all this work for her sailing friends in my spare time. “Yes Kelly.”
“Thank you Bethany. That will be all.” I turned to go. “Oh…Bethany?” She stopped me. “I'm pleased you beat Alison so convincingly.”
My mouth dropped open. I just nodded and kept walking. I didn’t know what to say.
The rest of that week, I was very busy, with my normal work and with the special project for Peter Balfour and his friend Vic Hely-Hutchinson. I emailed Vic, sending him my designs and asking for feedback. I kept my distance from Peter. I knew it wouldn’t take much for my carefully built professionalism to crumble. I was sure he knew that too. He knew he could have me. I didn’t want to give him the opportunity, at least not while I was trying to design the campaign for him and his friend.
To that end, I made Vic my contact. After all, he had been the one to whom Kelly had directed me. Besides, I found him more interested in the venture than Peter. Maybe that was why Kelly had pointed me to him at the start. He was certainly responsive, answering all my emails promptly, approving or giving me feedback quickly. He had good ideas and he was keen to get the CD on sale.
I was initially surprised at his choice of music but when I thought about it, I realised how Gershwin's music would fit in so well. Vic was cultivated. He wasn’t averse to spending money – or his time – to get this done. He treated me with courtesy and professional respect. I found it pleasurable to work with him.
He called me on Friday. “I'd like to have another meeting with you and Peter. Let's make it a social event…how about dinner tomorrow night?”
“That’d be great…thanks.”I was pleased, I'd get to see Peter again. I knew he still wanted me. He'd shown that on Wednesday night. I wanted him too, but I wanted more than just sex so I’d played it cool. This dinner meting would be another way of showing him who I really was. I'd show I was more than a marketer, more than a fighter, more than just good in bed.
I had a sudden embarrassing thought. My face –and my body – would still show the bruises and cuts from the fight with Alison Bauer. I willed the marks to heal faster.
Peter called me later the same day, asking me to go with him to see the site where the CD's photos were taken, before we all went to dinner. He suggested a picnic. I jumped at the chance. He wanted to see me. I was excited. I called my sister Bella and told her.
“Beth, you’re gushing like a schoolgirl. Calm down. Yes, it sounds good. But what are you going to wear? It's likely to be a hot day and you know you burn easily.”
“I can smother myself with sun cream,” I argued, but then I gasped, “No, that won't work. I'll brush against trees and shrubs and rocks while walking through a forest. That'll inflame all the cuts and scrapes from the fight.” I'd have to wear jeans and long sleeves. I just hoped it wouldn't be a scorching day.”
“Why do you think he’s taking you to a secluded, romantic place on your own?” Bella remonstrated with me. “It's got nothing to do with the marketing, honey. If it were, the other guy – Vic isn't it? – would be there too. You tell me he's the person you're dealing with most. So why Peter? Think about it, Beth.”
It had to be sex. I guess I'd known it. I brazened it out. “So what if he wants me? I haven't had a man in weeks. Not since him, the night after the fight with Kelly. And he’s a
very good lover.”
I could picture her grinning into the phone. “Just be careful. I'll see you tonight.”
Bella made me think. I so wanted sex with Peter. I wanted a lot more too, but right now I wanted sex. Besides, I told myself, sex might lead to more anyway. It had for me in the past. Now, if it were a hot day, Peter would probably suggest a swim at the pool. Vic told me that he and Peter had swum there. I knew he wanted me. He was a guy. They think with their cocks. I wouldn’t take my swimsuit. He wouldn’t be able to resist me if I was all but naked, which I would be if I swam in my underwear or, better still, in nothing at all.
Saturday turned out to be hot. I boiled in my clothes. We went to the pool. I peeled off. I made some show of modesty. A girl can't seem too eager and the guy always wants to think he seduced the girl. I gave him some good sex. He needed a nap afterwards.
That evening we went to a beach bar. Vic disappointed me by having some blonde slut – Wendy Griffiths – in tow. He introduced her as the infant business's office manager – as though that was fooling anyone. It was very clear that she was his mistress. A girl knows. It was equally clear she didn't like me. The feeling was mutual. I put her in her place with a few well chosen phrases.
I was almost upset that I did so. She took all her very considerable aggression out on the wife of one of Vic's friends who, with her husband, was visiting from St Paul. Their names were Tom and Lauren Fisker. We ran into them at the bar and Vic introduced them, then asked them to join us. They were very pleasant people and even let me test some of my marketing ideas for the CD on them.
Wendy didn't like it. She wanted to have ‘fun’. So much for being at a business dinner.
Lauren took a lot of Wendy's abuse, but finally snapped. Wendy started a fight and, sadly, she finished it She left, triumphant, with Vic. I am sure she fucked his brains out. Peter and I along with Lauren's husband Tom and the owner of the bar, a lady named Emily Layne, applied some first aid to Lauren. We cleaned up her scratches and put some ice packs on her bruises .
While Peter helped Tom take Lauren to their car, I had a coffee with Emily. She was very eager to assure me that her beach bar wasn’t normally such a violent place. “Yes, all types come here. Sometimes some people get rowdy. Sometimes we even get fights like you saw tonight, but not normally during the week…only on on weekends and even then, people usually go outside. I guess it helps that I can handle myself pretty well.” She was a big, strong-looking woman and looked as though she could live up to that claim. If anything, she probably selling herself short. “When that fails, I've got a bouncer. But,” and she smiled, “the occasional catfight is good for business. Guys like seeing women fight each other.”
I didn't tell her that, sometimes, I liked fighting myself. It wasn't the time for that revelation. Nor was it the time to ask her why she hadn't broken up the fight between Wendy and Lauren.
Peter came back. He said that Tom had taken Lauren back to wherever they were staying. He joined Emily and I for a while, then he offered to take me home.
We never made to my apartment. His was closer. The fight had made him horny. He wanted sex. I was more than happy to oblige. Our earlier encounter had only whetted my appetite and apart from that, watching a fight made me almost as aroused as being in one.
We had sex off and on throughout the night. We'd fuck, snooze and fuck again. Finally sated, we slept from about 4am. It was late when we woke. We showered together, he took me out for brunch and then dropped me home.
My feet barely touched the ground for the next two weeks. I was amazingly busy at work. I pulled the CD project together and Kelly signed off on it as my supervisor. Both Vic and Peter approved it immediately and we began to plan the campaign launch. I had all my other work to do too but that was going well. I got good feedback from clients and good assessments from HR. I was even told I'd get a raise at the end of the quarter. I was feeling pretty good about myself, professionally.
Personally though, I was euphoric. Peter and I were together. Every second night we went out to dinner and he'd take me back to his apartment. We'd make love till the small hours. We'd have sex, talk, maybe share a coffee, have more sex and more talk and so on. It was almost all a girl could want.
Almost. It wasn't permanent, but I harboured the hope that it would be, in time.
I'd planned a big dinner at my place on Friday night, the second week after the dinner when Wendy and Lauren fought. I wanted Peter to formally meet Bella, instead of her being just a voice on the phone when he called. Unfortunately he dashed my hopes that afternoon when he called and told me he was busy and couldn’t make it. However, he was free the next day and suggested we meet then, at Emily's bar.
I agreed, but I was still disappointed about dinner, and that made me moody. I decided to go to Emily's there and then.
“Hey Emily!” I waved, smiling as I entered her beach bar. It was fairly full for so late in the season. “Can I get a latte, honey?”
“Sure, Bethany, have a seat and I’ll bring it to you.” Emily waved. “Here at the bar’s probably the most likely place to find one.”
I turned, found a clear space at the far end of the bar and perched myself on a stool.
It seemed like seconds later when I heard a voice. “Trailer trash like you don't belong here!” I looked around sharply. The speaker was slightly built – she couldn’t have been more than 115 lbs – and petite, no more than five feet three, but the little redhead was right in my face.
I looked at her with a gasp, taken aback by the sudden verbal assault. I tried a soft comeback. “Excuse me,” I said politely, “I’m just here for a quiet coffee. I’m minding my own business, so please leave me alone.”
“Now you are,” she persisted, “But you weren't, last time you were here.” She sipped her drink –whiskey by the look of it. “You and your trashy friend caused mayhem last time you were here.”
I blinked. It seemed this woman – whoever she was – knew a bit about the fight between Wendy and Lauren. She went on, “You and your kind don’t belong here!” She jabbed her finger at the door. “Get out! We don’t want cheap skanks here!”
I looked at her. “Excuse me? I don't think I've ever seen you before.” I would have remembered if I had. She was good looking, with short dark red hair, green eyes and a very pale complexion – even paler than me. Despite the weather – the days were warm but the nights were not – she wore a thin emerald green halter that left her arms and tummy exposed, over a brown skirt. Even more unusual was the fact that she was smoking a cigar. I'd never seen a woman do that before.
The most surprising thing about her however, wasn't her size, her clothes or even the cigar. It was her attitude. She seemed to sneer at everything. Maybe it was just me, or maybe she had the female equivalent of small man’s syndrome.
“You haven’t…and you’re going to be sorry to see me now, if you don’t get lost.” She took another, larger sip of her whiskey. She held the glass in one hand, her cigar in the other. “Your kind don’t belong here. I heard what happened. A fight broke out.” She took a step towards me, along with a puff on her cigar.
“Yes it did,” I replied, not wanting to know how she knew, “but I wasn't fighting.”
“No, but your friend was. Now get lost.” She exhaled some cigar smoke, right in my face. It made me cough.
“Kim, lay off her.” One of her friends, a medium height big busted blonde tried to intervene. “She’s done nothing to you.”
She took a step back and whirled round to face her friend.“No, Heather. You know this isn't the place for trailer trash like her.” The girl I now knew as Kim pointed at me with her cigar as she took another sip of whiskey. “Her or her friends.”
“Pardon me.” I backed away. “I don't like fighting.” That was a lie. I did like it. But there was a time and place for fighting, and this wasn’t the place. It seemed I already had a bad reputation here. I didn’t want to get a worse one, especially by fighting some pixie who was half my size.
“No, you wouldn’t .You wouldn't have the guts!” She took another step toward me. She'd clearly been drinking for a while, and not just sips of whiskey either. I could smell it on her breath. She was buzzed – not quite drunk but not exactly sober either.
“Pardon me…”
Kim cut me off. “Pardon me!” She mimicked my tone perfectly, then her voice changed. “You sound like a bad waitress in a cheap bar.” Her tone was suddenly menacing. Despite myself, I took a step back. “Emily’s not hiring…so get lost! We don’t want you here, bitch!”
“Kim Curzon, that may be true. I'm not hiring.” Emily came to my support.“But this isn't a cheap bar and Bethany isn't a bad waitress.”
Kim snorted. “No it isn't. I didn't say it was. So ‘Bethany has experience as a waitress? Interesting.” She turned back to me. “What other ‘experience’ do you have?”
I continued to make the mistake of trying to reason with her. “What have I done to you?” I knew the answer had to be ‘nothing’ and I hoped she would realise this and back off. I still didn’t want to fight her but my temper was slowly rising. It was still simmering rather than boiling over, but Kim kept turning up the heat.
“Wrong question bitch!” Kim sneered. “The right question is ' What will I do to you if you don’t get the hell out, pretty damn quick?’” Her voice changed again, and she boomed out,“Now stand not upon the order of your going but go at once!”
Even I recognized the reference. “You just quoted from ‘MacBeth’. What are you, some actress or something?”
“You’re right, she is an actress,” Heather confirmed. “Kim, stop playing Kate Minola.” It was only afterwards that I grasped the reference to the female lead in the
Taming of the Shrew. Kim’s comment should have nudged my memory. She turned to Heather and snapped, “I’m not the shrew that needs taming…it’s bitch here!” She gestured at me over her shoulder with her cigar, then turned back to me. She put her glass and cigar down. “It’s unlucky to mention the name of the ‘Scottish Play’…unlucky for you, bitch!”
Suddenly Kim grabbed my shoulders, shoving my left and pulling on my right. She turned me almost half way around and before I knew what was happening, she kicked my backside. Her kick was powerful enough that, if she’d spun me a full 180 degrees as she intended, her kick would have propelled me half way down the bar. She might have been small but she was strong. As it was, the kick sent me sprawling into an empty table and chairs.“Fuck off, bitch!”
I was still trying to rise when Kim grabbed me a round the neck and dragged me upright. She drove her knee into my back, then yanked me hard. My back was bent the wrong way. She was choking me. I floundered, almost overwhelmed by the sudden ferocity of her assault.
More by luck than judgement, I drove my elbow into her side. She let out a grunt, shoved me hard and let me go. Again I went sprawling into the chairs. This time I impaled my tummy on one of them and I gagged. I felt the air rush out of my lungs and bile rise into my mouth.
Kim kicked my butt again. “Get out, bitch! Like I said, this place isn’t for trailer trash!” I screamed as she seized a fistful of my hair and pulled me upright. So far the little bitch had had it all her own way. This had to change or she’d crush me. I thrust my leg backwards, blindly, in a mule kick. I was rewarded with a startled, “Shit!” I jerked my head forward. My scalp blazed with pain, but I was free of Kim’s clutches. The adrenalin began to kick in.
I turned around. Kim was ready for me. She slapped hard at my face. I was still trying to get my breath back and couldn’t defend properly at first. I tried to bat her hands away but even, so she scored freely, vicious slaps that rained down on my face and upper body. I tried slapping back with my left hand and defending with my right. That didn’t work. I only hit her a few times. Even though she’d been drinking, she was still faster than me. She dodged or deflected most of my attacks. She was hitting me much harder and far more often than I hit her.
I broke her attack with a kick. She avoided it by scurrying back. She was out of her range. I stood still, my boobs and tummy heaving as I sucked air into my chest. Kim started weaving around me, aiming hard punches at me. Some I deflected, some I dodged, but the few that hit hurt me. The little bitch put all her power into the punches, and she had power out of all proportion to her size. She was hammering me. I had to find a way out.
Kim changed her attack again as she grew more confident. She stopped weaving and stood her ground, firing hard punches at me. I blocked some but each one that smacked into my flesh made me gasp. She pounded me from well inside my own reach, and I did nothing except take the punishment.
But Kim had gotten over confident. She thought I was finished. I wasn’t. I raised my knee as I lunged at her, driving it hard into her side. I’d aimed at the pit of her stomach but she’d realised at the last moment what I was up to. She sidestepped but still I hit her.
She slumped forward. I slapped hard at her face and she didn’t defend herself, obviously still preoccupied with the pain in her side. I got several unanswered blows in before she stood up and started slapping back. Neither of us defended. We just slugged it out with hard slaps to the face and upper body for about a minute.
I was amazed that this tiny woman could stand there and trade blows with me – I was eight inches taller and easily thirty pounds heavier than her. Slowly though, I saw the fight begin to change. Kim wasn’t hitting me as hard or as often. I was hitting her harder. I was heavier and I had a much longer reach. Both of these advantages were coming into play. I smiled grimly. This was better.
Kim started defending. I pressed my attack. She broke away. I went after her, hard. I slapped at her, I sent jabbing punches at her midsection and ribs. She replied. We both parried more than half of the blows but those of hers that broke through and hit my ribs or breasts hurt. They made me groan. I was wheezing, panting for breath and gasping with pain at each blow. Still, she groaned too when I landed one. I needed to husband my strength but so did Kim now. I pressed my attack. I had her on the run.
“Oh fuck!” I doubled over, holding my tummy. Kim had slugged me hard. I'd been way too confident. I retreated as fast as I could. She came after me. I was still bent forward. She’d all but buried her fist in my tummy. I was hurt and she knew it. Through tear-filled eyes I looked at her, smirking at me. I had to protect my shattered midsection, but doing so left my sides, shoulders and breasts open targets. She kept firing shots at my sides. I defended as best I could. I blocked some, deflected others and dodged some more, but still enough hit home to hurt me.
Kim tried an uppercut aimed squarely at my jaw. I bobbed my head and the punch just kissed my cheek. It would have sent me sprawling if it had hit me solidly. I needed some recovery time so I darted behind a table. That gave me a bit of respite. For a few vital seconds I kept my distance. If she came round one side of the table, I scurried to the other.
Eventually though, she managed to get herself on the same side of the table as me, and I had to face her. Again we traded slaps and punches. I needed more time to recover. I was still breathing hard. I was too slow in my defense. She got in far too many shots. Each blow that smacked noisily on my skin made me groan.
Neither of us were going for the knockout blows she had tried before. I couldn't because I needed to recover. She didn't – I don’t know why. Maybe my longer reach kept her at bay so she couldn't slug hard. I certainly tried to keep her away. Maybe she too needed time to recover. I hoped I'd hurt her badly – as badly as she had hurt me. Only adrenalin and endorphins kept me going.
They seemed to give me my second wind however, and once more I began to block more often. I scored more shots on Kim’s sides and upper body. She began to slow. Perhaps it was the damage I'd done to her. Perhaps it was the booze. Mostly likely it was combination of both
She wasn’t defending near as well as before. She seemed flat footed. She neither parried nor deflected most of my shots. They smacked home hard and each hit drew a harsh grunt, a groan, a cry of pain. She retreated, sputtering, wincing, gagging. We both knew I was softening her up. She was defending grimly but not effectively, and she knew it. Her eyes widened. Her face lost a bit more colour. She was scared – no, she was near panicking.
I changed tactics, just as I had done in my fight with Alison. Suddenly I realised that that fight had been only a few weeks ago. That made four fights in a little over two months. Perhaps Kim was right after all. Perhaps I was a bitch. Kim had called me that often enough tonight.
I jabbed at Kim’s face. “Kim, you’d been drinking. You saw Bitch come in. You sized Bitch up.” Up went her hands to defend. She blocked the blow. Down went my fist as I ducked low. I hammered an uppercut into Kim’s gut. “You were buzzed. You thought you could take Bitch.” I smirked. I was about to put this arrogant slut away.
Kim’s mouth opened wordlessly as my fist went in. Her eyes teared up. She was white with panic. She trembled. So did I, but for very different reasons. I got a high from fighting. That high was much bigger when I beat someone convincingly. And I was about to do just that.
“You were wrong, Kim.” I sent another punch after the first. It crashed through Kim’s feeble defense, driving deep into her gut. It flung her backwards. She crashed into chairs. “Bitch took you!” I smiled.
I looked on as the gagging, choking Kim tried to stand. She couldn't do it. I'd hurt her too bad. She grabbed onto some chairs. She hauled herself up to her knees. There she swayed, gasping, gagging, coughing, clutching her shattered gut. Her eyes were wide like saucers. Her mouth opened but she couldn't speak. She clutched at a chair for support, her face ghost-white, horror and total disbelief etched across her features.
Then she retched. Letting go of the chair, again holding her gut in both hands, she vomited up her drink. She shook, crouched on all fours, and steadied herself by putting her palms flat on the floor. She whitened again, and vomited up the rest of her drink. Even on all fours she trembled unsteadily. She tried to stabilise herself for a moment. She couldn't make it, and fell back to the floor, moaning, her face in a puddle of her own vomit. I smiled more widely. I’d put her in her place.
I walked over to the bar. “Sorry about that, Emily,” I grinned. “The things a girl has to do to get a coffee around here!”
She chuckled. “At least you don't have to take out the trash.” She pointed at Kim, still lying moaning on the floor. We both watched the redhead’s friends help her to her feet and out the front door.
I sipped my latte. It tasted good – the coffee and the victory.
My special thanks to the wonderful Kim the anti heroine of this story and a much nicer lady than I have portrayed her in this story whose wonderfully vivid yet shocking photo gave me the inspiration for this story and who encouraged me to write it and then patiently suggested improvements; to Jagermonster who also gave me ideas and to the Scribbler who edited it and made it much better.
