My name is Trudy. I'm not an accountant, but I work in an important staff role for a very large accounting firm. I don't plan on staying there much longer, but the last couple of years have been so good, I'm socking away enough to retire in the next 2 to 3 years. While I'm young enough to enjoy it.
Enjoy it doing what, you ask? Reading, for one--I love to read. I might finally figure out what this Netflix, and binge watching TV seasons, is all about. And power hiking, to stay in shape. I'm blessed in that area. I'm 51 right now, but look and feel 33.
I didn't mention anyone else, did I? When I was in my 20s, I learned that about six months is my limit for tolerating anyone else, man or woman. So I'm careful not to tie myself down with anyone for longer than that. If anyone hits it off with me and wants to spend about that much time together, great, let's do it. But it's not going anywhere after that. So, if I miss out on something because of that, so be it. I know what makes me happy, and need to be true to that. True to Trudy.
I mentioned the last few years at work have been good. This past year was really, really good. Our company throws a huge Friday night Christmas bash at the biggest downtown hotel, and I was won of 5 employees to win an overnight stay that same night in one of the hotel's penthouse executive suites. The idea was that you could then drink like crazy at the open bar at the party, since you didn't need to worry about getting home. But a traditional bonus, if you were single like me, was that you'd get hit on all night, with everyone knowing your sleeping arrangements for the evening. And even if you declined, you learned who in the office had a crush on you. So this evening promised to be interesting.
And, woah Nellie, was it ever.
I arrived, dressed in my most flattering semi-formal wear, a black-and-red theme showing lots of leg, my hair straightened and longer than I've worn it for years. I looked and smelled fantastic. Go ahead boys and girls, stare, and stare good. Eat your hearts out--I qualify for AARP discounts, and can still turn heads. Best of both worlds.
I notice that there's another company Christmas party in the hotel tonight--LA Fitness. Much more modest affair than ours; appetizers instead of a full meal, cash bar, no music, smaller room, causing the partiers to spill out into the lobby of the hotel. Definitely a different set of employees there--they're actually, well, fit. Two ways to think of this. It's either a bigger set of people for me to, umm, mingle with. Or it's competition.
A word about that--competition. I mentioned that 6 months is about all I can tolerate in a relationship. Let me amend that. 6 months is about how long a partner can tolerate me, or at least my jealousy. Jealousy adds a spark to my relationships at first. But it gets ugly after that. I don't know why, but I start looking for trouble with people in my partner's life around the 180-day mark--his or her exes, friends, siblings. And not just looking for trouble--causing it. Including, if the target in mind is my age, my size, and female, a likely catfight. It's something instinctual in me, something I crave. I like it to be "personal", issuing a challenge, and fighting to a finish. With clothes off and claws out. I like to communicate with looks that it's what we both want, that we're worthy opponents. I resisted this part of my personality at first, but eventually came to terms with it and even embraced it. It's who I am. True to Trudy.
Back to tonight. Those LA Fitness employees sure look better than our accountants, even with us dressed better. I remember why I've only got another 3 years in accounting left in me. Maybe even just 2.
Dinner is served at the accounting party. I sit and talk, wondering what tonight will bring. I'm drinking a bit more than I normally do--I can handle it, but it makes me need to pee. What a pain. I go to the ladies room. I relieve myself, and go to the sink to wash up, standing next to a statuesque blonde. Must be one of the LA Fitness employees. I say hello, and we strike up a conversation. We continue our flirting back out to the lobby, when we are abruptly interrupted by a brunette about my size and closer to my age.
Her: What's your problem?
Me: Are you talking to me?
Her: Yes, I'm asking why you're bothering my friend.
Blonde: Umm, Vanessa, it's no big deal...
Me: What, do you OWN her?
Her: I don't own her. I watch out for her.
Me: Controlling! You know you don't have to put up with that, right, blondie?
Her, getting in my face: I said to stop talking to her. You have something to say, say it to me.
Me: Ok, Vanessa. I don't know you, I don't want to know you. But believe me, if there was ever a fight you want to de-escalate quickly, it's this one.
We stare each other down, nose to nose, sizing each other up. A colleague of mine pipes in, "Trudy, she's not worth it."
Her: You watch yourself, Trudy.
Vanessa storms off.
"Well, that was a buzzkill," says my work colleague.
But it wasn't a buzzkill. Not to me. The no-nonense challenge. The staredown. This Vanessa seemed like a worthy sparring partner to me. And her jealousy--I recognized it as mine. Her relationship with blondie was fraying because of it.
I knew what I needed to do.
I pulled out a business card. I wrote on it, "Vanessa, I have Executive Suite 45 to myself tonight. I could get blondie up here with me if I wanted. But I thought I'd give you the opportunity first, for us to "chat", woman to woman. Trudy." I walked straight into the LA Fitness throng, spotted Vanessa, walked to her and handed it to her. By the deathstare she gave me, I had no doubt she would answer my challenge affirmatively. I handed her the note, saying I wanted to deliver it personally. I then went up to my room, awaiting the inevitable.
Back in my suite. Vanessa will be coming soon, I know it. Should I change now or when she arrives. I look so good, I decide to stay dressed. Let her see what a real lady looks like.
I push the furniture away, making an area for our fight. If anything gets broken, I'm on the hook. But it's worth it. I've earned it. I need this tonight.
A knock at the door. I look thru the peephole. Vanessa, alone. Good.
I open it, and just stare. Vanessa stares back, then pushes past me to get in. Damn, she has a hard body--was this a mistake? Didn't wait for me to invite her in. Good. My kind of woman
She instinctively moves to one of the couches facing the bare "ring" area, and starts removing her shoes and jewelry. Not wanting to appear to be having buyers remorse, I do the same, and up the antenna by removing my short skirt and top. "I don't want these ruined," I unnecessarily explain. Vanessa matches me, and we're down to underwear in no time at all.
Me: In a hurry, sweetie?
Her: Jessica is waiting for me.
Me: Waiting for you, or for me? Don't I get her if I win?
WHAM!!!!! Vanessa slaps me full in the face, and drags me from the crouch down onto the floor. Our hands go for each others hair, and we pull as hard as we can. This is the full on catfight I love so much, not standing duking it out like two guys. Just 2 women, on the floor, flesh on flesh.
Vanessa and my tits line up immediately and begin crushing each other. Our legs curl around each other, and we're locked in the catball position in no time. Vanessa is rubbing herself off on me, clearly frustrating by her waning sex life with Jessica. Part of me is disgusted--I don't want to be a humping post to this bitch Vanessa.
But part of me is excited. This fight is the rawest fight 2 women can have -- over a perceived romantic rival. Vanessa is defending what's hers, and will fight with no rules. I'd best step up my game.
Both of our hands have claimed clumps of hair, and now seek more sensitive targets. I'm inclined to nipple-pinching in this situation, and being my repertoire, causing Vanessa to squeal. She aims lower, tearing my panties and finding my clip in no time. The pain is beyond excruciating. We roll back and forth on the floor, wrapped together.
Vanessa and I scratch each others backs hard and deep. I have no real shot with Jessica, but I'm not telling Vanessa that. I want to humiliate her totally, putting the final nail in their relationship. It's clearly not a healthy one.
"I hate you Trudy," hisses Vanessa, as we stay locked together but slow the pace of our fight. Our hands return to our hair and resume pulling. At this point in a catfight, a typical opponent of mine would be gassed. But Vanessa is fit--This will be a battle of wills.
Both Vanessa and I are afraid to release our grip. We experiment with slapping, but every slap is met with a breast pinch or a clip grab. The pain from those is raw and primal. As is our sweat--we've both clearly been drinking, and the carpet we've been rolling on is coated with sweat. We can smell each other distinctly, increasing my hatred of this bitch I've just met and never want to see again. Shit, why'd I give her my business card.
Vanessa starts rocking on my rhythmically. The thought of her humping me disgusts me. In hatred, I pull her hair and pinch her breasts, trying to give her any non-verbal sensation I can. The sweat between us acts as lubrication, and the rocking motion continues. Is this what Vanessa does with Jessica? I picture me with Jessica. How sweet would it be for me to walk downstairs and tell Jessica I fought her bully and won? Jessica would be so grateful to me. She'd do anything with me. A..n..y..t..h..i..n..G.
In the rocking, I imagine myself with Jessica. Is that what Vanessa is imaging now too? Vanessa cums. Then me. Then Vanessa again. If I cum simultaneously with Vanessa I swear I will seriously barf. Vanessa and I tell each other we hate each other. We start fighting again.
We both go for the facesit pin, wrestling desperately to get on top. Damn, Vanessa is strong. Her knees get on my shoulders. I try kneeing her back. This is normally and effective move for me, but normally my opponent hasn't destroyed my clit like Vanessa has mine. Vanessa starts slapping my face, hissing at me to stay away from Jessica.
I'm beat, physically and psychologically.
Vanessa gathers her stuff and leaves.
And I think of something else I'll be doing when I retire. Joining LA Fitness.
I wonder if Vanessa will still be working there.